Eating, reading, writing, waiting, watching, exploring.
If you're happy, stay away. You're boring.
Will you remember me
When I'm no longer around?
Will you burn down our photographs?
Our sad memories? Our glorious times?Our battered history? Our noir films?
Will you silence our muffled sounds?
Maybe years later, when you stumble upon those photographs your gentle fire could not burn
Will you try to restore the decrepit building which housed them?
Perhaps I'll never know.
Because one day I'll drop off
On the streets, uncared for,
Like a book. There'll be so many others like me, who will not be sold.
When it's time to go, they'll simply let me be
Because they know, no one else will ever have me.
I'll forever be lost in the cozy comfort of cheap leather within your yellow walls,
Chasing you through the narrow alleys in the north and the broad avenues in the south.
And just when I thought I finally had you,.
In my white kurta stained with ink --- Losing my capitalist argument over the red morning tea, I realise I've lost you again. You've sprung jazz cafes for me.
I see you in a designer robe you've hired from your new neighbours. For a moment, your lights seem foreign to me.
But when the old man with a long beard plays his tune, and the kids of today in your old white palaces match your chords, I think
Perhaps you've not changed at all.
Next I see you, you're all decked in a white saree whose ends tell me it's time
I came back home. I hold your sweet hands. And when you ask me,
'So did you fall in love with me once again?'
I smile gently, and reply;
'Oh my Victoria, I never fell out of love with you.' Pic courtesy: @taboochild_
I catch a fleeting glimpse of you
As you try to match your steps
To the volume of bullish markets going up and down, till you reach a crescendo
And decide you had enough numbers for the day.
You want to grab my hand
and run away to the only place which makes you feel at home - your crowded beach. Like you and me, you realise,
The rest of the world needs a break too.
And so we adjust ourselves on the gravelled Drive. We witness
The golden evening sky slithering into the dark horizon by the sea
And the concrete jungle lights up everyday like Diwali at night
To remind you that you never sleep.
Your perfume is foreign to me,
I presume it's Portuguese.
You try to mask it with your English accent and American style.
And yet, your smell gives you away.
The same earthly smell which drove Manto so wild with ecstasy he could never stop fantasizing about you even when he was on his deathbed in Lahore.
You know how to turn on your charm.
And like numerous admirers throughout your life, you got me floored.
But your dreamy eyes tell me there is more to you
Than the romantic art you want to sell,
All the lives you have sold,
All the lovers you've bored.
What is that, darling? On your pearl earring?
Why is it burnt at one end?
Is it because you trusted the ones you loved too much
And they set fire to your wild heart?
And when the paparazzi appeared, with cameras flashing
You did not try to conceal the marks made by tears running down your cheeks.
But that was hardly front page news.
Nor was how a part of you still lives
Without a roof for a shelter. They don't care about these -- these are not your cues.
As long as you are selling your riches,
You'll always be on the news.
As long as you can lure more people into your shoebox luxury, you will always be you.
We must be more than just flesh and bones, ties and suit, gold and stocks,
Dancing to the tunes of your disco songs.
Mumbai, stop trying to prove yourself to the world so hard
And become my beloved Bombay, just for once?
Pic : My Bombay Memories. Elphinstone College, Fort Area, Bombay
This is exactly how happy being home for Diwali after 2 years makes you ❤
The day went almost as perfectly as I had planned it in my head : a sumptuous Diwali dinner, sweets, some nice cocktails and the fire crackers 🎆
The fact that I don't know if I'll be home for the next Diwali, makes me live this Diwali to the fullest.
Khushiyon ki Diwali ✨
Actual representation of me looking at the vast syllabus I've left to complete before exams begin and wondering whether I need education after the fun and frolic of pujo.
behind the lens.
Pujo is like how Rabindranath Tagore described short stories : শেষ হইয়াও হইল না শেষ।
আগামী পুজোর অপেক্ষা রইল।
শুভ বিজয়া ❤
I wish I was everyday the way I was today : a little drunk, a little high, a little tired but warm, happy and near my loved ones. ❤
Subho Nabami to everyone!
Hey little sis,
You know you've earned a place in my timeline probably not because of what you are, but because of what your family is😂
All the best for your new life in America. Let not America kill the bubbly energetic stupidity you have.
With lots of love and aashirbaad,
Pic courtesy: @dead_lazy_
So tell me, how long have you been friends with your "friends" that you think your "friendship" is real?
We've been friends for almost a decade and a half now. Although we support rival clubs, we are the best of brothers.
Hope "Life" never happens to us. Happy Birthday brother! ❤
happy birthday bro!
Desperately trying to keep Byomkesh Bakshi relevant in Hyderabad.
A guy from Kolkata wearing a kurta from Lucknow and a veshti from Chennai in Hyderabad on ethnic day.
Diversity much?😉 @headfonejunkie
My fellow Kopite bro,
You'll Never Walk Alone✌
Oh, and it was ethnic day too.😅
Keeping the North Calcutta spirit alive in the south of the country❤
I have never felt more fulfilling in college than I did today while doing the aarti. Gentle reminder that in spite of all of our differences, we can come together to submit to a being higher than all of us.
Happy Ganesh Chaturthi.
The dark clouds gathering in the evening sky,
Remind me that it's time to go.
I have passed an hour of my borrowed time,
Sharing the dying sunlight with a friend. So low
I feel, chasing my borrowed dreams and Crunching deadlines, and faking love to a life
I do not feel like living a second longer.
But, if living a second longer means that the sun
Will stay up for a second more --the evening tea
We call for will be stronger
Than the drinks we nurse ourselves with
at night when we cannot but forcibly sleep
Because we have forgotten what it was
That we wanted from our lives (living a deep,
Dark, twisted and planned nightmare- turned-reality) -- I am willing to trade
this whole life
For just a second of forgotten happiness;
To feel again what it felt like to not care,
Not frown, or fret, or cry, or try anything at all.
This fading daylight -- a sign of our faithlessness,
Makes my friend fervent with drunk passion.
He cries out, "I can't take this anymore.
Tomorrow, I'll resign. The day after, I'll run away
From this godforsaken place, and be a famous pirate somewhere unknown.
You know, I'd rather die before
I have to return to my desk-job again!" I wish him luck, for I know we both
Have doused that raging fire within us
Long before. We have accepted whatever
Fate has thrown our way, and have learnt to
Lick her boots, and be grateful, and rush
To please her every morning as soon as we wake up.
Maybe these clouds are a sign of changing times.
Maybe there will be rain.
Maybe there'll be a flood, washing everything we know
All away, telling us there is still time to go back
To where we were, and start our lives all over again.
, Sunset in Omotesando, Tokyo. Source: Tumblr
Oh God, hear out the wails,
disguised as a prayer,
of a sinner who seeks redemption
from nothing in particular, but life.
The crimson arches of your abode
remind me of the necessary blood
on my hands, as I try to persuade
my honest intentions
from not killing you.
Today I forgive all those sinners
who have made your walls redder
than my heart ever was, or my face
will be, when I am forced to shame.
Today I let go of all those infidels
who light incense at your feet every day,
hoping that the aroma of the myrrh
will put on a blanket on their forgiven sins.
Tell me how to purchase
your grace. How much have they paid
to make your walls so high
that we would but give up
before we can feel the silhouette
of your presence? Who are they
to make us penance for their borrowed sins?
Are you crying God? Can you listen
to the waves of disappointment
surging within our empty hearts?
Or are you just faking sympathy,
nodding your head, 'I understand',
and shedding a fake tear or two,
like your beloved believers, who
scurry away from your downpour,
in search of safe haven?
Their white umbrellas are good enough
to shield their blackened hearts --
It is we who need your deliverance.
Trust them just a bit longer, my Lord, until they trade you to crown themselves. (Photo: Rain at Kasuga Shrine, Hasui Kawase (1883 - 1957))
Of Abandonment/The Japanese Dido
Teach me how to wait for you,
So that every time I look at the sea
and see the silhouette of an unmoored ship,
I hope that you'll come back to me,
and not forsake me --
Like you did before.
Teach me how to love you less,
So that every evening I don't rush
To light my dimming lantern,
Hoping that the big, dark cosmos cannot
Conspire and defeat me
From illuminating your heart,
When you land on this lonely shore.
Teach me how to bring respite
To my restless soul, for I cannot live
Holding on to a furtive dream
of seeing you moor at my shore -- Hearing your husky voice again.
Teach me how to stop sacrificing entrails
In pursuit of a blessing I might never twice receive.
Tell me, what can I do
so that you'll fall for me,
All over again?
Should I set this wooden deck I'm standing on alight,
so that this aisle for our love becomes the pyre for its death?
Photo: The silhouette of a courtesan looking out over the sea (c. 1910). Koson Ohora (1877-1945). Japan.
"Non-violence is the first article of my faith. It is also the last article of my creed." Gandhi's historic trial speech post Chauri Chaura, 1922.
Taking up the role of the protagonist -- a person as simple in real life and as complex in character as Gandhi, was a challenging one. Probably the most challenging role I've (successfully) pulled off on stage.