Monday, December 28, 2009

Smoked words

Kabhi kabhi hai shaam aise dhalti ke jaise ghunghat utar raha hai.
Tumhare seene se uthta dhooan, humare dil se guzar raha hai.

Smoke. That is all that is left of it. Once there was more. There was fire and there was what burned. Now it is only the smoke. Swirling up in a drunken grey from ashes that lie witness to what unfolded. Tomake chai. Tomake chai. Tomake chai. Aaar tomar ki chai? Amaake? Ha! Why are you making me write this.

A bus passes on a road, outside my window. Somewhere a broom is swishing away dry leaves from another road. The peeling vanilla custard yellow of the bathroom door is looking new in the afternoon sunlight. A maroon mat lies in wait, outside, to catch unsuspecting wet feet. Shesh porjonto tomake chai. Do you know why? Why should I have all the strings attached to my heart. There really are no answers to such questions. I just like asking them to feel (the strings) them tug every now and then.

Bhabcho tumi shutor taane nachbe shobai,
Bhabcho loke dichche tomaye haat tali taayi.

Muffled voices on the telephone. From our bedroom. Our room. Our bed. Smoke. Our room even has a mirror. That almost makes it a magic trick. Bright orange curtains were a good idea. They look happy by construction. Much like the proof of a theorem. There! That proves it. Q.E.D. We are happy. The food on the table is delicious. It is cold, or getting there. Cinema will make you believe in a lot of things that life will make you shun. I cried somewhere during 3 Idiots.  I did not cry during Love Aaj Kal. You did.

Sun rahi hoon sudh-budh khoke koi mai kahani,
poori kahani hai kya kise hai pata.
Main to kisi ki hoke ye bhi jaani,
rut hai ye do pal ki ya rahegi sada.

That is the fun part - it does not have to stay long enough. Smoke never does. I breathe it in every day in this city. It enters me. Stays in me. Throbs and swirls in my lungs. It leaves a charred taste on my tongue, like wet, burnt sandpaper. Maybe now, the food I cooked for you will taste better.

Onge chot pele she baitha sharabaar
hajaar rokomer oshoodhi aache taar.
Morome chot pele shaare na e jibone
shojoni aami boojhi more chi mone mone.

The above songs are from the following albums: Kudrat (OST), some album by Indrani Sen and Sumon Chatterjee, Wake Up Sid (OST) and Dhonni Meye (OST). They are the properties of their respective writers and singers - my only claim to them is that I sometimes use them to garnish my bored-out-of-my-wits afternoons.

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