the importance of being earnest

For whom the bell tolls
The ball rolls when
The veil drops
And the flower falls
From the flowers
Garlands form and from
The petals pollen dust
Is scattered in the wind
For whom the bell tolls
In garlands, mobs and feasts
He is going down for sure
Where he will be her man
by the sea, old hopefully
but thus not lacking company


A few days back end of imagination and now at land’s end. For as saireet and debasree took the plunge I find myself (and this is a sentiment I share with other eyewitnesses) out of depth. But this sinking feeling has nothing to do with being thrown in the deep end because as of now I haven’t been thrown in the deep end. We haven’t been thrown in the deep end. For I’m talking of the great Indian wedding, the commonwealth games of wedlock. The land’s end is the saat phere which constitutes for me a different sphere of existence. The point where one faces the protean expanse of the sea having leapt over mountains and hills and jumped across plateaus and rivers of the plains. For this is another territory, the realm of the deep. To go onwards is to complete a circle, to circumnavigate. Something worth doing even if it is only a normative achievement. But the stories sailors have and the places pirates sail to. All in all the high seas are heady.


Married
Like ahab
And moby dick
Having
A whale of a time
unashamedly

political expression or the b sting

Left —
To me what is important is class. One’s got to have it. But then there are those that think it crucial that there not be any and i cannot agree with them more. They are the left. To leave is also left. B is leftist.

Centre —
In my opinion everyone should have some aim. You know a central target. And then there are those that aim for the centre. I’m aiming for the centre. To centre is also to cross. I have a mountain to cross, but just now i'm a little low.

Do a left and a centre make a right then

driving me daisy

Flowers explode
in the gutters
and come down
in a shower
springs bubble
in the sewers
and the light
shimmers in the water
purely as a spectacle
this city can
do no better
than have you
as the lover
to whom it
opens its heart


All my attempts at writing have been offset by my experiments with streamlined thought. Notwithstanding which I would have churned out a bloody substantial body of work had it not been for the fact that all my experiments are thought experiments. Although a digression on the armchair would have been apposite I am quick to realize that that would have as little to do with streamlined writing as, without taking names, a psycho on pills.
But there come certain such periods of intense focus during which one becomes pathologically hooked to the moments that make up a day. Those are the sad times. These are the sad times.
Streamlined right now is a natural disinclination to speech; three parts reluctance, one part reticence and another pain. But coming back to the point, I have taken up the pen once more to record the minutes of each day.
Like that day when I went northwards. To College St. to buy textbooks. Which was simple. And easy enough. Then I roamed about a little confused, even a little frustrated, with location and timing. Location of Publications Division shop. Timings of selfsame shop. Found the shop. Found it closed. Then went off to Nakhoda Mosque area, and, there, in the shadow of the great prayerhouse, had Royaler biriyani. And, like the cabbieguy said, Royaler chaap. Packed some for home. Tipped modestly. Came out, found a tram and hopped in. Got off at Mullick Bazaar and took a cab home.
That above is all of a magical five hours. Streamlining, exercise I; Female voiceover, editing of.

going pains

Yes we have memories
But we also have scurvy.
At partings I’m nervy
Worried what binds
And what is it that frees

there and back again

had bewitching love
and bewitched i stayed
drunk, daring not to ask
whither untrained heart
but patient or restless
here i am
clutching at what
of the day remains
we travel far
and further till
we know
that ha the world is round after all
for even those that move sideways



i'll make sure that on the spoon
the lemon stays
when you see me at our meeting place

sperits

Let me remember
How it is
To hug ma frens
My lovers and my knights my dames
My dusky husky sweetie pies
My heroes in the skies
My people my element
My primer and the cutting edge
The burning sensation
The thirst insatiable
The deep breath
The life force
Maa aamar maa
The more I chant
The more I want
Elo elo elo
Elo vee ee


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a41s4IMyamQ&ob=av2e

seabitch

The sea is warm at sundown
And cool by the day
If you swallow seawater
You have hell to pay



It was to be the small bang before the bigger bang. It ended in a near mortal whimper for me. I am like that I’ve seen. A pussy when sick and here I think that my resistance is pretty high. Well here we was on the beach and all oiled up (twenty buck massage by a mobile masseuse; he was no good, especially since he wanted the entire custom of the group, five in all and so while the others grew restless waiting for me to finish after I’d gone first, he made haste with me and to no relief) and we jumped right in without much ado. I speak for me because I realized I should have weighed the pros and cons of so recklessly hitting the sea. It is salty water and in Digha, a dull brown tepid ditchwater. Jumped in I did and soon was gulping the shite by the mouthfuls. Was half full of that bile by the time we was out I’d say. On the second day I was slightly glitchy in the morning and had a sour stale burp but more of that in the post mortem report. Dinner was murgir jhol and thick bullet rice. I wolfed down great quantities of it and then some more after I got served more than I wanted. Upbringing and the ancient sense of duty not to mention immediate reproach in the cartel made me cram some. But there is no sense of foreboding where folly is riding the crest of a wave. Thereafter liquid diet in hotel room till well past. Good boy said good night and went off to sleep in non aircon. Fucked woe be to. First crap: 5 am. Shit #2: 6:20. #3: 7ish. In my current line of business I’m getting to know about AP/GP and frankly, a man gets to thinking what it all means and he gets to watching hisself and finding a meaning. My loose tummy situation was just insane. And how can I ever forget advice from the coterie — strongly advise lunch, have lunch, you’ll be hungry, ’tis a long way, a light lunch never did no harm. Lunch, Parijat hotel, flower of heaven garden. Strongly recommend shukto, have shukto, roughage. What! Had shukto, made from milk, tssk tssk, have charchari, roughage. Charchari then. I was with a plan too at mention of lunch and had dal and aloo bhaja by my own genius. A sachet of eno had preceded lunch. The clouds had gathered but nothing was rumbling yet. Kolaghat in safar sans suhana. Dry and prostrate, sprawled on the back seats, ready if it was time. Ah, someone mentioned tea, petrol pump. What are friends for! Just before Kolaghat, when the cronies had alighted for a quick bite, between puffs, Pintu, the guy at the wheels, confided that he thought the charchari funny. Them wasn’t good vegetables he said. I coughed up some yellow phlegm and spat, you boys finished, let’s go on now. Petrol pump, God bless Pintu. He rushes first thing to the loo. I opt for a drag to begin with and he has the start on me. He is out before long. A little relief is all I get although I had expected more from the nearly three hours of discipline showed by the tummy. On the second morning my stomach was already a tight drum stretched across my chest by the time we went down to the beach. There was football happening and an old tug got pulled inside being for a sudden second, but verve was in me by then a little rat’s tail sticking out under the cupboard for a brief second after the light came on. I was relying on smoke and went along in the water, it was bloody crowded and all everyone was shouting was beer; one was even shrieking holi hai holi hai, aste bachar abar hobe. I looked in the water. It appeared to me as shimmering. I looked closely, let the sun fill my palms below the surface and brought it up slowly. Fine specks of sand caught the sun and danced in it but that was all a fleeting glimpse; very soon the water was the same brown liquid. The water was dirty all right.


And grapes sour.