Inside his head

Inside his head
there's an ongoing
battle of contrasts,
a conflict between

ideals and interests!

His rage merciless,
squashes opposing ideas,
blocks 'n tackles the undesired.
It ferments a self-justification,
fails to stop the complaining
inside his head.

Inside his head --
a war remains unsettled.
simmering dissatisfaction,
dissatisfaction of
desires unmet,
broken dreams
love unrequited
betrayed loyalty.

Few will know the truth
the story mainly untold --
Tormented inside
yet a facade of smile
plastered outside
projects a persona
of sea-bottom calm.
So he smiles.
And he smiles
and then, he smiles some more.
Smile is God's last mask!

Dream of Rivers?

In search of the sacred
on my way to the ocean
am I simply too scared
'bout this dream notion!!

As opposed to Billy Joel’s River of Dreams. . .

Questions

I wonder why
beneath the mountain so still
simmer a bubbling spring of lava
while deep down the stormy sea a calm
mirrors the still deadness
of an impending storm.

I wonder why
it rains in excess in Cherapunji
while Gobi-Sahara laments in anguish -
not a single drop in sight.

I wonder when and how
this strange dichotomy in nature
and the divide in the physial world
got into our lives and society.

Note: Cherapunji is a place in Meghalaya, India with the highest rainfall in the world.

I wonder why

In the dead of the night
clamoring footsteps,
gun shells break the silence.
air strikes, rockets
light up the night sky.

The world watches the
might of the military -
while kids become orphans,
widows and mothers 
left to weep.

In the dead of the night
while the other world sleeps
I wonder why? why?

April 3rd

I remember the day
I forgot pain –
knocked out craftily
but rebounced.
I remember the day
I forego bondage –
vowed not to be used
and then declared useless.
I remember the day
I stopped stagnating –
liberated from
self-imposed prison.
felt such a relief!
I remember the day
a long chapter closed –
friends, way too many,
left behind in a blink.
I remember the day
I forgot to look back –
God suddenly opened
a new door.

A man in the mirror

A man stands before me with
eyes contradicting one another:

If one shows pain,
the other comps with joy.
If one looks back,
the other pulls forward -
If one draws from the past,
the other paints a future
If one sees a problem,
the other an opportunity.
If the first tries to drag
the second creates an uplift -
If one lacks passion
the other exudes vision
If emptiness befalls on one,
the other sparkles optimism.
If one shows despair
the other beams hope.
If one appears careless, lazy
the other emblems urgency.
If one draws sympathy from folks,
the other encourages them instead.

Against this society's mirror
I see a man. I see me.

Reflecting on Durga Puja 2008

This year's Durga Puja is behind us. It is the biggest celebration among the Bengali people. It has evolved from being a religious festival to a socio-cultural phenomenon - a time for joy, fun, and merriment. A time when gifts are exchanged, people get new clothes, travel (because schools and offices are closed) or make capital purchases for their homes with the bonus from employers.

But Durga Puja to me has always brought in mixed emotions. I am always disturbed by the striking contrast of the affluence and extravaganza with which it is celebrated, particularly in and around the metropolitan Calcutta, now Kolkata [the name changed after I had left the country; I find it difficult to say or write Kolkata. I still prefer Calcutta, my birthplace, the city where I had spent my formative years, the city where I moved from childhood to adulthood] and the stark poverty. So much of pomp and grandeur and yet, right outside the glamour of the mandaps [these are temporary structures put up to house the idols of goddess Durga and her four children] is darkness - both real and symbolic. One has to be blind not to see this or be desensitized not to feel it.

Two days before this year's puja, the Nano project [India's effort to come up with the USD 2000 car] moved out of West Bengal. This could have been Bengal's pride. People associated with the project lost their livelihood; some lost all their savings/investment, and most importantly, hope. Mind it; this happened right before the puja - the day when most factory workers typically get their bonuses and do the last minute shopping for their eagerly waiting kids. That one piece of new cloth brings in so much joy. I cried at the plight of these people. I could empathize with these people. I know suffering, the pain of starvation, the indignity of going home empty handed, the misery of deep loss. I only wish Mamata [the political leader behind the failure. Her name is a misnomer. Mamata in Bengali means kindness] had some kindness.

Continue reading...

My dada (the Bengali word for elder brother) sent me an email greetings for the Puja. He rightly characterized the changes in puja celebration these days. The smell of the "Shiuli" flowers (quintessential autumn flower was so common even in the city during this time of the year when we were growing up) is gone. Pizza and pasta have taken over Moghlai Khana (Bengali for royal dish from the Moghul period!?) that we used to savor during the puja days with our pocket money. Globalization and call centers have increased the divide between the rich and the poor. Competition among the local puja organizers is so intense these days that the organizers spend millions of dollars for a simple plaque, for bragging rights for the entire next year. Traditional mandap set-ups are replaced by novel themes representing current world events and trends. Innovation and creativity in material selection (e.g. rice, caps from Coke, etc.), lighting, and every aspect of the celebration. Yet, right outside the puja premise, there may be a poor kid in his tattered clothes sucking on a Popsicle stick thrown away by someone else. This also must be a theme - my dada sighed in his note. Not that this doesn't happen every day but it doesn't get so strikingly exposed. This is what so tormenting, heart wrenching about Durga Puja.

We celebrated Puja in Memphis in our own way - the "Twenty-Twenty" equivalent of Cricket. Life in the fast lane (or is it so? do we small-towner NRIs love to think) forced us to squeeze five days of puja into one and that too after the actual puja is over. Convenience of weekend rules! Idiosyncrasies (where the priest won't do the puja) and availability of rental space all adds to the planning challenge. Despite that, we had fun. And to allow time for the ladies to show their latest acquisitions (Saree and ornaments) there was a "break" between the daytime puja and the evening event. We even had an evening cultural program for the local Bongs to showcase their talent and to claim that they are still in touch with the Bengali culture, often at the cost of completely alienating the audience. It is high time for some of these long time performers to retire. [By the way, why can't we learn from Bengal's pride Sourav who declared his retirement from International Cricket on the day of the Ashtami (8th day of the puja)?]

Since, Durga puja is a time to spend with your family and friends, a deep void in our lives re-surfaced. Moments like these, times of celebrations like this revive the memory of gifts that are lost forever. One craves for that piece of one's heart that is carved out with no treatment known to mankind to heal.

Top right is my reflection in Bengali of how the puja break this year was spent. Click on the image to get a more legible version.
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© 2008 Sanjoy Haldar

This Moment

This moment -

A mother rejoices her new born
Another father laments his loss –
an angel comes to the Garden of Eden
this very moment.

The morning sun ushers in a ray of hope.
Someplace else darkness falls –
an evil world wakes up into treachery and treason

This moment a seed of love gets planted
as a plot of deception unfolds.

An artist feels the pang of creation
The anarchist celebrates the plight of destruction

Someone’s first date, someone’s first kiss -
Someone’s parting kiss?
- a bride sees her love off to a war

While a family reunites, another breaks
right this very moment.

This very moment
We love, we hate
We revenge, we forgive

We are humans – God’s greatest creation!

© 2007 Sanjoy Haldar