'Bespoke Identities'

How are 'Identities' made?

Is it a face, a façade or a character?

Or is it a garb we wear?

To show what are we,

Or maybe we are!

 

He deftly puts the last nick and fidgets once more in his mind to see if this is what an expression should look like.
'She' has puja in her house and needs to look perfect, he carefully scrutinizes for any imperfections.
He's a ladies tailor and you could always hear his wheels running as he stitches incessantly for the upcoming festive season. 
His posture always bent, his conversations are succinct and snappy as he is with his fingers.
No matter what the occasion he's never closed except the customary Thursdays of the week. 
The cramped area doesn't bother him, his workspace is limited just to the stitching table, which he shares with a television mechanic!

 It is the alacrity of such people that helps us manoeuvre a pretty shape.

 His understanding of the form helps him stich the perfect fit every time
.
Amidst the bustling market the fishy stench and his haggling customers each with varied specifications, unique to each, he makes all shapes and sizes look complete.
 
Neither his bottle bit spectacle nor his age gives him the option to forget anything at all as he,  'Tailors Identities'.

He makes us all as unique as we imagine ourselves to be!

So his wheels are always running!
 

But mind you his tongue is just as sharp as his scissors,
guess his age gives him this must liberty!

 



'The Jalebi Mind'

I like being as uncomplicated as possible!

But often I meet people who are otherwise.

 

 

To them nothing can ever be simple or straight!

And everything has to have a hidden pun to it.

I cant really say I absolutely abhor such folks,

because honestly sometimes even I begin to question

too much. As more often than not, the hardest thing to do...

is to trust!

 

But its also the easiest thing to do, if..

We are not making Jalebis in our mind!

 

I like to think simply,

 But...

 I often wonder if the other person is also as simple as me!

 

 



'The Others'

 

Its 66 years, and still going...

With life as stagnant,

With pot holes screaming

And pricey onions beaming

We celebrate a public holiday!

In honour of our freedom,

And a flag of our own.

 

There are those who capitalize,

 in the name of our country's honour.

 And

 those who do so to buy themselves some honour!

 

This post is dedicated to the later!

Hope you like it.

 

 

 

For some its a dry day,

Some rest it out!

Its a great day to go site seeing,

And even better at home!

 

I wish freedom to all!

 

 

'Smiles'

 

 

 



'Floating in Time'

 

When I was young I loved floating boats and I could never fly  paper planes,

so I always hated them, today when I'm older I think the best thing about boats are

they can sail through storms!

 
For a better resolution, the post can also be seen here http://issuu.com/lopaghosh/docs/paper_boats

 

As he became 'A Man'

 

It was drizzling outside,

As my bus arrived.

Mumbai as always was at its humid best!

I got into an auto, to reach home,

A little boy came to me

 With his glassy eyes 

And naked torso,

He extended his palm to beg. {So!}

I gave him a ten rupee note

His cardboard face parted to smile,
I looked at his gleam as he ran, in his spree.
My rickshaw took the by pass,
 { I could still hear his glee}

 His family resided under the bridge,

 His mother combed her sticky hair,

 His siblings roamed nude,

 His father played sexual games with his sister
As he returned to his world {crude!}.

The little boy pranced around  his mother,

He waved the ten rupee note.
 I saw him become a man from a boy

He danced in overjoy.

I live in a country where when people,
 Are capsized in the waves,
 The heroes tweet their heroic words,
{ As the army die conducting their saves!}

Its a good common topic right?!
When the government forget to inform.
Yet the bureaucrats have a sound sleep.
{...My father struggle day & night.} 

I live in a country, where when a cricketer steals,

He hits off to a pilgrimage to wash off his sins

He hides behind his rich to be wife's veil.
Its all ok as life goes on. {its normal sail}

I live in a country where the school goes on, 

When little kids die in rain.

I live in a country where 53 die eating their regular lunch,

Spiked with pesticide,
 As their illiterate teacher didn't know any better,
{She ignored the screaming kids hunch!}

I live in a country where nirbhaya's boyfriend returns,
 To claim his share of fame,
When her name is still not exposed.
{ After all its our country's shame!} 

I live in a country where the husband finds it easy,
To fling acid on his wife's face 

and chop off her fingers.
{"what! she didn't have enough grace!"}

I live in a country where the people mourn more for a Chinkara's death.

I live in a country where the young voice up to social abuse

As the old still live muttering under their breath!

I live in a country where my maid smiles more than me,

Even after all  her chores.
{I live in a country where people still scream more for cricket scores.}

I live in a country where a boy of six becomes a man.
I live in a country where a boy of six takes the responsibility of his clan!

Beautiful isn't it?!   

 

 I see all this and more when I come home, with my whole country being the way it is I just realize what a ten rupee note is as a boy of six becomes a man, and I at 23 am yet not ready! 

 

 

 

'The Silly Question'

 

A little girl once asked a question,

As silly as it can be..

She asked her mother very innocently,

As innocent as '5' can be

'Ma

 

 '

 

The mother held her darling close,

And whispered silently,

' I wear a bindi, as I do

 

 

 

The way I am'

The little girl stood baffled

 

 

She was just 5,

Too young to realize.

 

With the passing years,

The question got buried,

As with other things life got carried...

Understanding

Realizing

Fantasizing,

Finding what one is..

From 5 to 23

She realized what's being to be...

From her mother,

 

 

so she

 

 

Now from a little girl to a woman

She realized what's a 'bindi' !

 

 

Today at 23 I learn to be a woman from her

As at 48 she lives her girl through me...

 

My ma taught me the best thing one can ever teach, the idea of being complete.

Wish you a very 'Happy Birthday'.

I'm sooo lucky to have you.

Touch wood!

Smiles

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

'Moments'

Today happens to be the 'Jagannath Festival' in West Bengal. But for me its always simply rath {chariot festival} a day I would eagerly wait for when I was little , as my parents would buy me a vibrant  wooden chariot. It was unique in  design, with three storey's resembling the structure of a building. Both my parents are very artistic so they used to decorate the chariot with my favourite coloured marble sheets, folding the papers in myriad forms to bring out various textures. I watched them going about it in awe at their deftness. I was just too clumsy with craft and still am so I suited myself to just realizing the magic unfold as they made a simple wooden chariot look like a palace of dreams with paper flags flying high!

 

In my younger days I hardly got my baba to stay with me or be around, but somehow I always got him on the eve of rath and both of us would mount the Jagannath idols in the basement and light candles in the other two floors, and pull it around the para {the locale}. With all the colony kids scouted around by their grand parents or caretakers I was just too happy to have my dad next to me! As to me, my baba is the greatest!

For some reason I used to be the only girl pulling rath, and I used to stare at baba with tears welling up as all the boys stared, and my baba would proudly say ' you're better than them, the best'

 

As I leave the age of being baba's little princess, I often revisit those memory pages to rekindle my childhood which I left with leaving Kolkata, as there were too many journeys to undergo!

But I regret none as I've such beautiful people with me.

Ma 'O' Baba

 

  

'Touch wood'

Smiles..



'Unlearning'

 

'The Window'

 

 

“Of the roads travelled,

And of the roads traversed,

The straight, the curved or

Just maybe a little slanted...

 I wandered through them,

My invisible grid lines.

 

 They taught me my route and even my way,

But they could never show my destiny to say.

 

 The road and the process made things so definite

That I forgot, that in thing’s definition,

I became obscure.

 

 As ideas never have a process or ever an ultimate route..

 

 Soon my thoughts were replaced with fears!
 

 My lessons through the grid lines.

 

 

My tread across brought me to many faces;

Of which some where to stay,

Some to be remembered!

And some, an effort to forget.

 I wandered through them,

My invisible grid lines.

 

 

All the lines I walked,

I ponder which of them,

Showed me my destiny?

And

 All I have now

Are the craggy bits of nostalgia

Mingled with obscurity

And

 Obscurity as permanence.

 

No line can be taught

 To be straight or curved.

Few things are best

As

Scribbles in pages 

 Beyond the gridlines.

 

Of  the roads travelled

Of the roads traversed!”

It’s  those beyond the grid lines

That got me to me! "

 

 

 

 

 

 The sketch is of my college through the window of my hostel.

 As I leave those days, I just thought of remembering what I am to forget!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



'**** happens'

'Slip'

 

Her heart thumped uncontrollably as she waited outside the principals office, waiting for her sentence to come, her only mistake was that she used a cuss word so publically. Being from a very outgoing home where the use of uncensored words were just another way of venting out one's frustration, she really didn't realise the hoopla. She was thirteen and more or less a social recluse, so inevitably she dabbled through many a worlds via books. She always thought that books don't judge and they do not have any boundaries.

Its was on one such monotonous rainy afternoon when her farther gave her that book and said "darling of late you are becoming too uptight you need to read other books that move  out of the very goody goody zone and teach the rude side of things." 

'ENGLISH AUGUST '  by Upamanyu Chatterjee, as she browsed through the first page, the book already started to introduce her to a psychedelic world of being stoned, marijuana and 'hazaar f***ed'. She was both mesmerized by these new delinquencies and also baffled. Her dictionary didn't hold the meaning of 'f***ed' so asked her father what that word specifically  means, " hmm it means being in deep trouble". She always liked to learn new words and definitely show it off in school. She couldn't wait for the vacation to get over, so she can flaunt her new word power. This time the response was more than overwhelming from her batch mates, they presumed her to be bold and was quiet amused by her bawdiness. She was on cloud nine and imagined herself to be the modern day Shelly or Shakespeare or maybe even Byron, Edna Millay or Emily Bronte !. It was all going fine with a remarkable 1st term mark sheet, except when one day she ended up using the word to describe the  peril of students under the wrath of  her class teacher. At that very moment her life came to a standstill as she was zipped to the principals office in a flash! It was in that exact moment she truly fathomed the true sense of the word without the English lexicon. Right then she got royally 'hazaar f***ed' and all her pals and unconditional admirers were right there in the witness box as alibi's to her 'slip of tongue'!

 

 

'Unrequited love'

  In the starless sky,

The moon asked the Night

"Hey do you ever miss me?"

"When the sky is dark

        When the moments silent

            Do you ever miss me?"

The night moved on its dead pace,

As the last moving train screeched

                     to a halt...

The lovers moaned in their embrace.

All the sounds bonded

                  to their unearthly silence.

But the Night remained quiet,

To the moons nagging questions.

Only the moons voice echoed to her own call

 

                                                                                                           " Do you miss me?

                                                                                                              Do you miss me?"

                                                                                   "for once or little or ever, at all?" 

 

'Before We Part'

Good Bye!

 

"Three people, all to part

Bread, tea and jam for start

All to leave, for the new

Conversations, for the moments few !

Farewell !!"

 

It was the 7th of June, and the weather was cloudy. On such a day three friends headed out on one bike for breakfast at Vohuman Café, as they said good bye to a semester and each other.

The tea and the parting glances makes me go back to that day again. 

See you soon!

 



' Our Silent Double Side '

 

We smoke as we love to smoke,

To breathe out the daily smog.

But if you ever catch us doing so ,

You are in for a flog.

 

We smoke as we love to smoke

We caress our silent double side,

Its something from our parents...

We hide.

 

We smoke as we love to smoke

But good girls don't do so,

Are we good?

I don't know!

 

We smoke as we love to smoke

We caress our silent double side, 

 Don't judge, what you don't know

After all everything can't be read!

So please don't get so quickly mislead!

 

Hypocrites we are,

As secrets we hold.

But then there are reasons

Why few things should be untold! 

 

We smoke as we love to smoke

There's nothing more to read in

We breathe out those obscure sighs

The ones that often, so timidly dies.

But good girls don't do so,

Are we good?

I don't know!

 

But why am I spending such a while,

 To explain my reasons, that are just mine

 Honestly I don't really care,

 Its just that I hate your Stare!

'Mumbai Monsoons'

 

         

'Rains from my window,

As I see them,

But do they see me?

Rains from my window,

As I see them.'