For months now, I have grumbled often tearfully almost like a regular adult about how much I have loved and then eventually lost, but I have ceased to mention, at times intentionally, what I had attained when I did love… and to be honest it indeed was a lot. Love as we all know is a weird emotion, for while it lasts it shadows your entity, your being and when it leaves, it leaves you not with the memories of sweetness but with the bitterness of how it could not last you for a lifetime. We are greedy, greedy for more; we humans feel as if we are naturally entitled to everything that is beautiful that is joyous, and when we grieve, we do it with such a passion that literally nullifies everything that had been good. Therefore, we mourn, mourn and mourn until something else catches our whim or better still, when somebody else replaces our needs. Selfishness comes to us as naturally as eating or shitting does. So let me for once refrain from being such a hypocrite and of course before I realize that I am being stupid mention how much I did enjoy being in love and put aside the fact that things did not quite work out between us as I thought they would, and really say aloud that yes I had been in love and no I don’t think it is such a crime to fall in it again. And to the rest of the lot who feel otherwise, well, what can I say I feel sorry for you I really do, because love is not a bad thing for it does not change you, it never does instead it changes the way you look at things and that makes all the difference in the world. So cheers to all who have loved and lost, for before losing you had been in for a joy ride and wait till you get yourself another ticket to Disneyland.

The tender touches vanish quite unexpectedly one day leaving behind no traces, the imprint remains strong in your psyche but the entire craze seems so unreal, like it never even existed and you keep probing quite unsuccessfully to reach out to those various myriads of joy or rather the relics that you think you will be able to preserve. Your first instinct is to increase your caution; your desperation takes a toll on your judgment. You are often exasperated at your callousness for letting it go in the very first place, for not trying harder than you did. After several attempts you realize that nothing, pretty much nothing is there to be ensnared in the unyielding darkness, you are exhausted by that time, which again makes you feel incapacitated, helpless often incomplete…… and this is precisely the moment when the vacant sigh escapes. The brutality of fate injects in you a venom so strong that it gnaws at your very existence… and that is when the tears start pouring out not due to pain, but merely to dissolve the numbness that threatens to engulf our very subsistence, to cease the process of our extinction…

One day I did spread my wings, one day I did somersault, one day I ate chocolates and didn’t stop until my tummy ached, one day I stood on the rooftops with dews caressing my naked shoulders, one day I screamed and screamed till nothing else would ring in my ears but my own sore voice. One day I did catch the first rays of the sun, made a fireball and threw it to the horizon, one day I caught the shadows and stored it in my Pandora box, one day I blindfolded myself and threw myself in his arms, one day I slept and never had to get up. One day I got drunk and did not have to make excuses to my mum, one day I picked up the devil from a bar, one day I stole the summer tint and painted the winter green, one day I danced in the radiant river fall. One day my ashes flew in wind, one day my dreams were sold, one day my memoirs were auctioned and the poorest purchased it all. One day I did smile, one day I did feel my tears dry, one day I woke up once again, one day I did find myself amidst the thousand me…. one day I did try and achieved more than just whispers, I got my song. One day I found that one day.

Chena gondhogulo kamon jano hariye jachche
Bhorer gondho,purono khoborer kaagojer othoba bikeler moori makhar gondho?
Aamer aachar er tel diye mekhe dito maa, ak odbhut bhalo lagar shei gondho…
Tobe akhon ar paina, moneo porena, uro smritir jaale kei ba atke thakte chae, amio chaina. Hoetoh shei jonnie bhule jai kimba jete chai.
Tobe akta gondho akhono amar hariye jawa roopkathagulo ke tene hichre baar kore niye ashe…. Brishtir gondho. Maatir kol e jokhon prothom brishtir chant eshe pore bhijie die jae amader topto shorir, pipasharto mon sholpo anka chobigulo… tokhoni ei chena gondhoti ochena shobkichuke shorie amar indriyogulor opore acchre pore, amay niye jae she dingulote ferot jekhane ami opekkhay boshe thaktam rajputro ar kotalputro eshe amay bondini rajkonya ke uriye niye jabe tepaantorer pare….
Tai borsha mukhod dine amar monikothay atke thaka bhalolagagulo peye jae onumoti, kheyal- khushir thikana, ami hoi poripurno, kokhono ba nijer ogochorei, kokhono ichche-danae paari diye….. shobai jokhon brishti konar maajhe heem sheetol tokhon amar shara shorire ak odbhut ushnotar choya pai ami….amar moner faankfokor gulo jano abar kanae kanae bhore othe…… ami abar notun kore akash pothe urte shikhi…..


written by ananya chatterjee

She calls out to the man on the street “Sir, can you help me?
It’s cold and I’ve nowhere to sleep Is there somewhere you can tell me?”
He walks on, doesn’t look back He pretends he can’t hear her
He starts to whistle as he crosses the street She’s embarrassed to be there
Oh, think twice, it’s just another day for For you and me in paradise
Oh, think twice, it’s just another day For you, you and me in paradise
Just think about it
She calls out to the man on the street He can see she’s been cryin’
She’s got blisters on the soles of her feet She can’t walk but she’s tryin’
Oh, just think twice, it’s just another day For you and me in paradise
Oh, yes think twice, it’s just another day For you, you and me in paradise
Just think about it, just think about it
Oh Lord, is there nothing more anybody can do?
Oh Lord, there must be something you can say
You can tell from the lines on her face You can see that she’s been there
Probably been moved on from every place ‘Cause she didn’t fit in there
Oh, yes think twice, it’s just another day For you and me in paradise
Oh, yes think twice, it’s just another day For you, you and me in paradise
Just think about it, just think about it
It’s just another day For you and me in paradise

This song by Phill Collins often makes me brood…makes me ponder on whether we are humans with their superior intrinsic ethics and principles or are we just bloody hypocrites trying to pretend something that we are not.
Perhaps humanity… merely means civilizations, and the words associated to it like benevolence, compassion, charity or empathy has absolutely no significance ….and the ones harboring these sentiments are exceptions… errors of humanity, fallible and disturbed.
I often feel that perhaps we would have been better off as apes and monkeys, we could at least bear a clear conscience but then I realize humans have evolved and so has our scruples… we are beyond the narrow range of self-realization and compunction …. Our conscience no longer cause us any inconvenience. It no longer evokes a sense of angst or remorse in us. We have reached the pinnacle with all its splendor… we have become true humans, even resisting our very weaknesses that once held us back from exploring the alleyway of decadence. We have emerged as victors…we have defeated our morals our insight… our virtues… oh, I sound so completely fucked up, ‘virtues and morals’? Sounds theatrical does not it; I better shut up now before someone else suggests me to do that….here…. ‘chup’….I become…




written by ananya chatterjee

The symphony of life is a bittersweet one, but we hardly get the opportunity to strike the chords, so lying back in my bed when I try to call upon my muse it shows its middle finger and asks me to fuck off. I try to find sense in my failure; try meaninglessly to search for that one thing that could inspire me, invigorate me and I gradually end up in perpetual agony of hopelessness. They say desperation is born out of despair, but my anguish comforts me, bizarrely it keeps me sane. I see that my addiction towards that inactive stage grows each time I lose the battle against my dormant vision.
Am I finally losing it or is it that the canvas of life is too dark to be colored by mere words? Perhaps I am too freaking lazy to correct my idiosyncrasies.
A perfect product of this ‘fucked up era’ where my crippled emotion is my only refuge, where expressions become a luxury for I am too goddamn exhausted to play with prosody. I am stuck in an orb…confined in a niche I have carved for myself where thoughts elude my empty brain and aggravation sedates my tautened nerves.

I assemble up to type my hollow words and then I lounge back yet again to leer at my futile efforts…I slither back to enjoy the mirth of oblivion.

written by ananya chatterjee