Pens and Pages

There had to be a reason why he is today the way he is. He'd either stand out in a crowd or he'd be like an invisible gush of air that passes by which no one cares to notice. But nevertheless, he'd always be alone, away in his own thoughts.  They say everyone has a story to tell yet there are stories we never get to hear. Stories of pain, of grief, of trauma. And these stories would make you wonder if they are true. And then these stories would tell you that it matters not if you do not have a good job, a good love life, or social life or a good career. Because when we talk of death, nothing else seems to make sense, nothing else seems to matter. He'd always talk of things that would seldom make sense, if at all. And what he couldn't say, he would write. He had to write. There was no other way. For the only one who'd listen to him had left him far behind. And she went not to a place where he could meet her, even if for a day. She went to an abo...

I lie awake in the darkest of nights, helplessly. I writhe in pain and in fear ceaselessly. And when it is time for dawn to break, I find  myself hide in the darkest of corners of the damp room. I fear the light that falls on my bed. I await another dark night to lie awake helplessly.

It was when I was returning home today from office that an abrupt desire to protest erupted in me and I ended up shedding a tiny teardrop. I wasn’t in a difficult situation; I was just alone and thinking. I have often found myself uttering words of protest ceaselessly when people have mocked homosexuals in front of me. I have often found myself talking over phone or discussing about the miseries of being a woman (or man, at times), of ill-treatment towards women/men/children, etc. What disturbed me today was my realization that my concept of an “egalitarian” society didn’t have the third gender in it? Even when I wrote the article Are you a lesbian? (Published in the Good Times of the North-East), transsexualism didn’t even cross my mind. I was a little ashamed, a little broken and a little angry when I realized this fact while reading a recent article on the e-magazine Fried Eye about the third gender and their ways of life. Thinking “Probably, writing this blogpost wou...

Let him dream,  the dreams he sees, dreams of crystal blues of shining pearls and various hues, of that what is fair, of that what is just, let him not see the truth that hurts. And that what went wrong let him not know. Oh! let him sleep in serene ignorance let him dream let him be...

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..