Pens and Pages

When I had just begun reading The Bell Jar, that was suggested to me by Gaurav Da (Gaurav Deka, author of North-East India’s first e-book, Madrigal - a song for several voices ) , I thought it would be just another novel giving me a good time.  The last novel that left a long lasting impact on me was The Kite Runner; after reading it I was crying for days and I was sad for weeks. But I had no idea Sylvia Plath would leave a way deeper impact on me than that. I had read about the way Sylvia had decided to end her life, years ago but as I kept on reading her semi-autobiography it almost felt like she was someone I knew. And when I reached the last page of the book that talked of hope and uncertainties, at four in the morning, I was nothing but devastated as I knew the tragic reality that happened a month after her first and only book was published, on Feb 1963. Death is poetic at times, pain is bliss and suffering is romantic; but it's not so when you feel for someone else...

Below are the five questions I am tired of answering ever since I moved out of Assam :         “What’s with the fake British Accent?” or “Do people not speak Hindi in Assam?” OR “No matter what language you speak, it feels like you’re speaking Bengali” OR (The BAAP of all) “You have a Bangladeshi accent” And these comments just leave me with nothing but a jaw drop. :-/ For God’s sake,it’s not a fake accent and it’s definitely neither British nor Bangladeshi. If anything it should be, it would be Assamese or better – my own accent. And if I know Bengali, that’s an add-on; that doesn’t make me a Bengali person. And yes, in Assam most of the people do know and speak Hindi. Hmph!          Do you eat dogs?  And my dear, why did you leave snakes and cats and rats and anything that crawls or climbs? Well, the answer is a NO. I don’t eat dogs nor do most of the people I know (well, some may just do and it's ...

I wake up in the middle of the night I see her wail in pain "I feel like dying" was all she said... She screams at the top of her voice her screams, frightening "I feel like dying" she kept on repeating Oh, hold her as she burns like a flame "I hold a fire in me" she cries as she prays to be... Oh! like a flower, plucked, long dead I see her wither as she lies awake and moves thither... "Let me be" she pleads and weeps and I close the door till eternity, she sleeps..

I lived for the solitude for the quiet at three in the morning for the calm at midnight for the peace near a noisy fountain for the company at a lonely garden I lived when you left and if you come back Darling! It will be too crowded Let me embrace the melancholy for I live when I am free for I am free when I am me left alone but not lonely Oh ! Don't come back! This wait is happiness This grief is bliss Sleepless nights console Monotonic mornings comfort Living in memories, I am not I live in the space between the two worlds you left where you departed and where we first met, where dreams were lived yet I was bereft...