a light shadow on the lighter curtains, four eyes peep near corner
of windows with mahahony frame,
flat nose imprints on the glass clearing the mist.
a familiar face with name amiss.
push the chair arch the back
tilt the head till it snaps from the neck
an inch closing , the distance shortening, brows creasing, a sudden recognition, sharp turn, jump stand hasten run,
step out of the door, take a sharp left,
cling on to the wall with bated breath
collect and count upside down
peak to your right let the search begin
soiled sand under the porch with some zebra crossing.
She packed his lunch and also that of their awesome two
He kissed her cheeks and they hugged her too
“Let’s eat together and celebrate the woman in you”
Bangles in red hands,
Danced to the tune of pressed keys;
No longer in chains.
She glanced across the crowded cafe.
She sat afar. But not in her usual corner.
She wondered why did she change her seat.
She made herself cosy.Ready to camouflage in the sea
She saw her staring at the photo hanging in the wall. Of a traquil sea
She stared at the nothingness. Her vision was blurred and moist.
She looked at her. She seemed to be at peace.
Solitude was choking
I remember the day when I wore the yellow frock which had spotted little red polkas dots in the side and in the middle. It was a fine Saturday morning. The fair had just begun. Purple stinted white balloons with ribbons in the front.
Then came the toffees all glossy and round. The longer I gazed, the longer did they hold their charm. Staring at them for a good ten minutes I knew what I did want.
Turning to my mother, I pointed out the pinks and then the greens which in my head were already forming a long chain of beads, multiplying. Seeing me sulky and long, relented my good, not so old mom.
At last I took a bite of what turned out to be chewy deceptive gums. Nevertheless, savouring it all the way, along the gravelly road to my home.
By the time I stepped into the porch,
The sun was over my head. And that, along with the beads I ate, made my stomach ache. And then followed the scolds and the rebuke at my taste made in haste.
Twenty years later, there was another day which came along. In came you through the door, into my life, to stay forever long. Indebted to all the moments which led me to this day. Even the pink and green glossy chewy toffees, I devoured in the sunny morn that fine Saturday.
Doors slightly ajar,
A shadow cut at the hip;
Lover or stranger
Each morning she sat on the top, scanning and peeking below once in a while.
But then she would look to her right
and see her siblings and cousins fight
over what is wrong and what is right.
One would say we are a team. There is no blue bird red bird or green. All that mattered were the beaks, no matter they were thick or thin.
And then the daughter of my grandma’s second cousin’ son would speak – we all came from different eggs, all have their own feathers all have wishes what is this life if all we do is give and take.
Then the former would retort. It’s a clan, we don’t leave anyone behind. Its not about you, us or who can.
For us to sustain we need to collaborate and train.
My distant cousin would understand, but pout at the thought
Why can’t we have freedom and at the same time do the right?
And then Mimi our neighbor, who just happened to be in the vicinity would shout out seeing the intruding tall man.
all thoughts would take a backseat, they would take flight to the nearby pine tree, leaving philosophy to the wise and the elderly.
Hanging in the living room corner,
just beside the purple vase,
right behind the heater – the one, mom bought in the coldest winter,
Is a charcoal frame of yesteryears, freezing a scene at least two decades old – no,a couple more.
Two sets of wrinkled feet -one brown and one pink.
I guess it was a Friday,
there were ferries all along the coast. Awaiting the tired souls after a five day haul.
Do you remember Miss P, we visited each summer,
one with the yellow hair;
yes, behind that very household.
May be, may be not,
can’t trust the tales of, a then nine and another four year old.
Dusk was set, tide all time high.
Black water gushed and washed ashore; clinging on to the innocent ankles, they tried to stay firm on their hold. Desperate.
Until reminded, seas can’t be partial, waves are detached and impersonal. Reluctantly slipping through, with a promise to visit again sometime on the morrow.
Giggling sea – tanned faces,
wriggling their brown and pink toes in the still receding surf.
Leaving their tiny feet wrinkled and cold.
Memories are silly. They don’t remember anything. Just some haphazard bits of data arranged in order of no consequence.
And when they do get stored chronologically, some parts are always left missing.They forget what was in between. So to cover up, they concoct a plan. That was a a very screwed up plan to begin with.
Anyway, the plan was to prepare a dish – a rich dish per say.With all the usual ingredients – potatoes with a pinch of salt, sprinkles of pepper and mayonnaise. But to add texture,they added some good old radish.
Then I eat it,swallow it, devour it,gestate on it.Just unable to digest it.
Later I sit. Sensing something amiss, wondering what is that I missed. Not knowing then, it’s after all just the radish. Being where it has no business to be, filling in the gaps when it is not meant to be.
Silly memories. Playing with me.
P.C Monimoy Bhattacharyya
is a long wait
soil to soak –
the barren turf.
sent news today
a far away land,