I hate how scared I am of growth. Of things changing and taking on new shapes. Of new places, of movements, of new thoughts emerging and old ones dying out. I hate how quickly the growth spreads through me, like a creeper well sustained by rain and sun. How quick the world changes, how hard… Continue reading Creepers
We are the children of clouds, hiding from the day and waking when the Sun sets. We walk gingerly among the remains of the day; concrete, sand, and stones. We press our ears to still-warm walls, and listen to the sound of heat leaving their frames. It lingers a while, echoing through the brick and… Continue reading We the Children of Clouds
প্রিয় সঙ্গীতা দি, আপনি আমায় চেনেন না। আমিও যে চিনি তেমন নয় তবে আপনার নাম জানি, লেখাও পড়েছি।আমি আপনার ফেসবুক বন্ধুতালিকাতেও নেই কিন্তু আমার পরিচিত অনেকেই আছেন ফলে সেই সূত্রে আপনার পোস্ট মাঝেমধ্যেই চোখে পড়ে। খারাপ লাগে, ব্যক্তিগত ভাবে আঘাত লাগে যখন ভাড়াবাড়িতে থাকা, খসখসে চামড়া, ফুটপাথ থেকে কেনা সস্তার চাদর আর দড়িতে ঝুলে থাকা… Continue reading সঙ্গীতা বন্দ্যোপাধ্যায়কে একটি রাগ-না-করা খোলা চিঠি
Call me quaint, but Radha is one of those metaphors that never fail to move me no matter how cliched. In a way, she is such a primal symbol of love; a love so pure and all-consuming even a god couldn't handle its weight and had to run away. Radha is what remains when we… Continue reading Amar Haat Bandhibi: A Translation
'Jaago Rai' was first published as a series in a Bangla poetry blog, and garnered quite a following. The poems were collected and published in 2013 as a little black chapbook illustrated by the poet himself and created by a little collective of madcap writers and artists who called themselves 'Houdinir Tnabu' (Houdini's magic tent).
On days like this, I don't want the pain to stop. I wake up dreaming of sumptuous steaks in golden platters and my stomach turns. The weak but insistent rays of a late-winter sun struggle against my dusty blue curtain and I try to wipe off the smug faces of my uncle and aunt sitting… Continue reading Love Will Keep Us Alive
You wake up and it's foggy. Outside the window and inside it. You are moving too slow, as you always do. Your ears are filled with the strange buzz of no-noise and your mouth is chalky with no-taste. You have one thousand things you should have done by last night and they are not done… Continue reading It’s Foggy in Here