Tuesday, March 18, 2014


The smell of kalo jeeray in mustard oil,
The shock of shukno lonka phoron in ghee,
The kirtan evenings in the reverine islands of Majuli,
The night screeches of the peacocks,
Close, now far, now surprisingly close,
Cutting through the silence in the lawns....
Like all these I long for you.

A part of me leaves the kitchen, as I peel oranges in the counter.
I think of those mango trees in my mamabari's backyard,
The tiya pakhi rodh mornings in the baranda,
The carefree afternoons in the chaad,
The ghorano siri, the purono Dodge gari,
And the pukur paar....
Like all these I long for you.

The white chnapa on the way to my office keeps me thinking,
I try so hard but can't remember the word, the scientific name,
Alstonia Scholaris comes back, phirey phirey,
I clearly remember that's chatim and not shmashan chnapa,
I call up maa on my way back from office,
Ask her if kingshuk and polash are the same?
I remind her to get a sapling of fagun bou for our garden.

I sing myself a lullaby every night.
Winter fades into spring....
They play Holi.

17th March 2014.