He replied "Saddam"

At Tanjore, we admired the Bhadisvara temple in a way that architecture illiterates are expected to do. We could see people around who did exactly the same thing. They were very eager like us to capture the temple and more so their visit in photographs and videos which they themselves were producing. While leaving, just at the temple gate, we were accosted by a sweet little bright boy, selling incense sticks. When asked about the price, he said "ten for the sticks and two my commission". "Please take the sticks" my mother said and I took them and gave him a ten rupee note. He repeated "ten for the sticks and two my commission", mildly complaining to my mother about her stingy son, it appeared. We could not help but smile.My mother gave his ruffled hair a maternal toss as he smiled taking in a breath and showing those broken newly growing incisors. Mother asked "what is your name".
He replied "Saddam".

Out came a butterfly, from another tree full of leaves

Too sweet, the tea today morning, an irritation as P. looked up from his crossword to complain to the bare tree overlooking us. Out came a butterfly, from another tree full of leaves, the winter wind so slight in morning sun, and soon in his eyes a doubt of whether it was a fly or the leaf itself flown by the wind.

That small incident, that ambiguity, was enough to create the mood swing as P. drank the rest of the tea and solved his crossword.

too much of it, now lets progress

After the erasure of ‘graffiti from the walls’ in the last Assembly elections, another quintessentially symbolic trait of West Bengal politics and everyday life of Kolkata – ‘the STRIKES’ it is felt need be engraved in fleeting nostalgia. People of the city seem to be saying or the purported mediated political rhetoric is – “too much of it, now lets progress”. The historical phantom of counter-cultural kitsch and the political satire of limericks and caricatures might yet again be a part of city walls, due to an amendment legalizing graffiti passed by the State Assembly lately, ‘the STRIKES’ however, seem to be an insignificant drone around the defiant hunger-strike of Mamata Banerjee.

sifted from them the one dream of dreams and interpreted it

I said...

I looked at your dreams, sifted from them the one dream of dreams and interpreted it. it was about you wanting to have a choco-dip. I wanted to laugh at you and then felt so sorry for myself, I was laughing at your innocence, that you were a small girl.

You said...

I looked at your dreams, sifted from them the one dream of dreams and interpreted it.it was about you interpreting my dream of having a choco-dip. I wanted to laugh at you and then felt so sorry for myself, I was laughing at your innocence, that you were an old man.

Imagination of a Disaster

The responses to the Bhopal Gas "Disaster" have been recurrent and multiple, sufficing it to be finally labeled a "Tragedy", with resistance against perpetrators brought in forth by empathy, imagination and crucially so, "bare need". A professor of mine recently recalled," how strange we have not been able to do better", considering "all Indians are Activists", I told him a bit stubbornly i believe "at least we are getting better and better". "Ah"...he said..."but its not enough"... and became lost and I left him to come with an "Imagination of a Disaster"

Woody Allen would make a film on us.

thought, really did, that
I will go to that small beach we discovered together

thought, really did, that
You will come today there in the morning at 5

thought, really did, that
I will come with my laptop and play you the tune of the sea kissing the rocks

thought, really did, that
You will come with your hair over your ears and listen to it

thought, really did, that
We will lie over the fisherman's raft and talk about Virginia Woolf's Lighthouse

thought, really did, that
Woody Allen would make a film on us.

act of aping

A fragmented screen. The visuals interpreting the text written between the communicators in its own hyper-real space with the text occupying half the screen. The screen had a de-centering effect. You were neither in the text nor in the screen and you knew it was not real. You enjoyed sometimes maybe trying to be puppetted by the visuals, in the parodying act itself you wanted to make fun of it, avenge your disgrace. You wrote the text as if you were the scriptwriter manipulating the visuals. Sometimes nobody cared. Nobody actually should get so psyched up; it is just a friendly tongue and cheek. Still, you did ask for it when it was offered. The rebellion of the powerless against the powerful - act of aping.

Excerpts from my unpublished novel.

thought again today why

real good Wine and yet I shall be a bit dissapointed with them . After those scent-filled sips and the sea so beautiful, they talked about work, brought it to dinner table after 5, then told me to eat it too with wine, it did not taste well, could it have?

A weekend so dreaded because of the boredom it brings, came and is passing by. A trip to Chennai cancelled, a plan for Mahabalipuram dropped in mid-air. sunday morning left with newspapers, cut a few of them across bylines, read a few lines in the literary review twice over coffee ( the only thing i made today), invented an idea for an article, lost it after having lost myself in Vanilla Sky...

thought again today why i read books? and then looked up the two paragraphs above this one...