A Spring Recalls

Comes in mind, the yellow sky
Crisp air, dry leaves fly
It must be a Fall,
I remember by
School vans wheeling, chirping us
Bidding good afternoons and goodbyes
Tired for the day, yet best of times
Hear mama’s call, ‘Supper first,
You have dance class at five.’
Alley and road,
Trailing mama’s toes
Rambling school stories,
Who’d the teacher scold!
Was it Cooper, or was it, Lee?
Or who’d chased a bumblebee!
Tune of guitars and dancing bells.
Smells like old pages
From grandma’s tales!
Footsteps clip clap hand drums beat
Small rooms darkish, candlelit.

PS: Wrote this one a long time ago… could not complete, every time I tried, I guess flashbacks aren’t meant to be complete… will think about it later… read the glimpse for now…

Photo: ©Moulina Bhattacharya

The Path of Paradox

“Carry on, my wayward son
There’ll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don’t you cry no more” (Livgren & Kansas)

In the crowd with a mouthful of stories, have you ever felt lonely?
With a charade of emotions have you ever felt, nothing is True?
In a momentary exchange of words, have you ever found that familiarity?
In a room with machinery heat, have you felt that cold silence?
In those age-old pages, have you ever had the warmest embrace?
Have you felt that sanity in isolation? Aloof, away, unshackled and emancipated,
Have you ever wanted to live with your head held high, and having answers to all those finger wielding questions, yet to remain silent with pride,
Because you don’t owe them a single word? To live with honesty and clean satisfaction.
The familiar faces can hardly get you with your clearest response…
But you are understood, here and Everywhere.
Have you ever followed those signs? Seen the playful irony and smiled on your own?
They will say, the path is too perilous to walk, they may say, it’s too linear. But it’s your path, only you are to assess. You may hit the impasse, you will break through. The struggle is the ultimate meaning, that’s how it goes.
We, who feel our disjointed belongings, are understood by our prime elements. You have to see. You are seen. You will see. That’s the meaning of it.

Photo: ©Moulina Bhattacharya

A riddle in ‘YOU’

The wild wild mind,
Can only be captivated by YOU.
I can not ensnare, it would not sit still,
But only when it hears call from YOU.
I do wonder, where’d the thunder go,
It’s all calm now,
When it’s caught by YOU.
It changes— breaks all hinges
Of toxic disdain
When it gets embraced by YOU.
The wild wild bird,
Stops fluttering its barging wings—
When it sings songs of YOU.
She seems lost in the jungle—
Where the creepers creep her out,
The black river gives her shiver,
Amid sap green mist and cloud—
Then You came, sang that song—
Her fear withered, she followed your light—
Enchanted by that song, sung by YOU.
She is tamed, off the flame of anger
And shame, as You fetch her from the verge,
Like no one else, she leans on YOU.

They call you inanimate—
A cover over pages a few—
But you speak louder than them,
Paint picture in worldview!
Your words don’t hurt
Like their beguiling darts would do.
You impart peace in restless soul,
Cast magic in mystic fold—
Put dreams in dreamer’s eyes,
You are fewer than few.
Read or to be read,
My heart has always felt for YOU,
Without a tint of regret or rue.
No, you are no flesh and blood—
That most will assume,
You are more than that.
I know who you are, or may be a few—
You are everywhere, as of interest or honor,
In every nook and corner—
You enlighten the world, ever since
These earthlings could write and read.
Who else could you be—
You are my books,
On your words I feed to live,
Until my eyes would cease to see.
Until I fly off the oblivion and no more will BE.
The wild wild mind,
Will only be enchanted by YOU.

Photo: ©Moulina Bhattacharya

So who wins?

The one who is angry, despair of life, she writes,

‘Life is a mistake, it is filled with mistakes and errors, you are haunted by your past mistakes, leads you to make a bunch of new mistakes! It is horrible! All I do is wrong, I take wrong decisions, chase wrong paths, and say wrong words! I am done. I hate everything. Please cut me a slack!’

Heat cools down, attention passes on to other things, for a while, she thinks again, she sees again, she starts writing again,

‘It is like writing, you make mistakes, you write again, you learn from past mistakes, you do not repeat it in the new, because you know now, but there comes another mistake, you learn another one. It’s a process, it’s a flux, and hence it’s not a straight line. You make mistake, you learn, you may repeat it again, because it’s a long run. Who keeps the score? If anyone, it’s you. What is your existence beyond life? If you are discussed, when you are gone, if you are remembered, when you are dead, it is by life, by another lived ones. A world devoid of life, might remember you with your elements and matters: carbons and oxygens, to its atomic level, but that’s not you, that’s all, all lives possess some or the same elements, every other life possesses those atoms as in you. Life celebrates life, life of the lived, life of the dead. You do not exist beyond life. Life does not exist beyond life.’

So really, who wins?

Header-image source: IMDB, Room, 2015 movie

©Moulina Bhattacharya

Another Earth

[A short story]

Where am I? Aah! My head hurts—
Whoa! Watch out. What! How am I on the road?!
What was I doing?
Why’s all blank?!
Wait, do not panic. Let’s count. What is the last thing I remember?
Well, I probably fell asleep. Yes! I came home, I was tired and then, then I think I passed out. Where is everybody? What is this place?
What’s happening?!
Let’s move— Why does it feel I have been here before?! Oh I know, there’s the sign, “Regnarts lane”. Which means two blocks to the rail gate. Keep walking M—

Huh— What!!!!!
There used to be a rail gate here, where is it?
The roads are awfully empty today—
There’s someone, finally!
Hi! Excuse me! What happened to the rail road here?
What? But… Probably my mistake—
Could you— show me the way to Edoba bakery? Seems I took the wrong lane—
What do you mean you’ve never heard of it? Everyone here knows it. Ok, sorry—

What is wrong? It is all of a sudden like a whole other dimension! Except it is the same place—
Wait! There used to be that Namon statue, where is it?
And the old lamp post? The post box? The toffy store? OK, Ninth street, the bank? The bookstore? I have been coming here ever since!
They all had been here for last twenty four years, now what? All vanished?
Something is terribly wrong here or with my memory!
Am I dreaming? Is it again a lucid dream or something?
What’s the time? Oh yes— my phone! Yes that’s it— it should be in my pocket. There it is. Quarter to six! Isn’t it too bright for the time— light usually goes down by now—
Whatever, but what am I doing here and why? Was I abducted? No. Can’t remember any such thing. But how?!

Man! What am I, mad? I have my phone. Let’s call mamma, I guess it’ll be clear. But…
If she too does not know— and— I am really lost?! Again! I am detouring— Will see, let’s call first— then figure out. Does it have signal? Now’s not the time, please be there, please. Yes! there is—
Oh thank god! Please pick up please…

Hello! Maa? Wh… What’s up? Where are you?
Whoa! Calm down—
Why are you yelling at me?
What do you mean past two days?
So you are telling me that you have not heard from me since Saturday?! (But— we talked, just before…)
Yes I am quite alright— The matter of fact is, I am
I am coming home. Yes I am…
Don’t worry. I’ll be there soon—

Except I don’t know my way back HOME…

Cover and footer images: Snapshots taken from Another Earth, 2011 movie.

©Moulina Bhattacharya

Holograph of Dreams


Dream is such a concept! It is more astounding than its regular apprehension! Once Freud stirred it real hard, not sure if anybody brought a revolution of that range ever again. Well, it is not going to be leaning on such concept or theory. But I wonder why dream has not been subjected to the mainstream episteme! Dream has impact over so many things, such as, everyday thought, emotions (dormant or active), actions (may be) and many more. There are bunch of famous or not-so-famous or even not-known-at-all people put down their everyday dreams, decode them and give them real meaning. American novelist Jack Kerouac composed his Book of Dreams after his day-to-day (or rather night-to-night) dreams. So many people do not even remember their dreams or may be simply ignore them (especially those whose actions are driven by what, is hard to track on). I am a wonderer of dreams forever. Those dreams I remember from last night or the one from long ego, suddenly popped up through a course of actions, felt like déjà vu. I stop, think and try to find out the deformed metaphor hidden in them. I have just a little familiarity with psychoanalysis and this genre fascinates me.

There are certain places or emotions, I figured, keep appearing in my dreams like recurrent themes! Among other prevalent themes like space, decadence, being chased, relieved life, meeting the desire and so on, the theme of landscape is very prominent (more like topographical dreams)! Most of the story revolves around me, discovering a mystery-place led by narrow lanes, not fully impassable but a bit risky, quite secluded from crowd and common interest, as if anyone scarcely knows of its existence! Each time it would appear in different forms, once it was a waterfall upon a small waterbody, placed like a surprise amidst a lost forest. Another time it was a cliff from where the best sun set could be seen: the perfect tint of orange, yellow ochre and burn sienna syncing in a socked paper! There would be a shadow tree, black, unidentified. I would sit there calm in stasis like nothing bad had ever happened to me, like a newborn’s clean slate, only cherishing every scoop of what my eyes could see. A few people would be there this time, but they are strange, as if they do not belong to my world or time, they would walk past me like I am invisible, some of them would carry dry branches fallen off the trees stacked on their head, they would work their own, rustic life, like of countryside. I would have mixed emotions of suspense, worry (of my unnoticed absence/escape from home/ work) yet satisfied of the ‘terrific beauty’ I was relishing (Oh! It rings a bell! Like Thomas Wilson in the island of Capri, straight from Maugham’s story? But it started even before I read the story). Feels like I have travelled the time backward, in the primitive earth when it was not crowded, either with people, or our complexities. Like the narrow labyrinthine lane is a time-tunnel separating the world of now and then. The place always feels like an ideal space for the self to soothe and erase the trampling burdens; a proper escapade. Sense of being chased by unknown danger, impeding thorn walls and fear of exposure remains, for I liked the fact that I am the only one knew the existence of the place and did not want it to be littered by others.

As per the interpretation of my dream goes, I found many aspects. My love for solitude and seclusion or taking the road ‘less travelled by’ is basically inspired by my hatred for being commanded and competed. Even in real course of actions I am at my best when I am unnoticed or away from the race. Comparison and imposed expectations are those thorn walls encumber my brain like a negative reinforcement. I have always been influenced by others’ actions, I had to, that littered my spontaneous self/ space, and I think, I could have had done far better without those mental hydraulic pressures affecting my headspace. At least that is what I think, and thought is pulled away in the Subconscious, eventually bubbles up as dreams. Talking about how dream actually intervenes real actions or emotions seems like another string to pull, but later. I have felt its effect, transitory but effective, because it is a circle, differently processed but it is to acknowledge that one’s thoughts sediment, crumple and evaporate as dreams, hence dreams are the mental projection of thoughts through processed metaphors, sometimes much complex, sometimes linear, but I believe, an analytic mind can decipher its own tricks. I have had some exquisite dreams, difficult to narrate or make them sound Hitchcock-ish, but every time they left me in awe about how our brain works, really!

Postscripts: Speaking of metaphors, even this web space works like a metaphor to me, not like a ghost-space but it is seen/read by people around the globe (especially by those whom I do not even know). Recently I was going through a social media survey by an institutional research group where they asked a very thoughtful yet factual question, to rephrase, it was quite like, whether or not my social media impressions leave tracks of my lifestyle or current status. This space might not have such serious coherence like that of the question but it does feel like the mystery-place, one might read and explore or it becomes solely mine, only this time I don’t have the fear of it being littered.

Photograph: ©Moulina Bhattacharya

Lotus Moon

Moon Blossom

Dreamy petal cocoon, stretching on the sepal. I wish you wake…
Through your petal nest, into which you have veiled your pollen chest!
Shine! Onto the sky of the earth,
Put on the Cirrus gown. Enchant the night gazers heart.
Ease your anxious frown! Don’t you remember,
Once you lulled the Lotos-Eaters’ eyes?
Relieved the war crushed brain of Odysseus! When he pulled his train
To your island of perpetual afternoon?
You are the oleander, over the cloud and the sea!  Captivated the seers eye!
I can keep looking at you!  Forever can be a while…
Spring atop you floret moon…
Bloom away you intrepid lune!

Moon Bloomed

The July moon, shining full! Mystic dark, dimming light,
Smiles the lantern of night… At the lotus plume!
But now with your flourished crest,
I see you drowsing death…
Feathers falling away! Your hour bell tolls!
Day is coming up, You will wane and depart!
But You will come again I know,
As another moon bud!
I’ll see your regal bloom! With my whole heart!
You will surpass my life time… Only with your half-a-day!
We bloom together and wane…
In the same nature-continuum.