Wednesday, 7 September 2016

Reason to live



 Reason to live.

Myra’s black laced dress fluttered in the wind. The grey clouds have devoured the sky entirely. “It’ll rain today”, thought the 23 year old zookeeper. Myra was the only female zookeeper in and around that town. Her father was a forest ranger and at the tender age of 3 she was introduced to the animal world. To her father’s surprise, she instantly bonded with the animals; her favourite being Elan, the baby elephant.   
    
The rugged terrain of her country-land had always enticed Myra. As a little girl she was very fond of trekking in the forest with Elan. School was always boring for her. “Father, why can’t I learn from nature?” she asked her father, one day. Smiling, the ranger said, “You have the whole life left to learn from nature. For now learn from the books.” Myra was not satisfied with the answer.  She was never satisfied by any worldly rules. For her, life belonged to the wild and with the wild. Boundaries could never restrict Myra because her spirit took her beyond any limitations. 

When she first met Elan, the baby elephant was 10 months old. It was love at first site, for the kids took to each other instantly. The emancipated baby elephant was abandoned by his group and was brought to the ranger’s notice. It was Myra’s unbridled love that nurtured Elan into a healthy baby in few days and she decided to keep him forever. Slowly Elan became an important part of the ranger’s family. Though he spent much of his time in the wild, he would come back every evening to play with Myra and have dinner with his new family. With each passing day, their bond grew to become stronger after the arrival of Myra’s baby brother. 

Mojo was a bundle of joy for the ranger’s family. Every little action that he did was celebrated by the family. Slowly, Mojo became the pivot on which the family rotated and somehow, Myra felt herself moving farther away from all of them. Her gleeful laughter now goes unnoticed against her brother’s gurgling. She took solace from nature and Elan, her constant companion. Her rendezvous with the forest land increased and she experienced the overwhelming love that prevailed in the animal world, where there is place for all. She felt included. 

However, there seemed to be an unbreakable string between Mojo and Myra that somehow brought the two closer as they grew old Myra felt a strong sibling love towards Mojo. She experienced the same love as she did when Elan came into her life. The more she interacted with her brother, the stronger her affinity grew. What Myra failed to notice is that she was slowly drifting away from her best friend Elan. Her morning walks, afternoon trysts with the forest and the elephant were frequently skipped for her brother. 

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Myra was 16 when she lost her mother and suddenly felt the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. Her father completely engrossed himself in work, to find solace. Myra left her schooling and joined the local NGO fighting for animal rights, something she really believed in. Her brother was a bright student and continued his studies. The kind soul that Myra was, often felt sad for her brother who seemed oblivious to finer things in life. For Mojo, the forest or the animal world meant nothing. What he wanted was to earn quick money in less time. Meanwhile, Elan had found his life-partner and was a proud dad to a little baby elephant. He was busy with his new family; Myra could now spend some time with the three of them. She was happy for him. 

The rustic land around Mojo never attracted him. For him, life belonged to the tinsel town and to reach there he needed money. Easy money never comes easy and that’s what Mojo failed to understand. His growing proximity to the local goons alarmed Myra. She tried telling her father, but he did not give it much importance thinking it to be another instance of over-protective sisterly concern. 

Mojo had joined the goons who worked for the poachers and the reason they selected him in their team was anybody’s guess. The area was suddenly struck by rising cases of poaching which was very surprising.  The ranger was suddenly facing fury from the locals and the government. Little did he know that those friendly banters between father and son, at the dinner table were nothing but medium to siphon important information related to the security of the forest.

They promised Mojo a good remuneration to gather information and help them in avoiding the ranger’s sharp eyes.  And he did really well. What came next was a golden opportunity for him. This time, the poachers had planned for the big mammal, as ivory pays off well and Mojo would get a fair share too. 

On the night of execution, Mojo did not return home. Myra was suspicious of his brother’s activities, lately. His sudden love for long walks into the forest or spending time with his family; everything seemed fake to Myra. She waited till 10 in the night and had her dinner; her father was still at work as night time required extra security, given the regular attacks by the poachers.  She was restless; the fear rendered her completely cold, depriving her from sleep. The sudden pang of emptiness was too much to bear and she made the call to the ranger’s office, “Dad, I am scared for Elan.” And this one time, the fear ran down the ranger’s spine. “Don’t worry Myra, I’ll check.” Taking his troop with him, he set out in the night.

Gunshots broke the brooding silence. What ensued in the forest was no less than a battle. Every bullet fired, burnt a hole into Myra’s soul. She was shivering with fear. The sense of loss was too strong and she knew it was true. After a while, an ominous silence came down.

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Myra woke up to the calling-bell, surprised that she felt asleep. Her father’s office boy had come to take her to the ranger’s office.

 With trepid steps she proceeded towards a huge crowd that had gathered around her father’s office. Surprisingly, everybody made way for her. She was suddenly brought to a halt with the scene in front of her. 3 bodies, lying next to each other; Mojo, Elan and Elan’s partner. Sitting next to them is her father, still holding his rifle. The police had arrived by then and to Myra’s surprise they came to take her father. She run and hugged him, “Daddy, why are they taking you away?” The ranger was crying, “Myra, I didn’t know it was Mojo. It was night time, I couldn’t see properly. They had killed Elan and were escaping; I had to shoot.” Myra stood still, incapable of thinking anything. “Myra, I love you my girl. Please don’t hate me. Please.” With that the ranger was taken away by the police. For hours Myra sat there speechless. Finally she walked back home.

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Today, as she stands with Elan, she realized that had it not been for the orphan baby elephant, Myra’s life would have been meaningless. She got back her old days with Elan and a purpose to live. In her role as a zookeeper, she feels close to nature with all the beautiful animals around and with Elan by her side, always.




Thursday, 9 April 2015

Happily- Ever After



The doorbell rang; it was 8 in the evening.  The day was nothing beyond the usual with household chores and the intermittent writing. Reaching the climax of a novel is always taxing, when you know that the princess has to get married to the prince, at any cost. Weaving fantasy stories for children is probably the hardest job on earth. To feed their innocent minds with sweet candies, when there is actually no such thing in the real world, calls for immense courage. Then again, we all love to stay within this cocoon of self-induced peace, whether a child or an adult. Such, is the irony of life! 


Coming back to the doorbell, which has now been ringing for some time, I finally get up from the desk to answer.  The archaic door décor was my choice. I always loved vintage, somehow it felt less fake. I open the door, only to usher in that fateful day, 14 years back!


Standing in front of me was the mellowed down and greyed version of the college heartthrob, who was a rebel in his prime. He was the gleaming golden sun that illuminated everything around him. The backpack, guitar and that tattered diary where he jotted down those meaningless lyrics; he was like a drug that was extremely strong yet absolutely harmless.  Loving him was possibly the best thing that happened in my life, yet something that I would always regret.


I step aside, giving him space to enter. He hesitates, but finally moves in.

“Coffee? Or, is it still tea for you?” I ask.

Sitting on the couch, he looks up, “14 years…don’t you want to ask me any question?”

Smiling, I sit down.


The relief that comes with the acknowledgement of being free is unique. What I was experiencing was not nostalgia or anger, but freedom from guilt. Guilt that poisoned me for these many years crippled my mind. I took refuge to writing, to stop me from going insane.

“Today, I will own up.” I tell myself.


For years together I replayed the incidents of that evening, just to find a gleam of self-redemption, only to fail every time.  I can still feel my hands shake when I recollect putting the letter under his pillow, then slowly locking the door and slipping the keys under the doormat. What beastly courage overtook me that day! Well then, I had reached a point wherein I could take it no more.


He was too perfect for me and I was equally imperfect. My world revolved around everything at the same time. I mean, why can’t I club evening tea with rehearsals? For him, life was compartmentalized. Every aspect had its own boundary and two could be never clubbed together.  


The drama group of our college was in the final days of rehearsal before performing on the Annual Day. His band was tuning the final notes. “I cannot focus on my song, if you don’t stop yelling out your dialogues. You need to change your schedule.” He interrupted me, while I was trying hard to perfect one line. Being the scriptwriter, director and producer of the group was not easy for me, when funds were limited, let alone talent! The once exciting offer of practicing in his living room looked like a mistake, then.


 I put down two coffee mugs, with some tidbits to accompany. He looked tired.

“How did you find me?” I was eager to know the answer.

“Your new account on Facebook.” He smiled. Facebook was never my idea. It was Riti, my niece who opened the account with great enthusiasm. “You have to allow your fans to interact with you. They might have some good feedback on your books!”

  
The last ten years of my life have been eventful. From an amateur scriptwriter to a full-fledged author; life took a turn which was too perfect to be true. While he went from pillar to post; now a celebrated song writer, singer, performer and still a heartthrob!

 “You know, I did not open your letter for a month.” Surprised, I stand up. “You want a smoke?” He refused. “You stopped smoking?”  He still is an enigma to me and probably will always be.

He comes and stands beside me. “If you ever leave me, I will adhere to everything you want me to. Remember?” It was a promise he made.

“Why are you here?” I was scared of the numbing effect he had on me. I don’t want to break down, not in front of him.

“To ask you a question, Anahita.” Stunned, I look at him. Just a question! He has travelled from Germany to Mumbai, only to ask me a question! So, he doesn’t want me back.


All these years, I lived with a sense of guilt; for I left without an explanation. Days when I toiled to get my dialogues correct, he would always remind me that I was not good enough. The humiliation was too much to live with. But, it was the only reason for my success. I never had the courage to own up to him, that it was his constant quest for perfection that has turned me into a better writer.

“What do you want to know, Roshan?” I wanted to get over with this episode, for my book was still left unfinished.

“Why did you spoil my life, Ana?” I did not have the courage to look up to him, for I had no answer.

But that unfamiliar click startled me.


With eyes gleaming of hatred and a smile promising of revenge, Roshan was pointing a revolver at me. With one big stride, he closes the gap between us. I can feel his breath, upon my cheeks. He was dangerously close. The moment was marked both with attraction and repulsion.

Time passed, but we stood still. Old memories danced in front of my eyes. What power this moment wielded, I was unable to understand.


“Roshan…” I was not allowed to finish. Holding me close, he whispers in my ears, “Listen to the silence Ana. This is exactly how dead my life felt for the last 14 years. Every night, I would cry myself to sleep. You know, there was a time when drugs also failed.” 


The brooding sense of death was outplayed by my sense of guilt. Surprisingly, I was not afraid.

For the first time in these many years, I am facing the truth.

“Awards and accolades have given a position in the society, but did not give me peace. It was your persistence to perfection that actually made be a better professional, but bereft of love. Roshan, like you even I craved for peace. You took up drugs, I took to writing. At least, with words I could create my fake world of happiness. ”


“Then, let’s have our Happily Ever After, Ana.”

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I felt the pain a little late, just after he fell, lifeless on the floor.  

My heart clenched, the agony blurred my vision. Roshan has drawn a befitting end to our story. Life could never gift us a happily ever after, but death did.”





Tuesday, 31 March 2015


 বাঙালি
 
বাঙালি মানে পড়ার মাঠে ফুটবলের সাথে শৈশব
বাঙালি মানে হই হুল্লর, রবীন্দ্রনাথ আর উত্সব

বাঙালি মানে বারো মাসে থাকবে তেরো পার্বন
বাঙালি মানে বন্ধ, আবরোধ, শহর জুড়ে আলোড়ন!

আজ বাঙালি কসমোপলিটন, কলকাতা ছেড়ে দিল্লি
ইলিশ পাতুরির যায়েগা নিয়েছে বার্গর আর ইড্লী

রক্ক-এর আড্ডা ছেরে বাঙালি কর্নার কফী শপ-এ,
তর্কো ছেরে তত্ত ধরে এগিয়ে যাবার পথে

তবুও বাঙালির মন পরে থাকে ট্রামে , বাসে , ময়দানে,
শিউলি ভেজা শরতের মেঘ, তাই বুঝি তাকে টানে

ঢাকের তলে, মায়ের ডাকে, আজ বাঙালির বাড়ি ফেরা
সব উত্সব ছাড়িয়ে, বাঙালির দুর্গত্সব, তুমি সেরা!

Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Free!



The extreme turmoil within me commands complete destruction; but sanity beckons for course correction. The dilemma is unique for I feel pain and power at the same time. The stoic facade breaks up for rapturous flow of emotions; emotions that have been kept captivated for so long. Subdued and suppressed, it has lost its voice, somehow.  Too long have we accepted the fate decreed upon us. Unchallenged, the wrong has replaced the right. It’s time we seek out for a change. 


But wait, change is a big thing! What change are we talking about? Change does not come without a price? What price do we need to pay?


For days together when the belt falls relentlessly on my back and the dark walls soak in the aromatic concoction of fear and sweat, I revel in euphoria. Drop by drop, blood is soaked into the ground, just like a parched throat savors the taste of water.  Nothing can be as sweet as the sound of the trickling stream of blood. Am I losing it? I wonder. But haven’t I lost everything? Is there anything that belongs to me?


In the darkness of the dungeon, I hear voices around me. They laugh and whisper, just like my childhood friends, in that village under the old Mango tree. Mohan, yes Mohan was the naughty one, always punished by the headmaster. Mohan, I call out. Mohan! The voices still laugh. I see the paddy fields, the gleaming golden crops, Baba ploughing the land. But that bullet, why is it lodged onto Baba’s chest? He is bleeding, yet smiling! The sound of the hooves was clear and the gunshot, distinct. The men carrying the Queen’s emblem retreated. The dusk came early, but time did not move.


They say a scarred mind is doomed forever. Perhaps I was doomed long ago, but failed to fathom it. Crippled by my delirious state, I stumble on the floor. Cold and damp, it felt like my soul!


Soul, what is it? Is it the inner voice, the sub-conscious or just your alter-ego? Interestingly, today for the first time I could feel my soul. The last 10 days within these four walls have been tumultuous. While my hands and feet remained chained, my mind roamed free. Across my village, to the University campus, the bastion of the British army, I went past everything that touched me. Oh what joy it was to hear him cry out ‘Vande Mataram’ in pain! It sounded perfect, on his heavily accentuated voice!


What demonic power rules the hand that holds a gun! The finesse, with which I lodged the bullet into the rotting brain of that soldier, was simply artistic. Ecstasy pumped through my blood and filled me with mirth.  The sound of my laughter filled the air. Yes, revenge! Finally I have avenged that day in the paddy field. It was sweet.


10 days back my mind won freedom and tomorrow, at dawn, my soul would be freed!