Author: Baidurya

Silly fields

Baidurya My Poems

On my long ride back to Kolkata, I stepped out of the car with romance in my soul yearning for the dusk to fill me with wonder.
I went into the fields with the sentiment of staring at the infinity of kash phool swaying in the autumn breeze.
I thought of witnessing the sunset as it dipped into the horizon in a vibrant display of colours.
And I thought I will see and hear the birds fly in droves as they come back to their nests and branches for their evening rest.
I took my “branded” shoes off as I wanted to feel the earth.
All my feet felt in the city were concrete and leather.
It was time to touch the nature.

But,

When I stood barefoot to experience the soft earth below,
I couldn’t help but feel the wet mucky earth wrapping my toes and feet.
I wondered how do I wash it before hopping into the car as I didn’t want to soil the mats or the shoes.
I looked up and saw at a little distance, a cow calmly grazing.
I felt if the cow never bothered about its muddied hoofs, then let me forget about that problem too.
The cow farted
and defecated a pile of dung on the ground.
I looked away and saw two children running holding their kites through the fields.
I smiled at them as it reminded me of Durga and Apu running through Ray’s monochromes.
They were full of life and giggles and they seemed to come towards my direction.
I wondered if I can strike a conversation with them.
Adults need injections of innocence through children in order to stay alive.
As they came nearer me, I saw their tiny brown faces and couldn’t help but notice a big line of mucus drooping through their nose up to their lips.
It really stuck there probably dried by the crisp air.
The romance of innocence suddenly escaped my thought and I didn’t make any eye contact fearing they may actually come close to me.
And I’ll be greeted by their mucus.

By now the sun was merely peeking through the horizon and there were clouds gathering.
I picked my shoes and went towards my car.
I grazed my feet on the road to scrap of as much mud as possible and then let my feet hang uncomfortably from my seat as I headed home.

Joker

Baidurya My Poems

She always had a wide smile.
She put on a good show,
as always.
Masked in the most deceptive mask.
Face fair and bright, accentuated by the kajal bordering her gloom.
Contrasts can play wonders to create an artifice.
She laughed on time;
Spoke on cue;
Reciprocated and validated others on instinct.
An instinct that required careful cultivation of numbing of ‘instincts’.

Her flawless self, seemed like the reflection of a coloured mirror.
She decided her colours, as and when it suited her.
And people were bought in too.
They didn’t hear the chimes and the buzz of her heart.
Or hear the mellow melancholy that dripped from her eyes and her lips.
They couldn’t notice her askance, her appeals for help, her gigantic screams.

They just swooned for her,
And feigned elaborate concerns.
They played their part in perfect harmony to her conceit and self-deceit

They became ‘her’ and she became ‘they’.
Such affectionless camaraderie!

Her autobiography could have been titled-
“Selfie from my better side”.

She tranced around her days,
And shriveled in her nights.
She lived life high. Or so she thought.
Perpetually in motion. Disoriented. Facade.

But; she always had a wide smile.

Perfect parents. Perfect partner.
Oh so perfect social life!
Glamorous snaps. Funny boomerangs.
Such cool friends- all huddled together smiling the ‘oh so perfect’ smiles!
Perfect independence. Perfect freedom.

And so much love!
An exquisite display of vanity that has been
mastered painstakingly to perfection.

But,
let us all swoon and drool over her.
Let’s heave sighs and ‘only ifs’.
Such miseries surround us in the pale comparison to her ‘ecstasy’.
Curated. Hand-carved.

The distance between liberation and decadence is just a little nudge from our empty selves.

Let us all put on a little smile on our face.

Aparajito

Baidurya My Poems

The earth is dry.
Bone-dry
It hasn’t rained since ages.
Not since Kusum came from Ma’s womb six months back
You cannot till the land here
Life will be scorched into a dry despair by this relentless sun
So any effort seem full of naivety and hopelessness
I remember when the drought struck five years ago,
Thakurda did not leave the soil unattended,
People from our graam made fun of him
They thought he has gone senile and will drive the bulls to death
Bulls survived. Thakurda did not. Crops did.
We called it ‘bhogobaaner maya r thakurdar sesh bhagyo’
-God’s wonders and the last luck of my Thakurda

But this time the sun is passionately arrogant
It has come down with unchallenged anger and aggression
The parched land has stopped giving us what we want. Need.
There was a time
when the greens from the soil fed our bellies and our eyes
And now the eyes seem too tired and wasted
And the bellies rumble in hunger
There is not an inch of relief in sight
Nor a gust of hope

I stare into the brown with a strange melancholy and defeat
Why do we have to face such a curse?
Maya? Bhaggyo?
I guess a poor man’s belly need no extraordinary tale to
justify his misery
All in a mind’s work.
All in a luck’s charm.
Life could have been better
If only………
Thuddd.
I hear a voice of metal crashing against the stone-hard soil.
I look to my right and I see Ma
She screams at me with her big expressing eyes
and a lash of her heart,
full of rage and hope.
“My kobi son, somebody’s got to go pick up the axe”
Thuddd.

Twenty 9.

Baidurya My Poems

29.
That’s the amount of years I’ve dragged my brown-damned ass on the earth. And boy, it has been difficult.
Especially the last decade or so.
The more I became aware of myself, the more I seemed to be lost.
Self-awareness led to confusion and chaos.
I have imaginary battle-scars all over me.
Battles with life. And pain.
Battles with anxiety, loneliness and depression.
Being an adult can be a fucking pain.
A fucking fucking pain.
If I had a chance to go back to the age of seven and write an essay on what do I want from a genie, I wouldn’t take a moment to write that it would be freezing my age.
Who the hells wants to fight it out when you can be draped in your Ma’s tenderness and comfort.

But here I am. With some more decades to live god/devil-willing (too early to decide sides).
And I have no clue where the journey will take.
Will I find peace?
Will I find happiness?
Will I find love that sustains?
Will I have made it?

Even a quarter-life reflection few years ago made me make unceremonious comparisons of my life with others.
I wanted validation.
I wanted to know if I have made it this far.
I wanted to know if I was worth it in the smaller scheme of things.

I didn’t want my perspectives to be as hollow as the never-ending Facebooks posts of people who had little less than zilch of a contribution in my life.
But then what explains my hollowness anyways?
What reason or rhyme do I have of those nervous jitters in a packed hall in the middle of a concert?
Or when I am sleeping alone in my queen-sized bed and getting up all of a sudden thinking I’m dying.
What makes me so weak. And vulnerable.
To unknown. To future.
Nights after nights.
Days after days.

I feel that I am losing a little bit of myself everyday.
A bit of myself.
A bit of my love.
A bit of my hope.
And as I see them crumble and flushed away by the winds of worry, I try to hold them back.
With not a speck of success.

Existential crisis.
Identity crisis.
Survival crisis.
You name it, I have it.
Like beads of despair being threaded into a noose of disorientation.

It’s so funny that when I first heard Beatles croon “All you need is love”, I found it too cheesy.
Now I want all the cheese that’s available.
The irony is you can’t even fucking buy this cheese.
It can’t be transacted or bartered.
It can only be received as and when it comes.

Being adult is a bitch.
And I don’t even have the bite
Fuck this love shit.
I want some ‘bhooter raja’ to come and grant me the boon of feeling loved.
Forever.
That sustains.

Rest, I’ll figure the fuck out as my time (and I) waltz away to oblivion.

First Rain

Baidurya A Teacher's Tale

It is the first rain in Delhi this summer.
The rain drops seems a fresh breath on the warm night earth.
Air-conditioners shut.
Windows open.
And I let the breeze play with my hair and eyes.
I stand safely away from the edge of the balcony to keep the rain off myself.
But now and then it comes and flirts with my feet.
I take a step back. It still reaches me.
Touch and go. Wink and miss.
Irritating.
I take a step front to have a more intimate conversation.
It doesn’t touch me then.
Now it’s annoying.
I understand the clouds are grey.
But my mind works black and white.
Binary.
So I take three steps front till I reach the edge of the balcony and firmly place my hand on the balustrade.
I want to speak straight and clear.
I lean out arrogantly pointing my chin at the rain.
It smacks right onto my face and body.
I feel the rain-water take long circuitous routes from my hair, onto my neck and then to my back.
Multiple veins of rain starts running on my forearms.
Desperate and directionless till they find the fingertips from where they make the suicidal drop.
The wind plants a leaf on my leg and I don’t bother shaking it off.
I let it rest and cling onto my skin.
It must have endured the rain for quite a while.
I stretch out my hands to receive some more of the drench in my palms.
It fills it with abundance.
I close my eyes.
I get completely wet in no time.
It was that simple.
Few steps.
Binary.

My January

Baidurya My Poems

Let us take a bus and travel till the last stop it can take us
Far enough for us to not remember our daily chores and hassles
And on reaching, let us not be in a hurry to return
As we alight from the bus, let us discover happy faces with funny accents
Let us check in to a place that has a bed and a fan
Where the walls are clean enough and the paint, old enough
Let us ensure we get a room with a window that opens up to our conversations
And our silence
Let us take our clothes off for they are filled with malice
And let us lie down next to each other for our bodies and mind are tired
Let us lie down till we feel lost and awkward;
till all the discomfort subsides and all the past becomes thin-air
And as we absorb each other’s’ breath with our eyes, let our bodies be in warm embrace of each other
Our legs intertwined
Our hands affectionate enough to discover the whereabouts of the other
Our eyes filled with tenderness
And let us feel the warm fuzzy feeling deep down and skin up
Let our goose bumps be the only one with voice
Let us be upset
Let us be happy
Let us smile till we cry
Let us cry till we laugh
And let us laugh till we are short of breath and words
And all this while, let us forget
Forget the weight of the pasts and the mountains of the future
Let us be unaware of what we hold in our hearts’ crevices and what our mind tricks us into suspicion every time
Let us give in to reality.
Let us give in to deception.
Let us give in to love.
Let us give in to lust.
Let us look deep into each other’s eyes and when we get tired, close it
Let our lips be warm and wet enough
Our bodies like a knot
And let us, my darling, be happy and content with what we have and what we shall get
For the nature offers plentiful to the one that keeps the door open
Let us be a gentle peaceful lake
Let us be a tempestuous stormy ocean
Let us be the depth of the night
Let us be the light of the day
Let us be the comfort of the moon
Let us be the rage of the sun
Let us be the thunder
Let us be the rain

Love for a ‘Cause’

Baidurya A Teacher's Tale

Do you want to fall in love? Great! What about falling in love with a ‘cause’. It is  much more fulfilling than falling in love with a person. Why? Here are my five cents.

1. It cannot be unrequited. Rather it may be exponentially requited. You give in some time and effort to the relationship, and what you receive is way much higher. Your love will just increase over time and your cause will be loving you hundred times over.

2. No loyalty issues. Your ‘cause’ will not feel bad if you take up another cause and work on it. Rather your ‘cause’ may feel that you are able to see the bigger picture and are able to connect multiple things. ‘Cause’ is happy. You are happy.

3. No jealousy. Imagine seeing hundreds of men falling in love with your girlfriend and trying to woo her all the time. That’s a restless feeling, right? Not when you are in love with a ’cause’. You may see thousands of men falling in love with her and just feel better with every man trying to woo her. Cause’s love is infinite and so is its need. And your jealousy is zero. Rather you would advocate for more men and women to fall in love with your ‘cause’ and impress her every single day.

4. No guilt feeling on breaking up. Imagine a girl who you know and have loved you for years and you suddenly realize it does not feel ‘right anymore’. Imagine the pain of raising the point to your girlfriend. Tears, fights and an endless chain of emotional bickering will ensue. Not with ‘Cause’. She understands and she can let go easily. What’s more important is (as said in the previous point) you know that there are thousands taking care of her already. So your absence is of no celestial consequence.

5. Meet more people through your cause. Can you ever imagine your girlfriend introducing you to more girls whom you can look at as a future proposition? Never! But ‘Cause’ will inevitably bring people closer together. Passion for a cause usually results in passionate people falling passionately in love with each other. You know what I mean. Nothing connects people more than a ‘cause’- it has been the age old wisdom. That’s why politicians sow dreams and organizations manufacture vision statements. And you, my dear, is already having a win-win situation with this love. 

So ditch the trouble of finding the right girl. Find a ‘cause’. Fall in love with it. You will never have a frown-day in your life.

Broken Tales

Baidurya My Poems

There is so much sadness in your eyes Rii.
If I drink a gulp of it from your eyes, will it make your grief less?
Or will it make you a part of me as I swirl and twirl into your topsy-turvy life
Rii, you make me nervous.
It has hardly been a few months, since my heart wanted to take shelter in yours with an uneasy nonchalance
I tried to stop it Rii; believe me, I tried to stop it all the time
You are not the sprightly fervour in which I would ever have danced
Nor an air of happy abandon in which I would love to fly
But I come to you again and again as a devotee to its temple
I know you are never to come but faith has been like oceans
Strong and arrogant
Tell me Rii how many men have you let drown at the altar of your bosom
How many eyes took the shade of the black from yours
How many bodies must have limped and lurked in your glowing haze
Have you ever not thought that you are not just a woman? You are an incarnate of love and lust, pain and pleasure, rust and rage
I am chained Rii. Chained to a wall that no magician in heaven or earth can wand a life out of it.
What am I to do with so much sadness!
Can I weave those tears with my hope strings into a grief necklace and wear it?
Can I take the moon from your eyes and keep it in my black hole of a heart that now cries for validation?
May I just be yours without you ever being mine?

Alone

Baidurya A Teacher's Tale

Alone-I

She fears living alone
Timmy is asleep
She types for endless hours seeking pink hearts
And she gets it too like dew-drops on a sun-kissed morning
She looks for love everywhere, outside and inside
But there remains a dried up ‘lonely well’ which is as it is once you see it
as it is
The grey scars brush its grey paint all over
Smothering all inch
She fights to remain unpainted, untainted
But she sees
a crow sits by the loneliness. It caws its way to her heart
She takes a mirror and looks
Crystal clear. Pristine.
But those grey smothering paint strokes that she felt being painted!
Timmy comes running
She strokes his head
And takes him out to play

Alone-II

The grey is real, she thinks
It is clawing out her red, day by day
She lights a candle and keeps it next to the paper-weight on her desk
She picks up the phone and dials all the people she loves. Likes.
Hello.
She asks for more red. She gets it.
At the end of the hour long call, she is more red than ever
She sits back watching the stars and the moon dance in harmony
The clouds float gently
She takes the newspaper and reads the headline
When she feels a yearn
She knows that ‘it’ is coming back
She tries to fight it out
but she finally gives in
She lets herself be painted with broad brush strokes
She goes inside. Blows off the candle
And clutching her bedsheet. She lies.
She counts back
10, 9, 8, 7, ……

Alone-III

The beach is huge
Endless stretches of sand bordered by tall palms
The water is blue
You could even see the fishes in this water
Baby crabs flirting with small shells
Swarms of fish moving in erratic direction
And Sreeja, with her hair left open, walking by alone
The sun is gentle in its embrace
Droves of sea-gulls fly by
The painter could have been ready with her canvas
Sreeja finds a shack on the beach
She wants to have her mojito in this shack
Her walk has been tiring and the beauty overwhelming
She checks her watch and walks in
“One mojito please”, Sreeja asks
“Only alcohol available here, ma’am” says the bartender
She comes out
Fists clenched and brows squeezed
She calms down in a moment
A tear escapes her eye
She heaves a smile
And walks toward the ocean
Up above, the sea-gulls continue to fly by in droves
and the fishes go on with their seemingly random movements

Piu

Baidurya A Teacher's Tale

It’s 8AM in Behala Chowrasta- a busy four-way intersection that can seem like a mesh of intermingled traffic amidst a net of meandering people. Very recently ‘Didi’ had announced that intersections such as these had to have ‘Rabindra sangeet’ oozing out from the trumpet-shaped microphones so that it can calm peoples’ nerves. But little did she realize it did more dishonour to her favourite poet; as the words of Tagore clamoured for space with the din and bustle of the streets.

Piu, a twenty something ‘work-hater-life-lover’ walked briskly to catch her office cab. She was running few minutes late and was praying that the cab would be late too. The cab ferrying business had a strict ‘Stop-Glance-Whooosh’ policy. They would not wait for a minute if the employee is not there on time.

Piu’s thought was on the day of the week- it was just Monday! 5 days to go till she can soak herself in her Smirnoff. With lime. She did mental cartwheels knowing that her best friend Aditi would be coming from Mumbai for the weekend. And the fact that they will inevitably go to their favourite shady shade- Oly Pub, and have the juiciest red meat ever made, ever. “Ahhh!”, Piu snapped out of her ‘Walter Mitty’ mode as her shoulders collided with that of another stranger.

Usually given her fiery tempestuous nature, she would start Feminism 101 classes as she will inevitably presume that her good looks attract people to brush against her. However, she was running late and the bespectacled pot-bellied and ‘looking lost’ young gentleman was shocked out of his wits. He profusely apologised by folding his hands and watching out for ‘knights in shining armour’ to join in in the prospective verbal duel. The pedestrian ‘knights’, the auto-rickshaw ‘knights’ and the ‘aunty’ knights skipped a step, pressed the brakes and wrinkled their foreheads respectively. Piu stopped short of rage and surprising herself, leaked a smile. The ‘knights’ carried on. He smiled back, and extended his hands to shake Piu’s. Piu’s soft hands felt like cotton in his. And his palm-embrace seemed comforting to her; strangely. “What swag”, Piu thought.

The ‘would-be bhadrolok’ gently enquired about the whereabouts of the famous ‘Rabindra sweetshop’ to her. She pointed across the road where it was located and waltzed past him. She had an air of nervous excitement around her. A fleeting emotion she could not understand, nor did she try to. She felt a strange sense of affinity for this ‘lost-in-time-for-ever’ guy. How unconventionally pot-bellied. Must be one of those intellectual poet-types.

Piu finally made it to the end of the taxi-stand where her cab picks her up. To her relief, her cab-driver was in the ‘glance’ stage when she jerked open the handle of the cab. Whoooosh.

The loud speakers at the junction started playing the next song of Tagore. Something about life. And its’ myriad hues.