Smile,it's your birthday

  Nidhu Bhusan Das 

 Smile,it's your birthday-

This sweet command jolted me 

 Into the awareness I'm 73.

 

Yes, Anadrita,I've gained another year 

 And lose another from life.

 Yet I smile,ready to accept the inevitability.

 

Life is a Pandora's Box but a Buddha wins Realizing the ultimate truth -

 Body ends, essence remains.

We Are Together

 

We Are Together

Nidhu Bhusan Das

I live with my mother. I have been with her for 69 years now. She is 29. Sounds puzzling! Right, it’s so. I believe you think I am crazy. Every sane person will do so. Am I, then, insane? Let me check.

I was born in 1953, on second October, Thursday, before dawn, at the village of Ghagra near Dhaka, now the capital of Bangladesh, two hours by train. Now my native village is gobbled up by the big name Ghorasal which has become famous as an industrial hub with the first industry, a jute mill occupying the major chunk of the village. The village is on Sitalakshya, a great river of water like the juice of pomegranate. The river is still there despite pollution and stagnation caused by the dumping of industrial waste.  Industry brought pollution and prosperity, changed demography; the serenity and love that formed the core of the village life were gone long ago when I was in my early teens. Now far away from my village though, I can tell you the story of my sweet birthplace in minute details.

My father and uncle were teachers in our   Ghorasal High School, a wonderful academy. In the ambience of it, everyone learns to go beyond the immediate, have a wide perspective and a vision that helps see the universe in a grain of sand or a vast ocean in a drop of water. My teachers were great and I have regular touch and interaction with those great souls. I still learn from them. Everything and everybody I saw in joy at birth and in my formative years are alive in their pristine glory. They include my college, university, the teachers and classmates- Oh My God! - A lot. The elderly villagers who were affectionate guardians of children are present with me in my wonderful and unique world, smiling, praying, exuberant and innocent. You may not see it; the opacity of mundane thought comes in the way.

Everyone in the glorious world, where I am, is clad in white – as white as the snow capped Himalayan peaks. A gentle breeze blows, flowers send out fragrance and beauty, streams and rivers flow gently. They abound with aquatic life. Trees, plants, grass and herbs cradle myriad birds and insects. A total harmony reigns here. Serenity and purity are the hallmarks of the place coveted by many, accessed by a few.

Mom calls; Will come back to you.

 Mom sits at the foot of a banyan. Elder uncle sits under the canopy of the great tree. Grandma, aunts, other uncles, teachers and village elders are all there. It is time for Morning Prayer, Sun Worship. They are in a state of innocence and are blessed. They wear silver locks. The men have flowing silver beards. A benign smile lights their faces.

“Love you, son,” mom says hugging me. “Take care, Covid pandemic plagues you. We are concerned.”

“Don’t worry, mom. Have been vaccinated,” I sought to assure her. She smiled, sadly, perhaps, at my credulity and dependence on the supposed preponderance of science over Nature. Mom fondled me as usual repeating again and over again, “I felt lonely, son in your absence all the repose hours.

“I missed you, terribly, mom.”

The prayer and worship over, we had breakfast of fruit juice.   Then we helped ourselves to Manna.

I see you are bewildered and cannot believe. Yes, it is common among humans. Very few can go beyond the commonality. You are happy in the virtual world of meetings, webinars, classroom teaching and tuition. How can you believe in a world of enlightenment accessible without electronic gadgets?

It is an absolute Truth, unlike the ephemeral physical world. It is the Mind, not the Eye that helps the attainment of the Absolute Truth. The Abstract is the reality, not the physical realization of the abstract, asserts my mom, while others present nod.

I know my physical surroundings; I can present that graphically and metaphorically. I understand I am not insane. I can transcend the immediate physical reality without the mediation of electronic gadgets. I can go back to the past and look forward to the days ahead. I can think in presentia and in absentia, as you and every other sane person can without any mediation. And here is the point to ponder, said Swapon, my friend who is a professor of philosophy and metaphysics.

My mother and others under the shade of the great banyan are not illusions generated by phantasmagoria, as you may tend to think. Not at all. They are the souls in the higher order of the infinitude. My mother left me 29 years ago and journeyed back to where she had come from 54 years earlier. Other souls are there in the same way. They allow me and I have the desire to be in touch with them, to be in the benign presence of the great souls forever. I am 69 now, my friend avers.

He remembers the night his mother died in the M.J.N. Hospital, Cooch-Behar.She looked at his face, smiled, took his hands into hers and slowly closed her eyes, as tears rolled down. An angelic glow emanated from her face and melted into the Infinite. He heard a voice : “ Son, we shall meet  under the banyan I told you about many a night  to put you to sleep.”

 

 

 

 

 

Covid killer

Covid  killer 

Nidhu Bhusan Das

No,no,no,papa

I'm larger than the Covid  killer 

Ain't I,mamma?

I also need a mask and

Gloves in a pair

To fight the tiny Coronavirus.

I also need protective gears

The bad guy is dangerous

Say the researchers

He may choose me too

For his home.

No,no, mamma

I won't go without PPE

Never,never,never

Let me have my shield.

And no Achilles's heel

Should help the virus

Till I'm in the toxic biosphere

Don't be a sinner

You papa,you mamma

The killer should not have leeway,dear.

Kill You, Sure (17)

             Kill You, Sure (17)

                                         Nidhu Bhusan Das

 

“You’re with me the whole day

Remain till I’m awake

Appear in dream, when asleep.

You’re no more, yet how much with me!”

Bithi remembers the verse often, when alone or feels lonely. Now she jerks to wakefulness at the announcement:” The Boac flight to London takes off soon.Passengers’re requested to be aboard and take seats right away. She takes to her feet and heads on, happy to be again in the region of clouds and be able to float with them like downy cotton which rises when gets released from the boll. She’s slim and in a tryst with the shapeless and spaceless when in thought and on the wings of imagination. A supreme joy visits her in the state of stance. A smile hovers over her face as soon as the plane has taken off.

“My God! I should have told papa and mom. Okay, they’ll know. Tell them at the next stoppage,” Bithi decides and glides to the realm of creative thought.” How come my grandparents are still so fresh even as they’re touching their 50^th anniversary? What’s the unique chemistry between them who are from two distinctly different stocks?”

Her thought veers round to love. Love’s there in everything and everywhere, she perceives. It’s sharing. The sun shares his glory with every member of the solar system. The planets orbit round the sun in love, and do not deviate from their paths.Love’s equality. The polar tips of the earth are as important as the Equator. For her love isn’t, what many think, merely having sensual pleasure. She’d been to Ajmeer and Mathura-Vrindabon with her parents and experienced the serenity connected with this real-ethereal phenomenon.Love, she realizes, is transcendental. The smile generated by love and the other way round, glides higher up – the union of the two humans emerges as the oneness of their souls; at that level the lovers feel the supreme joy.

Again images appear in her mind, her second encounter with Nizam at the Dhaka University campus, the ‘Kill You …’ episodes at JNU, the latest Conor’s ‘Tá aithne agam ort’ greeting,              and all such experiences.” How things happen!” she wonders. Now the world appears to her as a vast and complex entity within the boll of the vaster and still vaster universe.” We’re like cotton in the boll, and like cotton tend to rise higher and higher for the unknown and the coveted when feel free. We’re unlike cotton as we feel the pull of the bond with the earthly relations,” Bithi understands. Her thought is much quicker than the speed of the plane.

She’s now nostalgic about Ireland; she’s visited several times her grand aunt Sharon Kennedy, a professor of Anthropology at Dublin University. The granny told her about the charming folk traditions of Ireland. Sharon took her to the Abbey Theatre which served as a nursery for many of the leading literary figures of the 20th century, including W.B. Yeats, Lady Gregory, Sean O’Casey and J.M. Synge.She told Bithi folktales like that of Leperchuan, a mischievous fairy in emerald green clothing. The Leprechaun is said to have a pot of gold hidden at the end of the rainbow. If ever captured by a human it has the magical power to grant three wishes in exchange for release. The tale of Halloween is also charming.  A popular Irish folk tradition Halloween has its roots in pagan beliefs. Halloween marked the Celtic New Year and was originally called Samhain. The ancient Celts celebrated Samhain with bonfires, games and comical pranks.

Bithi likes folktales as they’re means of travelling to the pagan past and can enjoy being transported to the romantic past. When nature and natural phenomena were given the form, in imagination, of anthropomorphic deities and worshipped, people could have been happier than we’re, thought Bithi depending on her study of social-anthropology. The present day world in which monotheism dominates is fraught with violence and terrorism, she laments. Here man kills man, destroys Nature, and shows scant respect to all living forms as the pagans did. So, we’ve the problems of ecological degradation, terrorism – violence against Nature and fellow beings, she ponders. She’s aware a neo-paganism emerges in the world as some people fed up with the violence tend to find peace of mind. The neo-pagans have respect for all and the desire to participate with other beings.Bithi appreciates this and has the pantheistic view which takes her to the lap of Nature, often.The folklores attract her for this reason.

“Should I call my grandparents neo-pagans?” Bithi asks herself, considering their sustained love in the 50 years of happy conjugal life. She knows they aren’t bothered about their respective monotheistic religions they’re born in. Love’s their religion, and she inherits this from them through her parents.Nizam’s a humanist and nature worshipper like her. Love dominates his thought and action. She isn’t sure of Ankit about this aspect of life.”Maybe, he’s different, it’s better I shouldn’t think on it,” she argues. Nature remains with her always, even when she’s on her wings.(Next to follow soon)

Kill You, Sure (16)

Kill You, Sure (16)

                                             Nidhu Bhusan Das

            
             
                              



           The Boac Boeing has stabilized midair over Dhaka after take-off from Shahjalal International Airport in the winter December morning. The flight is to terminate in London. Bithi set her eyes on the clouds which keeps her thought downy. She hears a greeting: “Maidin mhaith!”(Irish for “Good Morning”).
“Irish!” she exclaimed and turned around, astonished and annoyed.
“Tá mé Conor. Tá aithne agam ort,”( I'm acquainted with you )said the young man,unperturbed. 
“Níl a fhios agam agat,” (I don’t know you )snarled Bithi,annoyed being interrupted.
Conor daresn’t proceed further.
Nothing but the impending get-together on the occasion of the anniversary of her grand parents is absorbing for Bithi.She is headed for Maryland to attend the event.However, the unexpected interruption has brought to mind the face of Anik at JNU,the charming boy,gentle and innocent.”This is  sort of quirky,” she thinks” that a disturbing incident stirs memory which is not unwelcome ,if not acceptable.Memory distracts,and often leads to comparison that may confuse.Anik isn’t Nizam... Nizam never deviates.Anik has someone to influence his decision, that girl, the naughty and envious Divya.The sense of etiquette doesn’t allow Bithi to use harsh language, or she would say Divay’s wicked,crafty who doesn’t have the sense of decency expected of a JNU student. Now she feels pity for Anik.Why? Unaware so long, Bithi has formed an idea of Anik being in love with her but unable to express.Is it that he has the religious inhibitions,being from a conservative region of India. Maybe, it isn’t so. He smiles always,an inviting and innocent smile. Such innocence cannot harbour any inhibitions,Bithi’s sure,almost.
“But I’m bound...cannot respond,”Bithi is conscientious. The face of Nizam’s in her mirror.She smiles,and the shining cloud greet the smile.She remembers her grand parents who’re a profile of honesty in their bond.Her parents’re also models of beauty and truth in their love life in togetherness. “I will be happy with Nizam ... why to look for someone else?” Bithi thinks,unaware that the plane’s now flying over the sky of Delhi,waiting for signal to land at the Indira Gandhi International Airport for a stopover.The announcement of the pilot breaks her reverie.But the smile lingers with the dream she has been in so long in the air.
She’s to wait at the lounge a couple of hours and have lunch before re embarking for the second leg of the intercontinental journey.The lounge is global in ambience, and abuzz with cheerful people around.With every flight landing new people arrive, and as many leave as other flights take off for different destinations across the world.Bithi remembers Tennyson writes,”For man may come and man may go...”, and a philosophic gloom visits her about the entry and exit of humans in this world.Usually sociable,in such a state of trance, she cannot interact with people.The thought about her grand parents being septuagenarians comes to her mind and reinforces the gloom.Never before did she have such a thought about her ever green and cheerful grannies.Her green eyes glitter with tears and some drops glisten her cheeks.Quickly she puts on the    glasses and employs efforts to hold back the liquid.Since she has read the poem of Tennyson,she fears a brook which symbolizes permanence against the evanescence of individual life.She doesn’t want to see a couple of brook run down her cheek.
The cell phone buzzes.Bithi sees it is her papa calling.”Hello Papa!” she answers.Despite efforts she couldn’t prevent her voice from being choked.Anis Chowdhury,struck by the sadness in her tone,asks,”D’you feel lonely,dear? Why? We’re coming and go together from New York.”He hands over the phone to Reba.
“I know,Papa...but..,”Bithi utters,laboriously.
“Had lunch?” asks Reba,her voice wet.
“Going to have,Mom,” Bithi says,to console her tender mother.She looks at her watch.Time to have lunch,she remembers and goes to the restaurant.She doesn’t feel hungry,and might go without lunch had her mother not reminded. She often forgets meal,not that she’s habitually melancholic;she remains absorbed in thought.She feels life more in thought.Whatever happens,she transforms that into thought to analyze it, to comprehend the essence.Now she thinks of the greeting of the Irish boy,of  Anik and his “Kill you” refrain,of Nizam.( next to follow soon)











             

Kill You, Sure (15)

                     Love Making

  Kill You, Sure (15)

                              Nidhu Bhusan Das

   It’s twilight.Evening birds twitter their way back home.Already some tired dryads are roosting on the giant banyan,its huge canopy attracts myriad winged beauties,and they keep the tree eloquent.Divya’s head is cradled on the lap of Ankit.Only the birds witness their amorous togetherness.

“Sorry,I’ve misread you.Now I understand,”Divya goes emotional.

 “Pardon.”

“I shouldn’t have thought that way.”

“What thought?”

“That you’ve tenderness…”

“I have.So what!”

“I mean you…”

“Yes, I love you.”

“You love...me! Is it?”

“Is it wrong?”

“No Ankit,I don’t mean that.”

               Ankit’s unaware of the intended meaning of Divya.Under the canopy,he’s in joy with his girl,who’s now assured of having her coveted man in possession.Ankit doesn't share such feeling with her although they’ve turned one,soul and body.Divya’s back to her room at 9 p.m.,tired but elated.She’s in the washroom to rub off the day’s weariness and the remains of the cause of joy.She gets ready for bed to be in a tranquil sleep and sweet dreams.

“It’s stupid to be in love,” thinks Ankit,lying on his back, awake.Logic has gripped him and brought him back to prosaic sense.The Romantic aura under the tree in the lunar illusion is over after he has the first experience of functional love.He ruminates on how the innocent Green Eyes has been implicated by the jealous girl.”Divya isn’t equal,rather far  below the girl from Dhaka in stature and personality.It’s difficult to go with the girl who is aggressive with the venom of inferiority complex,no matter that she is,like him, from Haryana.

                   Bithi’s in communication with her cousin she will join soon in Maryland.She tells the girl across the Atlantic how an Indian girl in the campus,not familiar with her,is jealous of her imagining that she’s her rival in love.”This is fantastic,”she says with a peel of laughter.”Yes,you’re right,love’s preceded by the sense of possessiveness in this part of the world,”Bithi agrees.

                  Ankit goes out to the library to spend the possible sleepless night in the company of books.He’s a bibliophile,books remain scattered on his bed.Divya didn’t ask,but if you ask he’d tell,without a second thought, “Book’s my first love.Here Divya’s wrong.”

“Are you sure?”Ankit asks himself.Doubt has arisen.Should he be carried away by amour and hang the academic pursuit? Ankit  thinks,seriously.”No Divya,I won’t sacrifice.You too shouldn’t.Let’s do it after degree,”he thinks.

                       The cell phone sounds.Ankit pulls it out.A Hangouts message,from Divya.He opens it: “Where dear?I’m yet to rub off the moments we enjoyed a few hours back.”

Ankit ‘s in two minds.Should he continue or just ignore?She’s become desperate in the present mood.If ignored,she’s sure to despair.He himself cannot deny his role in the buildup to her present desire and desperation.In case he ignores,he will deny his part.It’s against Haryanvi pride and personal honesty.Ankit cannot afford to be dishonest.

“At the library,”Ankit has messaged back,tersely.

“Is it!But why?Won’t you sleep?”

“Something urgent,you know,”he lies.

“Urgent!But what could be more urgent than the sweet memory of two hours after dusk,”Divya tries to understand.

“Ankit,you need have sleep,dear.”

“You know,work on hand,” Ankit’s hesitant.

“You’re naughty,dear.Feel like coming to see,”desires Divya.

The loving tone of the girl takes

                  Ankit back to the event under the tree.The memory rattles the boy.He isn’t in politics,has been a loner craving for a company.Bithi stole his heart but dared not tell her or share with anybody.When Divya approached,his long cherished desire found a mooring, and the evening of coming together was a kind of fulfilment even for him.The Platonic love for the foreigner was replaced by sensual pleasure with the native girl.Now he feels like being with Divya again. “Shall I call her to come?”he thinks with a strong desire to feel her passionate breath on the face.

“Well,come and see,”he replies.

              Divya’s excited.She gets out of bed,promptly puts on casuals,locks the door,and hops down the stairs,rushes to the library.(to be continued)

Kill You, Sure (14)

           Kill You, Sure (14)

                                        Nidhu Bhusan Das

 Bithi’s at the stands of M.Chinnaswamy Stadium with Nizam for the Twenty20 World Cup match between India and Bangladesh.Both are cricket enthusiasts for different reasons.Bithi’s all praise for the game for its drama, suspense, poetry and beauty, enhanced by uncertainties. And she loves Bangladesh, the country of her father. For Nizam, he himself played in Abahani Krira Chakra in domestic cricket when he’s a student. The commonality of interest in the game, among other things, brings them face to face from time to time. They scarcely miss an international match in which Bangladesh plays.

                

                                 They sit among a swaying crowd of Bangladeshi fans who yell and wave their national flag at the fall of Indian wickets, and when chasing a target of 147 runs, the Tigers are in their scoring spree to the discomfort and anxiety of Team India.

“No, we’ll win,” Bithi assures Nizam.

“Don’t know, it’s a tricky game,”Nizam’s uncertain.

“We’ve beaten Pakistan and even the Kangaroos,” she recalls, confident.

“Let’s see,” Nizam murmurs and yells as Mushfiqur Rahim hits a six off a delivery from Pandyan who ultimately spells death for the Tigers in the last over.

Now it’s the last over, and Bangladesh needs only 11 off it. Nizam kisses Bithi in excitement oblivious of their being in the crowd. Their first ever kiss goes unnoticed as every eye is on the field.

“Haven’t I told you we’ll win? Now see,”Bithi’s excited.

“Wait, you cannot tell,”Nizam says in bated breath.

Mushfiqur brought the target down to just two runs off the last three balls with two fours and one single.

“Have you still doubt?” Bithi asks her paramour.

“It may go anyway,”Nizam replies to the annoyance of the girl with his focus on the 22 yards between the wickets.

“O-u-t!’ the scream goes ringing. Mahmudullah’s out. Now the last ball will be the decider - Bangladesh needs 2 to win, India 1 to remain in the competition.

“Bithi’s bumped into a hard reality. What to happen!” she whispers to Nizam who doesn’t hear.

“No-o-o! We’ve been foolhardy.Fie on us!” Nizam’s cathartic.

                       Bithi cries and leans on Nizam.Even the first mutual touch takes time for them to stir up as the galleries are getting deserted quickly. Chinnaswamy sees the beauty of a spell of romantic love in the euphoria of victory and the melancholia of being trounced when victory has been 1+1 sprints of 44 yards only. This still picture’s the reality of life. This happens. Cricket reflects the truth that we’ve to run after what’s often elusive. We succeed when failure doesn’t pull us back.

                       Bithi and Nizam come out of the stadium heads down. They cannot come to terms with the reality. Were they flying to reach the horizon, which moves away perpetually, and failed? We cannot keep pace with the movement. We may scale unreachable height, cover unimaginable distance in a flight of imagination but have to bump back to reality. The two foolish children are yet to come out of the stupor. They reach the Oberoi unaware of each other even when their two hands are joined. Back to the room, they sit face to face on the sofa, speechless. The silence breaks when Bithi says, “You’re right Nizam. Now understand we cannot tell what’s ahead.”

“Cricket tells the story of life, of uncertainties.”

“Everything in life resembles a taper, isn’t it?” Bithi says, philosophically.

“Hope’s like that.”

“We shouldn’t hope, I think”

“Then we shouldn’t use taper also,” Nizam reasons.

“Won’t we have lunch, dear?”Bithi responds to her impulse.

                         Nizam slowly and reluctantly rises and proceeds to bathroom. After a cool shower comes back fresh with a sad smile hovering over the soft face.Bithi’s sponged her face and neck. Only soup has been ordered. They know the shock has taken away their appetite. Hunger for victory has been a strong emotional urge which is dashed, and it’s a shock like the one the passengers have when a ferry boat which successfully has negotiated the turbulent river during a storm sinks near the bank.

Having the first sip, Nizam murmurs,” We won’t have remorse. We played and dominated but rocked the boat just before mooring.”

“We couldn’t match their cool planning and maturity,” Bithi’s back to her analytical power.

“We shouldn’t try to exhibit glory before it’s achieved,” Nizam vents anger.

“Means?” Bithi wants to know.

“Why, Mahmudullah went for glory, hit two consecutive deliveries high in the air though playing them on the ground would have been enough. That sealed our fate,” Nizam explodes.

“Okay, the flight is at 4.30 a.m. We should go to bed.”

 They kiss and go to sleep. The two are now in dream spurred by the kiss. Two angels hover over them.

“Will this love endure?” one angel raises the question to Nizam.

“He represents the lack of confidence of your players in crucial moments,” the other angel whispers to her.

“She’s too emotional,” pours the first angel into the ear of Nizam.

“”Too much reason causes indecision,” says the second angel.

                     The dream has goaded them into fear and an embrace. But they cannot kiss any more. The game with its thrill is over. Gone is the stupor. But it has aroused questions in the mind of the lovers as leftovers of their varying shades of emotional responses during the match. Each of them analyses the response of the other. She recalls, Nizam has said,” Cricket reflects the truth that we’ve to run after what’s often elusive.” Bithi cannot forget it. She knows love’s an emotion which doesn’t tally with reason.( Continued on 7th May 2016)

Kill You,Sure 13

           Kill You, Sure (13)

                                        Nidhu Bhusan Das

   

         “Lunch time.Won’t you have food?” Ankit’s uncertain.

          “Your Green Eye’s lousy.I hate her,”Divya’s terrible.

          “But…”

          “Hang your buts.You’re infatuated with her,”Divya’s furious.

         “Believe me,I’ve…”

         “Where had you been?Enjoying  while she’s teasing me?Strange!”Divya begins sobbing.

          Anik hasn’t been  there to allow the two girls space for one-to-one exchange so that misgivings,if any could have been over.He couldn’t anticipate this fallout.

          “I cannot believe Green Eye has done it.Divya must have been rude to her.The way she greeted her cannot please anybody,”he thinks but wouldn’t let her know his mind.

           “Well Ankit, help me get to the room?”

            “I’ll,but what about lunch?Won’t have food?I’m really hungry,”Ankit says.

             “I ain’t hungry.I may accompany you to the dhaba,”she says,relenting.

              He understands and says, “Let’s go.”

              They trudge towards the dhaba.All along Divya has used expletives against Bithi.He has listened,nodding. He understands it’s unwise to intervene when jealousy’s the ruling passion of a girl-in-love.

              “I’m really damn hungry,seems a monster’s in revolt in me.”

              “I know,dear.The green eyes makes your eyes look so hungry.A man,indeed!”Divya’s sarcastic.

               “Beauty envies Beauty,”Anik comments and presses her right hand.

               “And you tilt to the exotic beauty,” she alleges.

               “Your fiction saddens you.”

               “ I didn’t know you have such a fertile mind.”

                Anik takes two lunch-packets and heads towards to lonely banyan under which he performs pranayam     every morning.Divya follows him.Is it the banyan attracts her or the man? Maybe,she has an excuse.She begins to murmur praise of the tree.Ankit smiles as he opens the lunch packets.

He understands.She sits in front of him when asked as obedient as a child.He spoons the first morsel into her mouth.Swallowing it,she says in a tone of simulated anger, “I won’t eat.”

“I know you have reason to be angry.That girl is innocent…”

“Innocent!You mean it,Ankit,really?”

“Her innocence is a serpent,”he suggests and gives her the second morsel which she consumes without any grumbling.

“Ankit,you like serpent?”

“I’m scared of one.”

“Seen one?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In front of the library here today.”

“Don’t be silly dear,”she entreats,her eyes shining lovingly.

“You had a long tryst with that.”

“Is it?How?”she asks tenderly.

“Didn’t you have a session with her on the green carpet?”

“So naughty!She’s a nice girl,polite and intelligent.”

“I see,you’re enamoured of her and assume I’m your rival.”

“Ankit, it’s insulting.You mean I’m a lesbian.”

“I only mean serpent.Open your packet,have the lunch.You aren’t a child that I should feed you.”

“Not a child indeed,more than that. Don’t you love me?”

“Should I notify the whole world?”

“Can’t we kiss at least?”

“Not here,now.”

“When an where,” Divya’s persuades.

“Somewhere when we be free.”

“Pardon.”

“Free from doubt and suspicion.”

“You have doubt,Ankit?”

“You’re in doubt,you suspect,”Ankit’s categorical.

“No Ankit,I have just prevented.I believe you.”

“Prevented what?”

“The serpent.”

“You mean?”

“Green Eyes.”

“You mean I’ll have a second crush,isn’t it?”

“I know,Ankit,you’ll have no more crush.”

“Okay,let’s go,” says Ankit and motions towards the secluded corner.Divya takes his hand.Green Eyes no longer haunts her.She knows she’s on the threshold,time to be pulled into.(continued on 24 March 2016)

Kill You,Sure(12)

           Kill You, Sure (12)

                                        Nidhu Bhusan Das

       


         Fresh from the celebration of the Language Martyr Day in Dhaka Bithi's back.It's spring.The deep red Polash well synces with the blood of the martyrs.Spring is short-lived in Delhi.It isn't as in Ireland either,ruminates Bithi,leaning against the wall of the desolate library as the JNU campus seethes.Students are restless,teachers grieve.A centre of excellence and cradle of free thinking,the university has seen a popular student leader picked up by the police on charge of sedition.This is unusual,Bithi has heard the refrain in the campus.
      "Hi!green eyes,"Divya greets Bithi, in earnestness,tinged with a subtle sarcasm.
Bithi's taken aback at the suddenness of it from one she never interacted with,rather saw her to browbeat when came face to face in the library once in a while. Well,she doesn't take time to get away from the initial shock and smiles back:"How are you?"
Divya hasn't expect it but smartly says with Hariyanvi pride,"Fine and you?"
"Cheerful,chum," replies Bithi with Irish-Bangla grace,smile in the eyes.
    Anik looks on,a mischievous smile hovering over his face.He enjoys that Divya's outsmarted.The smile irks Divya who wants to keep him away from Bithi.Her frown force-stops the smile.
      "Let's go sit on the green bed,"Bithi suggests and moves towards the lawn,taking the hand of Divya.Bithi feels Divya dislikes her because she doesn't have green eyes.
     "Chum,had I brown eyes!"Bithi feigns a sigh.
     "Then!Yes,I'm right.She's tender to Ankit. Brown eyes!She means it,really.Ankit,I'll show you..."she thinks,dazed. Beads of sweat have appeared on her forehead as her brown eyes have redened and shells out sparks of anger.
      "Chum,you're sweating...it isn't sweat-hot,feel sick?" Bithi's serious.
      "No, am alright.Ankit's a fool," Divya pours out her frustration with a long sigh.
       "Let me take you to the hostel," Bithi offers and asks,"Where's your friend,who's Ankit,dear?"
        Divya can no longer hold out and with a sad smile retorts,"Who's Ankit ! As if you don't know!"
        "Jealousy,you're gf,maybe Ankit's her bf.She doesn't believe him,only wants to possess him,"Bithi tries to understand and
exclaims,"Strange!"and keeping her usual cool drawls,"I am not aware of any Ankit in the campus,dear."
        "Ain't a fool,you know.He often tells of green eyes,there's none other than you,he means,in the whole campus,"Divya says in a breath.
        "Is it? I don't have any relation with anyone,won't like to have one," she snarls and repeats the offer to help her to the hostel.
        "Green Eyes,please be away.Let me be alone and have peace of loneliness.I know my place,I can go it alone.Thanks this is a lot for offer to help.I understand it's better for you to help yourself.Perhaps,you need it most now.Decide on An...okay let I be alone,"says Divya,as if in a reverie.
      "The girl's a fool,extreme possessiveness is the cause,"Bithi says to herself,a sweet smile shines on her pomegranate lips.She withdraws,goes her way,sad that the girl suffers from unfounded suspicion,not because she suspects her."The boy's meek,being effeminate, amenable to emotional pressure," Bithi tries to understand.
        On her way to the library,Bithi sees the boy lurking behind a neem tree.Maybe,he has been waiting for her to leave Divya to avoid embarrassment."Is it,he has a secret tender feeling to her,and,therefore,has been unable to face the gf in her presence,"thinks Bithi as she moves on.She decides she would leave for the US sooner than planned earlier if the situation in the campus deteriorates.She remembers her grandparents are preparing for the grand celebration of their conjugal life.She's going to play a role in the event.The thought has rejuvenated her.(continued on 2 March 2016)

Kill You, Sure (11)

                Kill You, Sure (11)

                                                 Nidhu Bhusan Das

                    

                       

                In the newspaper section of the library, Anik and Divya are absorbed in reading the morning daily. They’re focused on the Sheena Bora Murder story, displayed prominently. This news based on the gradual revelations of the murder mystery has caught public attention, especially when the victim’s mother, a high profile socialite, has been implicated and is being interrogated under police custody.Anik and Divya also prefer to remain updated.No, they don’t feel like being voyeurs to live vicariously thorough the crime. It has stirred them into wondering how a mother could be a suspected killer of her own daughter.

“How this could be possible?” whispered Divya, shuddering.

“It’s uncanny, simply,” Anik commented, unable to understand the motive behind the murder.

“Media reports suggest, the mother Indrani has moved upward down a crooked path. She’s now with her third husband,” says Divya, trying to understand.

“Cruelty, sometimes, stems from ambition to be wealthy and compulsion to hide huge sum of dirty money.”

“Sheena’s a troubled teenager, deprived of the love and care of her biological parents.”

“In her diary entries Sheena first expresses her love for and later in life her hate for her mother.”

 “Police to investigate if Sheena was unwillingly made the repository of a huge sum of her mother’s unaccounted money.”

“The police suspect Sheena might have refused to return the money unless Indrani publicly accepted her as her daughter.”

“And that could have led to her gruesome murder,”Divya muttered, convulsive.

“So, money matters, isn’t it?” Anik tries to understand.

“In what sense?” Divya inquires.

“When we have it aplenty, beyond the amount we need for a decent living,”Anik explains.

“What’s decent living, you think?”

“It isn’t night club, five star circuits.”

“Then?”

“Moderate way of life. Money cannot bring joy if you have not wealth of mind.”

“Wealth of mind! What’s that?”

“Benevolent ideas, rich thought, profound feeling stem from healthy mind.”

“And conscience?”

“Conscionable action is possible only if you have a healthy mind.”

“You believe so, or just preach?”

“Do you think I don’t speak my mind?”

“Not that.”

“I won’t be with you had I a double thought,” says Anik, perturbed.

“I haven’t meant to hurt you, Anik- just tried to understand,”Divya explains, apologetically.

“Have you any different view on happiness?”

“I mourn the sudden demise of APJ Abdul Kalam.I like his way of life, will follow him.”

“Is it? Great! I appreciate.”

“What’s your opinion about woman?”

“I’ve great respect for them. But for them, life would not perpetuate.”

“Do you think I’m a woman?”

“What nonsense! What else are you?”

“In your sense, I mean am I the right one to perpetuate?”

“Why not?” Anik smiles.

“And the Green Eyes?”

“I shouldn’t comment. I don’t know her as I do you.”

“Well Anik, I’ve the class to attend, now.”

“Well, be a good girl,”Anik appears to be reluctant to see the conversation broken off.

And this hasn’t escaped the notice of Divya.She, in her naughty innocence, says,”Let’s play…”

“Truant,” Anik completes the suggestion.

“Where!” wonders Divya.

“Anywhere you like,”Anik gives in to her, both of them unaware of what’s going on around when Vrindabon and other parts of India including Delhi get ready for Holi Utsav, the spring festival of love and colours, and associated with the Radha-Krishna myth. When spring’s afoot, young hearts leap in joy and love, inspired by the regeneration in Nature.

Ignorant of the prying eyes, the two come out of the library, hand in hand, and dash towards the desolate corner of the yawning campus where they’ve enjoyed lonely moments looking at kite-flying.

“Is it an impossible dream?” Divya whispers.

“Which dream?” Anik’s eager.

“Who knows why I dream like this.”

“Your dream! Like what?”

“I do not, perhaps, cannot understand.Indrani dreamt of a high flying life, Sheena dreamt of being recognized publicly by her biological mother. Now see, what the consequence is.”

“You’re scared of your dream?” Anik wants to know.

“Well, you can say.”

“I know your dream comes true.”

“How do you know?”

“From your eyes.”

“Can you read eyes?”

“Maybe, if you believe.”

“Is there wisdom in myth?”

“There’s if we can interprete the essence.”

“What’s the essence of Radha-Krishna myth?”

“Can’t we be in an embrace in the solitude of the idyllic corner where the trees are singing with the soft breeze generating rustle in the leaves to celebrate the advent of spring?”

“Perhaps we can, if we’re sacred and sincere like Nature,” Divya agrees.(to be continued on November 5,2015)

Kill You, Sure (10)

           Kill You, Sure (10)

                                        Nidhu Bhusan Das

                    

                       

                 The morning’s wonderfully cool, and people’re out jogging -couples, friends, young and old. The leaves of trees have turned musical in the early morning summer breeze blowing all around amidst the chirping of birds in the boughs and humming birds on flight.Delhites’re really serious about morning walk for health and fitness.Divya’s also out in jogging outfit in the campus and comes face to face with Anik near the huge banyan tree under which he performs pranayam (a yogic exercise to control breath) every morning, if it doesn’t rain. She sits beside Anik and imitates him. Not that she’s enthusiastic about the exercise. She feels it important to let Anik know she delights in following him.Anik’s absorbed in the exercise, and isn’t aware if anyone’s around.Divya wouldn’t like to distract him anyway. She waits for the completion of the pranayam, listening to the chorus of birds to the accompaniment of the music of the leaves.

           At 7 a.m.Anik’s opened his eyes and his thumb and ring finger are removed from the nose. He looks around refreshed and relaxed to find Divya beside him on the left. He’s yet to perform the sun-salutation.” Well, let me salute the sun first,” he resolves.

“What, he ignores me! Is it? Let me see,” she decides, uncertain.

Completing the 12 postures of the salutation he looks at her says,” Good morning, Dear,” smiling like the morning sun. She smiles back and says,” You do it every morning?”

“Every morning, if it doesn’t rain.”

“I’d like to accompany you, if you never mind.”

“Most welcome, if you feel free.”

“From tomorrow. When do you come?”

“At 15 minutes to 6.”

“I’ll be here on time tomorrow.”

“Should I call you?”

“That’ll be nice.”

“I give you a call at 5 to get ready. Keep the phone in general mode.”

“Okay dear. I think it’s better than jogging.”

“Maybe, if you’re mindful and believe in its power, it’s fantastic.”

“I believe since you do it,” says Divya, squinting.

“Okay, let’s depart.”

“Why not after a round of tea in the canteen,”Divya demands.

“No, not now. I’ll have it after bath.”

“Is it? Then when shall we meet?”

“For lunch, possibly in the cafeteria, if you don’t cook your food,” Anik says smiling.

“I’ve told my mom I’ll cook for my husband, not before that,” Divya tells, meaningfully.

“Well, then at the cafeteria. When would you go there?”Anik asks eager.

“If it pleases you, at 12.30 p.m.”

“Make it 12.40.”

“No problem, I’ll be in the cafeteria.”

               Dreamy, they head to their hostels. Each of them’s a throbbing heart. Back to the room, Anik begins to introspect:” Am I out of track? Isn’t this against my nature and dream? I’m dominated by tenderness, beyond logic. But what can I do? A green eye’s stolen my heart, and possibly she’s elusive, devoid of tender feeling.Divya persuasive. How can I avoid her? She isn’t a bad idea. But I shouldn’t sacrifice my academic dream.” After bath and breakfast, Anik’s in the department to attend classes. He never bunks, the classroom teaching’s so helpful. “The classes will be over at 12.30.Then to cafeteria,” he recalls.” This far, no farther,” he decides.

               “Does this resolve means I’ll wait for the green eyes or just stop at that – no more time on coming closer to a girl? Let it be second option. But will it be easy to retreat from where I’ve reached? Divya’s inspired and is bent on coming closer; she seems to have a dream. She pursues it. She’s amiable and adorable. She understands my mind. May I not tell her over lunch we may wait for the sake of study? She may say study’s a never ending process and the natural process of life cannot wait for something which’s never ending,” Anik ponders.

               Divya doesn’t have any such predilection. She’s for the moment when Anik’ll sit with her for lunch. She imagines the situation and anticipates the emotions it’ll generate. She sees a kite Anik and she’ve flown on the day of gentle breeze and are watching its flight from under a huge neem tree in the far corner of the campus, an ideal retreat from lovers. “Perhaps we could go to that corner to talk the day away, smelling each other,” she thinks and plans such a joyful time together. They aren’t talking, nor are they in contact. They feel being together, think on it and feel the thought. They haven’t anticipated the situation, but it’s occurred. Not that it spells the end. It’s a new beginning. Eloquent silence when the inner eyes’re active. The lunch over, Divya goes out and ambles towards the neem. Anik follows her keeping a distance, as it were, in a trance. She sits under the neem, her back against the ancient stem of the tree, eyes closed.Anik sits next to her. Only the rustle’s audible. Their minds’re in a dialogue, inaudible even to themselves. The leaves don’t hear the rustle the breeze creates blowing through them. The duo is aware of the breeze within and feels their emotions being tempered by thought. They’re exploring the possibility, exploring each other. The cloud above is white, and is floating in joy.

                     Two children, flying kites giggle and challenge each other:” My kite going to cut the string of yours, soon,” says the boy.” Mine will send yours to death; just see,” challenges the girl. Both of them try, drenched in sweat. But the kites have their own desire. They’ve their tryst midair, at last. They get entangled.Anik and Divya grinned, blinking.” Things happen!” exclaim Anik.

“It seems so,” Divya tends to confirm.

“Let’s go, you and I,” Anik recites from Eliot.

“Yes, time to go.”( continued on 28 September 2015)