Os ki boondo ne jagaya

???? ???? ?? ?? ?????
?? ?? ??? ??? ??,
???? ???? ?? ????????? ?? ???
?? ?? ????? ??? ?? ??? ??? ??,
???? ????? ??? ?? ??? ????? ?? ????? ??? ??…
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?????? ?? ?????…

[to be continued…]
 
English transliteration:

subah subah Am kA pattA
os me Dol rahA thA,
mAno bachapan ke rMgaraliyoM ke bIc
Am ko laTakatA dekh man JUm rahA ho,
mAno lambe din ke bAd skUl kA ghanTA bajA ho…
to usI os me DoltI,
bUMdoM me TapakatI

This poem was inspired by a charming young lady I found in Orkut, while browsing for beautiful women. Since then, however, I have fallen out of love with her. As a consequence, I am afraid, this poem to her must remain incomplete.

Dil naraaz hai aaj zindagi se

??? ????? ?? ?? ??????? ??,
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Like a vapid vapour rising up in the air,
Rubbing against my rough skin
That I could not even feel,
Like dreamless osmosis, it departed from my soul
Snatching all life away. Yes,
The dream came to depart, leaving me
Gasping.
And I could hear the rough voice of dead men,
Rasping.

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???? ?? ?? ??? ??? ????,
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[to be continued…]

???? ????? ???? ???????

???? ??? ?? ???? ?? ????? ?? ???,
??? ?? ???, ??? ?? ?????? ?????,
??? ?? ?? ?? ??? ????? ?? ?? ???,
?????? ?? ??? ????? ?? ???,
?????? ?? ??? ??? ????? ?? ???.
???, ?? ?? ?????? ?? ?? ??
????? ?? ??? ???,
???? ?? ?? ?? ?? ??? ?????? ???
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?? ???? ??????? ????? ???
???? ?? ?? ??? ?? ????
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?? ????? ???, ?? ??? ???????,
???? ?? ?? ???, ?? ???? ??????,
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?? ?? ?? ???? ????? ??? ?????? ???,
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[Transliteration in English is given below]

Merey dil mein chubhi hai khanjar ki terah,
Woh ek nazar, woh ek khaulti nigah,
Woh ek pal ka waar arsa ban rah gaya,
Chamakti hai kabhi khanjar ki setah,
Tapakti hai khoon kabhi baarish ki terah.
Jao, keh do duniya sey ke aaj
Marney ki chaah nahi,
Puchho ki ek aur pal kehan bikta hai?
Kehan hai woh Yam ki patri
Jo meri zindagi likhta hai?
Kehan hai woh vaidh ki booti
Jo saans ko kheenchey?
Kidhar gayi woh tapti zameen
Jo tha merey pairon ke nichey?
Aaj bhikhari hoon, aaj hoon darinda,
Chahey jo bhi hoon, aaj rahoon zinda,
Ki woh neeli aankhon wali zalim
Phir sey ek nazar ghumaye,
Aur yeh dil par chipka khanjar kuchh aur andar jaaye.
Ki woh kajraari aankhon wali saamney aaye,
Merey zindagi ki kehani likh jaaye.

This poem was written for Aishwarya and  Kajra re community in Orkut.

Understanding Shakespeare by yourself

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Having had my upbringing in Hindi-medium CBSE govt-schools, it was as late as Class XI that I heard of guys like Wordsworth or Keats. Yes, I had even heard of someone called Shakespeare; we had an extract of his from his play As you like it (Seven Ages, probably a speech by Jacques). Point is, I was as dumb about English as you can imagine anyone to be (for that matter, I have maintained the status).
Somehow I went to Jadavpur University English Department. Since I did not have Bengali as a subject during my life, and since there was no provision for Hindi, for morons like us there is a provision for an extra subject called ‘Alternative English’. This Alt Eng had a play by this person called Othello.
We few guys are sitting at the first class of our Alt Eng, when this gentleman walks in briskly, and before banging some book he was holding in his hand (the Arden edition of As you like it, which he insisted all of us buy or acquire), said in all earnestness verging on ferocity:

“I don’t know what the level of your competence is, but now that you are here, you are supposed to read and understand Shakespeare by yourself”.

With an open mouth I thought, “If we are supposed to do so much all by ourselves, what are you here for, sir?”
I took his advice to heart. Henceforth a guy called Ramji Lall became my best friend in college.

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In the buff after football

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Football was rare for us at Jadavpur. There were not many enthusiasts, or there was no ball. There were some champion footballers who did not bother playing with us (rightly so). No girls would watch us meaning their boyfriends would not bother to play, or meaning few would be inspired enough if there was no show-off. But once in a blue moon we did have our games. Sometimes there were the so-called ‘challenge matches’. With our famed rivalry with the Economics Department, we did have a few intensely competitive matches between us. This was one such match in the MA first year, sometime during the monsoon of 2001.
It had been raining, and the whole football ground was a stretch of mud. With Bengalis playing, it was a free-for-all where all are more intent on hitting someone’s leg than the ball. At some point of the time I was on centre-right at midfield, and from there I hit the ball hard, a la Bobby Charlton, and ‘netted’ (no net, sorry) the ball gloriously. Mouths agape. I think two pretty girls from my class on whom I have weaved a few poems, were watching from the other side. Talk of luck. Huh!

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Splattered in mud, we took our dips in the local lake beside the windmill. Light was falling. We did not have any towels with us, so we were having to change our clothes behind the proverbial bush. From far I saw one of these two women coming towards us. Scared I dropped my pants and ran behind the bush, as she came up and met our group. It transpired later that she was coming to ask me to join the Departmental Tour to Sikkim – somehow I had said that if some other woman was not going, I would not come.
So, this young lady comes to meet me to persuade me to go to Sikkim, and I was in my birthday best behind the bush. Of course, I did have some more memories during this Sikkim tour, with this same lady; but let that remain the recipe for another anecdote later.

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