Utopia : The Land of My Soul
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Memorabilia
‘Cool, mossy ways with entwined creepers kissing the feet of the dainty,
Wheat-hued Sunbeams meandering through the foliage and caressing the auburn tresses,
Starved, dreamy eyes lost in the gossamer dream of a filigree world,
Light and darkness are coalesced in the gauntlet of the cheeks….
a chiaroscuro image’
Wheat-hued Sunbeams meandering through the foliage and caressing the auburn tresses,
Starved, dreamy eyes lost in the gossamer dream of a filigree world,
Light and darkness are coalesced in the gauntlet of the cheeks….
a chiaroscuro image’
Memories or the reminiscences of the once sporadic, once true slices of life run riots in our brains as if they are possessed entities. From the days when conscious mind became a known figment of our being, memories became mementoes of our past- now shadowy and smothered in thousand after-thoughts. Sometimes they recur in our dreams as pageants of such recollections from the storehouse of oblivion. It happens to me frequently. Some fragment of incidents that shaped up aeons back, visit my dreamland with blurred faces and stranger identities.
One such dream bubbles up and plagues me even when I am fully awaken, out of the outskirts of the dreamland. I feel as if I’m in a trance, staggering in the limbo of dreams and reality. The sensation that I have just now slipped away from the web of a world whose images, sounds and string of events have had me arrested in them, lingers even when my eyes are widely open and my sense perceptions are back from the stupor. When I was about 3 to 4 years old my family used to stay at Diamond Harbour, a place that roughly takes 3 and a ½ hours to reach by train from kolkata ( by a local train of course). I was admitted to a Montessori there as a part of my Kindergarten learning process. My parents were working and I was left in the expert charge of a maid. She used to gird me up for the day Montessori and dispose me off to the Paradiso – a full house of toddlers of my age.
The way to the Montessori house was a skewed and loopy path that wriggled through a small expanse of field. I have a remotely faint memory of the curvaceous way and all that my childhood camera-eye permits me to flash on is – the field was a barren, shrubby land left for the tiny-boppers to play hide and seek. And there was a stranded thatched mud house, almost dilapidated. Sometime during the Spring when the field was flooded with “Kaash-phool”, ( a special kind of Spring-time shrub with creamy white cottony flowers resembling outstretched feathers of birds) I remember having played hide and seek with ‘God-only-knows-whom’ as even an ilk of their faces and names appears mirage like. I remember cooing some forgotten name from the desolate hut, my hideout. Then…I don’t have even an iota of event to ruminate. The rest I have to fantacise to add bones to bones to build up the skeleton.
Mom, though, has staved off the idea about the existence of the field anywhere near the place of our dwelling. She has had called it the creative work of my imaginative mind. But I never was and till date am not convinced. The tattered images flicker in my dreams cock-crowing that they had a lively existence. May be the sub-conscious realm of my mind had captured it and eluded it somewhere whose door only opens up in dreams.
One such dream bubbles up and plagues me even when I am fully awaken, out of the outskirts of the dreamland. I feel as if I’m in a trance, staggering in the limbo of dreams and reality. The sensation that I have just now slipped away from the web of a world whose images, sounds and string of events have had me arrested in them, lingers even when my eyes are widely open and my sense perceptions are back from the stupor. When I was about 3 to 4 years old my family used to stay at Diamond Harbour, a place that roughly takes 3 and a ½ hours to reach by train from kolkata ( by a local train of course). I was admitted to a Montessori there as a part of my Kindergarten learning process. My parents were working and I was left in the expert charge of a maid. She used to gird me up for the day Montessori and dispose me off to the Paradiso – a full house of toddlers of my age.
The way to the Montessori house was a skewed and loopy path that wriggled through a small expanse of field. I have a remotely faint memory of the curvaceous way and all that my childhood camera-eye permits me to flash on is – the field was a barren, shrubby land left for the tiny-boppers to play hide and seek. And there was a stranded thatched mud house, almost dilapidated. Sometime during the Spring when the field was flooded with “Kaash-phool”, ( a special kind of Spring-time shrub with creamy white cottony flowers resembling outstretched feathers of birds) I remember having played hide and seek with ‘God-only-knows-whom’ as even an ilk of their faces and names appears mirage like. I remember cooing some forgotten name from the desolate hut, my hideout. Then…I don’t have even an iota of event to ruminate. The rest I have to fantacise to add bones to bones to build up the skeleton.
Mom, though, has staved off the idea about the existence of the field anywhere near the place of our dwelling. She has had called it the creative work of my imaginative mind. But I never was and till date am not convinced. The tattered images flicker in my dreams cock-crowing that they had a lively existence. May be the sub-conscious realm of my mind had captured it and eluded it somewhere whose door only opens up in dreams.
Labels: Looking back
Monday, August 14, 2006
Growing up
I have left the habit of sulking over trifle,
I have finally grown up a bit.
Don't think it came easily to me
Without any dear cost.
A great many things have been brutally at stake,
A great many painfully lost.
But one thing is for sure, I have never
Learnt to bother being tough.
Sometimes at leisure I do ponder
What does growing up really mean?
Is it to be pragmatic and end up
Butchering softer emotions?
Or is it being sensibly sensitive to all
The problems, inhibitions and pretentions?
But a ripened brain doesn't feel like
Answering an inkling.
I have seen people camouflaging the own self,
Breeding a new personality to project.
So it does become mandatory to put on
Masks in public,
Smile the way you do charity, and
Talk gingerly like a wise fool.
I have learnt not to dare to show up any sentiments,
You are brazened if you open up.
If this is all about growing what people trem as "matured",
I definitely don't want to become one.
To let go off peace, security and innocence I don't want to lie
Couched in their suffocative coffins.
I don't want to breathe in polluted air while clamouring for
Oxygen to get me going.
Living without vitality, warmth, tabooing altruism and live serenely selfish
Can be a masochist's pleasure dome not mine!
But how can I ever claim to the world that I'm fully grown up ,
Without being a member of the herd?
Labels: Looking back
