Monday, August 18, 2008

Turning back

Things have a way of coming full circle. We all return to where we start from - whole or in parts - alone or together - we all return home - dead or alive.

Chena shonar kon bayire, Jekhane poth nai nayire,
Shekhane ookarone jaayi choote.

Two years ago I left home with a dream in my eyes. A professional dream. A personal dream. A choice. A promise. I left behind a lot of people who loved me and travelled in search of more. More what? I did not know then.

Ghorer mookhe aar ki re, Kono din she jaabe phire,
Jabena jabena deyal joto shob galo toote.

Now I do. It has been a good two years. I have grown. Professionally, I have blossomed into my independence. Personally, I have revelled in my loneliness. I have made the very lonely trip into the dark corners of my heart, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone to share my life with. I have, almost always, met unrecognizable reflections of myself on the way. Gruesome reflections. Sadder and darker versions of myself. I have doubted and feared myself. I have wounded and pierced my heart. Again and again, till the tears have dried up. I have discovered magic. Touched perfection. Witnessed the birth of pure, distilled beauty. I have burnt in the fires of hell. Drowned in splashes of tumultuous desire. Become my worst nightmare. And yet, I have retained the conviction to return to loving myself.

Bristhi nesha bhora shondha bayla, Kon boloramer aami chayla
Aamar shopno ghire naache matal joote, joto maatal joote.

In all this, I have managed to romance my dream. In my fear, anger, hate, jealousy, pettiness, melancholy, I have nurtured my soppy romantic idiotic self. People have told me that my variety of love does not exist in this world, and then have suddenly chanced upon it where they least expected it. People have called my ideas Utopian and antique. And yet these worn out ideas have borne the weight of my dreams all this while. They have salvaged them through the ravages of this material world. For dreams are lived by madmen. Madmen, like me who can see their dreams in someone's eyes. Tangible dreams. Salty dreams. Silent dreams. Dreams that cuddle up with me and soothe me to sleep on long, cold, lonely nights. Dreams that come without price tags and expectations, without weight and light, without burden and freedom, with out and with in. Dreams that are neither born in, nor borne of needs and wants. A dream that is me. And I am still standing. And so is my dream.

Ja na chaibar taayi aaji chayigo, Ja na payibar taayi kotha payigo,
Pabona pabona mori oshombhober paaye matha khoote.

The journey back is starting. I do not what I will return to. I do not know how I will find home to be like after all this time. I do not know what gives me the audacity to keep on loving. I don't even know how long I will be able to keep my dream alive. But I will go back. Let the world stand up and mock my return. I do not care. It is my home. It is my dream. It is my love. It is me.

Pagla hawar badol-dine, Pagol aamar mon jege othe.

The lines in Bangla are form a song by Rabindranath Tagore.

1 comment:

  1. I am beaming after reading this post. :)

    A few years ago, I read something here that made me write to you for the first time.

    I am beaming to see that precise part of you come back to itself after quite a while; a thing I find immensely admirable and worthy of respect.

    May God bless you with the realization of your dreams and sow more seeds of more dreams in your fertile self.