कोई कला का कैदी तोह कोई कृत्य का बिच में उलझेलूल हम क्षणिक सुख की झलक क्या मिल गयी तलब पे उतर आये हम सोचा था कि अपने बारे में कभी न बोलेंगे, पर क्या करें अल्फाज़ मुलाज़िम जो ठहरे सुर्ख आँसुओं के दबी हुयी दुखों की बुनियाद पे जिंदगी खड़ी तोह नहीं की…
Author: Rituparna
CORRIDORS OF TIME AND THE WITNESSES
The eucalyptuses swayed, embraced and kissed, and swayed away. The wind blew harder and they swayed again, this time embracing each other for a longer moment before they swayed apart. On the backyard, I stood amidst the bamboos and wilderness, withdrawn from the world, my eyes following the movements of the two eucalyptuses. The wind…
Pichavaram: the aquamarine charm of Tamil-Nadu
The sight of a family of seals staring back at me, through the patchy openings of a thick mangrove forest, with their round and gullible yet inquisitive eyes, was incredibly delightful. At least for those rare moments I was delivered from my certainty of a distinctive existence to that of one where I might be…
Epilogue to Her Fancies
In her childhood Beth often listened to her granny’s wondrous tales, as she rested on a cot under the starlit skies… “…and the fox turns into a huge gourd, it slopes down swiftly through the dense jungles to reach me…” Nine times out of ten she fell asleep before the story ended; her night a…
Tourism Industry in Sikkim: Boon or Bane?
Just three days in a place like Sikkim and that too in the rainy season didn’t quench even a speck of my thirst for the beauty I encountered. Surely another trip is due and next time I’ll stay for a longer duration. But my observations while travelling around the place and my word with a…
Review Essay: The European City by L. Benevolo & The Soviet City by J.H. Bater
(First written in 2013 during postgraduation in JNU, New Delhi) Emergence of the urban spaces[1] has been spontaneous in some cases and in some cases was triggered off by already existing cultural and political forces in the vicinity. Both the cases find ample representation and evidence in the books- The European City and The Soviet…
To a John Keats of Today
O Love, Why’d you wait with bated breath? For your Bright Star: a glimpse, a word, a dewy-eyed kiss? The romance has gone, my friend, the winds restrained It is Love that’s lost; it is Love that we miss
As the Ice broke, Water was Everywhere
She was there, Where it all began and all ended Neither the bright afternoon knew Nor the sad evening For they were mere visitors The tree, though, seemed to know it all
ख़ामोशी-ए-लब
ए फ़क़ीर, तू अपनी सुना अंजाम-ए-कहानी होठों पे ला तू भी था ख़ौफ़ों और शकों की बेचैनियों में बंधा? या… सहसा, दुआओं की ऐसी भीड़ लगी
Suspended in Space
(I) The night drew out on his last words. Silence, like a palm reddened in vermillion, Tenderly touched and left its print on a new leaf. It’ll die with the mark, will it not? (II) Many a winter stumbled Over the heap of results of someone else’s
the mad man
what in us the teaching thorn the hardened rock the wonted morn for him the swaying of a tender leaf in his heart and he dreaming
Lacuna
The eternity of a farewell rests in their love. Time loves Lacuna but all they say to each other is farewell. They are ever bidding farewell to each other and in farewells they exist. Time relentlessly runs from the past to the future: past-future, past-future, past-future… The ending of one farewell is the beginning…
Casually Classical 