November Rain..

Its seemingly feeling like decades after I had last tended to my blog. Perhaps exams do this to oneself..that I kept coming on and off the 'line' for the past one-and-a-half months only to rummage fruitlessly through some social networking sites, scribbling nonsense that led me nowhere. And tried keeping up the best of my efforts to hope to be back again on some fine morning at my literary best. Somewhere down the line, I wonder, whether I really should have taken up microbio in graduation. Or science in the first place. For nothing can be more excruciating than the attempt to comprehend how hard your T-lymphocytes and B-lymphocytes work in order to protect you from the big bad world, with two lines of poetry crossing you every now and then, that has just stumbled upon your mind. In the meanwhile, my monitor went dysfunc. and the entire system had to be transplanted with a second hand cousin, bearing innumerable scratches and fingerprints on its facade, which was enough to strain my eyes from having a view of whatever I'm scribbling down. But its comforting to be back on a writing spree..and I definitely refuse to put my pens down.

There has been some relief of late on the academic front. After shouting endlessly (behind closed doors) at the irresponsible stance of the college authorities to have scheduled an honours exam on the day of a BJP strike, and implore them politely with abundant reasons, our fifth semester exams have finally been postponed for half-a-month. And that was more of a success than what the BJP themselves can achieve through their strike..though I seriously doubt how effective this extended spell would be on our analogous lazy minds and what degree of futility will these silent demonstrations and noisy pleadings amount to, for the reverse doesn't work in Xaviers. But still, as of now, the thought of exams are a tad bit relieving. Rather, life seems worth re-living now.

Winter perhaps, after their long break-up spell of two years, has decided to settle its differences with Calcutta. Last Dec-Jan months had barely been a trailer of what Calcutta is like without men sweating profusely. The rise in humidity post Diwali is somehow endurable..for I had learnt of something called 'October heat' in class five geography books. But any justification behind January heat, I bet, can even put geography to shame. But this time around, winter, it seems, is here to stay..thanks to a few unexpected spells of November rain.

College life is nearing a dead end. Way more dead, since the next avenues are still under heavy mist cover, hesistant enough to go open. Wish its not what we've spent three years hearing to..the pride in declaring that there's "Nothing beyond". Cheer Nihil Ultra, anyone? Finally, making ourselves believe that we have literally concluded with five semesters out of six is something to wonder about and ponder upon.

Today, its one of the most special days of my life, if not the most..Only that it hurts to be alone on a day like this. Its we who made it special, and its us to whom it is. And hence, its all the more painful to celebrate such a day with exams intersecting the back of my mind every second. This blog was an effort to celebrate the day in my own petite way..owing the present joyous state of my mind to the little pleasantries that has been trickling onto my life now and then. And to reach out to you miles away with a share of the feeling that is destined to remain the same..

"When I look into your eyes, I can see a love restrained

But darlin' when I hold you, Don't you know I feel the same?

'Cause nothin' lasts forever..And we both know hearts can change

And it's hard to hold a candle

In the cold November rain.."

His Masterpiece...

I had been wondering about the Creator. His fluid masterstrokes that bring about the essence of childhood, the fragrance in flowers, and all that is so profound in the name of poetry. But then, childhood wanes and fragrances fail to intoxicate. Even poetry falters to move. And the forgotten leftover is the abyss that seeks refuge under the dwelling of nature, onto the lap of the Creator. For it is Him, who thrives in the midst of drenched meadows and rainfed rivers. And trickles onto our land through the midrib of a leaf. Truly enough, if the world is the Creator's canvas, rains have been His masterpiece.

An Evanescent Evening..

The rain had made them wait.
Whilst they wished to play it again..
In the rain.

Monsoon deluded them.
But they had more,
to give in to the game..
Live yet another elusive evening
And quench a few promises.

He had his trousers rolled up
She, her fluid tresses free
With their feet treading quietly
To the surreal depths of the sea..

They had it on their mind
The promise of the game..
on another murky evening
on some dusty, familiar lane..
where withered bits of maples
held it by the hand
Heralding the rain..
And the ivy leaves camouflaged
Their clandestine game.

They had it on their mind
The blurred remnants of an evening
That got lost on the way..
Behind the translucent veil of the feeling
That hollowed them astray.

And the shadows that swirled around them
Swabbing the ecstasy out of the rain
With a trail of the pureed joy ..
Honeycombed by the peccadillo
To love and love again..

And left the children wonder at
How tethers break..and dreams cease,
For who tore their bond apart..
And hurled onto the lap of abyss
From the evening, From the feeling
From the game of bliss and pain
Were it the forlorn rain-soaked shadows?
Or the illusory shadow-soaked rain?

The Twelfth Night..

I really don't know what has been so special about the rains these days. I haven't been able to talk to the rain for quite some time now on account of some nerve-wrecking exam preparations, but nevertheless could I feel myself listening to it every night. And it was the twelfth night of the fifth month of the ongoing year that I waited for hours on end for it, but nevertheless did it betray me, like it does on the hot summer afternoons. I was away from my bedroom and without my pillow to help me cry out the entire night, for we stayed back at my uncle's place on account of the elections. And it was 2 o' clock in the midnight that I found myself insomniac, sitting beside someone else's window and looking out into the night through a not-so-familiar wind, with a void mind somehow brimming with a lot of things to say.....about how some paths had intersected, about the divinity in them and how life deserved to have been beyond it. For it was just a couple of years back that I spent my happiest night on the twelfth night of the fifth month of 2007.

It brought back those tears which I had not expected that night, and the eerie feeling that quite often makes me beg before the rain to come and cover up the whole of my existence in the eddy currents of its fearful and loathsome vigour.

And reminded me the moment back home, when on the terrace with my mother under the full moon-light, I saw her eyes getting filled up reminiscing some distant, unfulfilled, unforgettable memories while musing on the lines...

"Shokhi bhalobasha kare koy...
Shey ki keboli jatonamoy..."

The Downpour...

Amidst the crossroads of memory lane
I know I've lost, and there's nothing to gain

Embroiling me further in the fangs of a bane
I watch my hopes going to vain

I know my tears you'll disdain
But before you, I haven't learnt to feign

Tied up in times' merciless chain
I lay on the broken pieces of my window pane

Yes, I can take all the pain
For another walk with you under the heaviest rain...

Sounds of rain, and music...

It has been a tiring day to no end. And one utterly wronged.

Right since I opened my eyes to another half-sunny-rest-cloudy morning..only to realise he's not in Cal. Well..he'd be here mext morn only..atleast that's what had been his word before he left. Or that's what can give me an immediate consolation. But its true you can't cling to forcibly imposed beliefs for long. And I shuddered to think that a few days from now every morning would be like this one. I'm not crying a bit just because I'm not supposed to. And I seriously hope the next time I meet him, I'd be able to greet him with a smile.

The dizzy morning made me, quite unlike myself, feel reluctant to drive. And I'm again late in waking up. I feel sorry for it everyday. Not only while getting verbally thrashed by mom, but truly from within. Mom doesn't know this and I guess she'll never believe that. Only this morning, I wished to sleep a little longer.

College timings were late today, thanks to a few reluctant professors. For I could atleast watch the drenched roads patiently drying up. The verandah floor was still enveloped with water, maybe about a quarter-to-quarter-inch. Quite an effort towards perfection, but I'm sure I failed again.

And sitting in the verandah I heard the kids having a tough time spelling Thiruvananthapuram correctly. Meanwhile I kept up my endeavour towards finding the slightest hint of the stars concealed by their some big fat brethren by the end of the night.

I wished in the least to go to college today. Grossly speaking, step out of home. And still more, walking all the way to BCL, alone. I guess I had to. That's why baba had been indifferent today. And the auto-rickshaws made the people wait for what seemed like eternity. It has been I think the longest queue till now. It frequently happens these days. I guess they too want their share of fare rise. And by the time I reached the metro station, buckets of rain were at the helm of trickling down.

The maidan metro exit was a tad overcrowded today. I wondered how in the world people can step out of home during monsoon without an umbrella; and then crowd at the station gate to keep from the rain. I squeezed my way reluctantly through some sweating backs and stinking armpits, out into the blinding rain. I got half of my jeans wet..slipped my foot once on the road..and missed my first class. Walked all the way to BCL, alone, quivering in the cold.

I don't know why I wanted to be in the rain. Fever was creeping in..I could understand. But still didn't feel like moving out. I don't know why I picked up the "Let it bleed" CD from the rack. Maybe it was all to hide those bleeding scars which can only be concealed by the rain.

And then in college staircase, I met the other him. The only thing about him that caught my eye was the blue he was wearing. It reminded me of some bluish conversations and fights..requests and remarks. And a blue furry overcoat he wished to buy for his twins. As for this him, I seriously do not care meeting him every single day. But I feel him hovering around me as a nemesis..for all those crimes I did by hurting him. Or a litmus test to prove myself, to myself, while he's away. I felt confident to go through it and show him the results when he comes back after four years.

I hated the attitude of a lot of people today..as I usually everyday do. And again bit the lips to keep quiet. The only soothing element while leaving college was the sound of a distant flute played by a classmate at one corner of the evening-sky-laden-college ground. And I wished I could play the flute too. Only to allure somebody to stay back.

And I came back home in the jolting and scorching interiors of a 5 o’ clock train.

I guess somethings I’d never be able to fathom. For why those somethings happen and how are they scheduled to happen with oneself. Like why I left my cellphone home today..or what was so special about today’s rain..why I had to try to be happy with friends..or why that flute made me cry like never before.

And why I couldn’t gather just anything to tell him tomorrow…and make him smile…and smile myself…and greet him all over again, with a counterfeit smiling face.

Rains that never returned...

Rains have always been a part of me. I can feel myself connect with the rain.
May be for the rest of the world,its just a few moments of downpour,bringing smiles on faces;or a seemingly never-ending process,causing disgust and wrinkles on forehead.It may be an object to love,a reason to celebrate,a peril to fear or a curse to hate.But after having known about the boons and massacres it has caused through ages, I have never been able to form my well-defined opinion about rain.

Rather rain didn't let me form an opinion about it...

It never appeared to me in its true self.....and has always been a hypocrite.It has been with me, in me; never as some separate entity called "rain".But always, as me.

I saw myself growing up with the rain.I can still recollect my toddler days when the faint sound of a drizzle on the rooftop made my heart pound with huge elation.It was right since then, that I actually started talking to the rain.

I remember the dusky midday,years ago at my parental house, when I heard the 'hammering' of rain on the window panes and got to know what is 'hail'.The whole noon was then spent collecting hailstones with father and big bro...and meticulously counting them to be the highest collector!

I recall the rainy mornings when dadu used to have differences with mom and aunt regarding me and bro going to school.We always used to support him silently, and as per the rule,majority always used to win.

The mornings thereafter have remained deeply imprinted on my mind.Though I was never a foodie, still the smell of khichudi and luchi-aloor dum coupled with the intoxicating smell of rain never failed to create an euphoric mood in me.

I still laugh to remind the surprise on everyone's face when I predicted rain on a fine sunny day and after minutes of sneering, it DID start to rain!
I have always been able to feel rain before it came...the first drop of water on ground gives me the amazing essence of drenched soil and wet meadows....saturated ponds and flooded streets....the essence of a holiday in Venice....the essence of finding me within me....

It was monsoon when I met, rather recognised, that "First person" in my life.
He reminded me of a windy evening after a scorching noon..flying dead leaves over a deserted street..shivers in the frigid northern wind..sound of breaking window panes and the familiar screams of unnecessary panic…
He reminded me of a Tagore song…and long solitary walks on rainfed gardens.He brought back loneliness in my 'fulfilled' life, and taught me to feel lost in the midst of a crowd.He gave me the chance to share new stories with the monsoon, experiences of my first-found love.

And it was another monsoon,he left......

Dadu was no more, big bro went miles away...And baba was also no more the same.He seemed to have grown up with his baby daughter.What didn't change was rain.

Grief went beyond my grasp...and familiar faces seemed foreign.I felt stuck at home with alienated figures.Loneliness pervaded all around.I had to love life that way.They say they love walking in the rain coz no one can see them crying.I disagree.I love rain coz it cries with me,unlike everyone else...

Until a magic wand struck....and everything changed.....

It was raining cats and dogs the day...
a magician came into my life...And showed me life the way it should have been...
He showed me after night there's day,after mistakes a chance and after every winter,comes a spring.
He showed me the rainbow after rain...
I learnt not to be happy being lonely and craved to hold his hand.To look at the polished side of the coin and overlook the dull side.To love and accept love with its hues...All over again.

It still rains the same way,but I miss the rains that reminded me the smell of my grandmom,my worn-out parental house,my childhood...I wish that angel had come into my life long back.And I could hold his hand and walk across those wet streets under the same heavy rains,for years to come.Wish my family would have been the same...

And all of us would have been together...ma,baba,dadu,thamma,dada,me and my angel....under the ethereal bliss of the rain....