Mukhomukhi .. Adhikarheen ..

"Sob nei mlan kore shudhu aachhe ekjon,

ar..

Mukhomukhi.. Adhikarheen seo aachhe" ..

Amar jakhan bayashta motamuti bardhokyer kachhakachhi .. banprastha-i jakhan ekmatro bikalpo,basanto-batash noy .. eta sei takhankar galpo.. kono ek bikhyato lok bole gechhilen.. 'sob golper ekta shuru..ekta sesh ar ekta majhkhan thake .. not necessarily in order" .. ei galpotar ekta shuru chhilo ... ekebare domrano-mochrano ekta sesh aami dekhechhi .. majhkhan ta ekdin asbe,ei ashay ekhon likhe rakhchhi sei itihaas ..

Nandinir sathe aamar sesh dekha tar katha bhule gechhi aami.. shudhu eta mone achhe sedin gobhir ratre ki bolte cheyechhilum oke....

"Hayto, erpor khub sabdhane pa felte felte amra atikrom kore jabo ek ek ta alokbarsho .. nayto kono achena,abujh rastay neme aasbe paapmugdho bikel amader ajante .. Nandin... Amra nishan uriye diyni ardhek jiboner simante.. Tai mrityu khuje nik amar ashorirmon bhalobasa .. rupkathara konodin-i ar gaan geye uthbe na tor thont chhuye .." ..

Hya ekta ashchorjo raat chhilo seta .. amar ghar theke alpo mukh ber kore aami anekdin por dekhchhi aakash ta aalo aalo seje aache.. karur gala pachhi na kothao theke.. jeno unmukh noishbdo chumbon chaichhe .. aami bhabchhilum ei byapartake ekta kobitay ankle kemon daray .. hathat dekhi anek dur theke sobuj salwar .. se aaschhe .. Nandini aaschhe ... aamar mone holo jeno o ekkhuni ese dnarabe samne .. or nirjon chokh ekbar takabe .. aamar gale satdiner na kamano dari ..ar asahya prasab-jantronar pore tori haoa du tinte choritro ... hayto ekbar aamra hawa-y uriye debo anushashon .. ar e shahare neme aasbe abikol himanko ..

'Jhoupatar fnake fnake jhore porchhe kobitara ..

Ar aamar mrito rajdhani te neme aschhe arekta aschorjo ratri' ....

Na Nandini aseni .. Athoba eleo aami thik janina .. khub byasto chhilum.. bishwash korun.. Hayto esechhilo .. Hayto oi gharei .. anushashon tuchho kore amay jigges korechhilo ki kichhu?.. shunte paini .. sotii paini .. Nirjon chokh chumbon cheyechhilo ki ekta? .. Rattire khub brishti porechhilo ki baire sedin??.. janina ... janina .. aami sotti khub byasto chilum .. sei din .. sei raat .. Nandin er jonyoi ekta kobita .. Nandin esechhilo .. hayto .. kintu ..bishwash korun..sei muhurte khatar theke ekbar chokh tulle.. sei je gunjan ta.. sei gunjan ta ekdom hariye jeto .. oi kobita ta toiree hoto na ar konodin... Na hole ..

Ta chhara... Nandini-der janyo lekha kobitar theke to Nandini ra konodin-i baro nay ..na????

Roddurer katha bhabte bhabte ..

"Amader modhye je ekhon mastery kore,
Anayase se daktar hote parto..
Je ukil hote cheyechhilo..
Daktar hole tar emon kicchu kshoti hoto na...
Athacho sakoler-i ichhepuron holo,ek amolkanti chhara,
Amolkanti roddur hote pareni ....
Sei Amolkanti .. Roddurer katha bhabte bhabte je ekdin roddur hote cheyechhilo ... "

Aamar ekta bondhu chhilo .. Sourav ... School-e eksathe portam ar bugbazar multipurpose kimba rajkumari balika vidyalayer bus-ta school-er samne diye gele doure doure shosthitolar mor obdi jetam... Sourav-o jeto ki? mone pore na aajkal.. O takhan prem korto .. 'O-ra' takhan prem karto ... Aami dekhtam dure bose .. Aami-o cheshta krtam..kintu, thik hoto na .. rattirer class-er pore jhopejhare lukiye propose korechhilum ekdin... ar tobin road obdi hatte hatte cigarette khete khete driro nischit hoye gechhilum ... ar kakhhono na ... never!!

Ar obodharitobhabe abar porer din Jogeshda-r coaching-e notes na tuke ha kore takitye chhilum.. jatokkhan na o khub baro baro chokh kore amar dike takay...
Sourav takhan thekei kobita likhto ...

Aamader beshir bhag loker-i sei alpo boka boka chhotobelar coaching theke aajker ei corporate cubicle-er majhkhan ta hariye gechhe kothao ekta.. ba bola bhalo byapar ta oi aadim manush theke lalkrishna advani obdi bibortoner mato .. link ta aachhe bojha jay ..kintu, chokhe dhora pore na.. to jaihok .. aami amolkanti theke sourav ghure ese seshmesh aamar premkahini-r bylane-e dhuke ei lekhar puntki jaam korbo na ... ei galpo ta , ba rather ei 'noshta-lgia' hayto sei hajar khanek premkahinir theke kinchit mahaan ...

"Ru-aam...Ru-aam mane pahare sheetkal, athoba Ru-aam mane ekguccho golap... Hayto sei dinta kakhonoi asbe na jedin amra ru-aam ke ei trimatrik frame-e dhorte parbo .. Bala jay.. ru-aam-e samay theme thake.. athoba ru-aam-e susamay chhilo .."

Bayas ta barchhe bujhte pari .. ekhon kono kichcui thikthak mone porte chai na.. jemon mone pore na ei script tar naam ki chilo ..'Ru-aam'-i hobe bodhhay.. ar oder little magazine-tar naam .. 'Morshum' ... Du-char patar ekta chhotto magazine..protyekta kobita jeno adbhut ekta aalo .. jeno prachur rate nesha kore tolte tolte delhi road-er upor bsoe achhi ar pash diye truck gulo chhute jachhe jhorer mato.. aami ektu ektu kore samne jachhi ar headlight elei paliye jachhi .. mrityuke khuje nicchi kuriye paoa jiban theke .. athoba, kono ek sondhye-y half-open-sky khalasitola-y bose chumuk dicchi matir bhnare rakha banglay ar chokher samne sobkata mukh milemiseh ekakar hoye jachhe .. aami aamar sei hallucination-er modhye dhuke ekbar chhuye dekhte chaichhi protyekta mukh ar omni sob khoaari kete giye ekta adbhut biponnota .. hayto .. aami bose aachhi faanka stage-e ... babuda-pintada light lagachhe ekta unchu moi te chore .. sodyo college chhuti hoye sabai aschhe.. amader stage-tar dike chhnure dichhe koutuhol meshano drishti ..ar ...ar sabar picchone sara akash aalo kore aaschhe o ... algocche chhunre dichhe ekmutho nirbaak , aar aami songe songe likhe felchhi eksho ta kobita ...

'Charminar-er dhoa-ta paak khete khete uporer dike uthchhe , ar kane kane bole jachhe .. ekta, matro ekta aboidho prem.... tate etokhani aagun?'

Sourav amar hostel-er ghore esechhilo bar du-ek .. aami or bariteo gechhi .. aamra galpo shonatam eke oporke . o-i shonato . aami abaak hoe dekhtam .. sotti sotti kibhabe susamay theme jaay.. "ru-aami morshume"... galpo theke jakhan roj uthe asto sudhu dwesh,sudhu ghrina .. raag .. jantrona ... mone mone bhabtam sei aloukik lekha tar katha ..

'Na Sudeshna, e morshume tomar jonye ar ektuo laal nei'

Aami jakhan chakri niye chole aschhi.. sourav bolechhilo haste haste, 'manush tahole sesh parjonto ekta samajbaddho jeeb-i.. tai na? majhe majhe aami bhabi Jyotishka, katokhani bhalobahbe ei kathata bolle katokhani ashlil lagte pare..!!' .. aami uttor dite parini ..hayto.. ei bhabei amar basantogulo ei cubicle-er ashepashe, kono shopping mall-er 'use me' te ba hayto ardhek prithibi dure kono ek shahore eke eke dhuloy mishbe.. aami chitkar korte chaibo .. parbo na.. likhte gele baro ghum pabe .. Sourav-ra takhan hayto nepal ki bhutan ki hayto anyo kothao khuje berachhe Sudeshnake .. chhobi te dhore rakhchhe ek ekta asto basantokaal.. shahor nabyota harate harate thomke jachhe .. ora likhchhe bole ..

Ekhono majhe maje swapno dekhi .. bahudin pore aami esechhi .. jolkada thokthoke maath..sari sari chair pata.. aamar nayak bhenge chure jachhe stage-e ar ekpa kimba ekso haat dure sei bhirer modhye ora esechhe.. dekhbe bole.. Ghum ta bhenge jay..bujhte pari .. Aamar sesh natok tar por curtain pore gechhe .. Drop Scene-er por audience-er dike matha nichu kore dariye aachi aami.. haattali deoar mato ektao lok nei seat-e ..

Amolkanti pareni , Sourav .. Tui paris.. !!

I need you

I need you
I was going to write something about my old wallet, but suddenly it seemed ridiculous. Yes, it's torn and almost unusable, the wallet that felt happy with even a hunderd rupee note cannot any more stand the friction of my credit cards. Maybe, it will leave me soon and a branded new one will replace the 'Shreeleather's dirty sack, still ..
I was almost a kid then, and like every other kid of my age, a huge fan of Suman Chattopadhyay.. there was a time I didn't read Rabi Thakur, but I knew the whole of 'Bose Aanko' or 'Jatismar' .. I don't remenber why he ever stopped, or, even if he had stopped at all..but, somehow we were left orphan .. I heard there was some problem, I didn't believe a single news that spoke bad about him.. I felt defeated.. Maybe, for the reason that he was the first person in my life I felt I have some kind of unseen resonance ..
And then it came, I saw it on the third page of Anandabazaar Patrika, trying to peep out from a pageful of Basak Jewellers and D.K.Lodh's... he's there again, the album, as I remember was named 'Reaching Out'.. the small ad had lines of a song, rendition of the 'Tomake Chai' .. in a somewhat different mood.. I saved the cutting in my diary and many times thought I'd whisper it on one of the never-ending calls to the ones I really wanted ..
I don't remember how many years passed by and how many such songs I have whispered to the women on those endless nights... The small paper-cutting still resides in my torn wallet, the lines never uttered ...

In the trails of the evening breeze,
In a drop of peace, in a moment's ease
In a tired, half-hearted smile,
In a comfort that's so fragile,
In the secret nook of a hidden wish,
In a fantasy you may call childish,
In my dreams, in my foolishness
In the depth of my emptiness ..
I need you ..

It just occurred to me ...

"Give me a prejudice and I shall move the world"

It was a late night 'maal party' at Mitra's place, and we were watching 'once', a musical. A good movie, I must say, and at places inspiring and heart-wrenching. The movie ended but the humming tune was hovering in the dim-lit ambience, and to me suddenly it seemed the most beautiful tune in the world. At times, I really feel sad that I cannot play the guitar. It's become like that childish dream of being 'Tipu Sultan' someday.

The ambience gave way to the famous (?) 'bhalo bhaat', a form of highly productive and construtive gossiping that only few have mastered till date. It started with the never-cliched topic , 'dream of being something someday'... and converged to 'love' in no time, I realised I am slowly getting intoxicated. I know this has happened to me always, in every sessions of these 'maal party's and 'bhaat's, I get that strange drowning feeling, as if I am getting drowned slowly in a quick-sand and I am enjoying every bit of it.Inevitably her face 'flashes upon my inward eyes'... I was thinking of the short story I've written sometimes back..

'Ekta sesh biplober opekkhay,
Rupkothara matha rakhe ashtray-r kole'

'I.. I don't know .. What do you think, revolution exists? .. Somehow, all these terms 'revolution', 'change' somehow sounds too much phoney to me.. somehow.. I can't believe in all these shit..'

'I think, rather I believe it exists, but I also know that my life is too short to witness one .. but maybe when it does there will be a contribution from me, the dreamer's contribution.. I believe in revolution, for I know it will be there one day, and we just cannot fail to recognise when it's there.. we, the dreamers are a minority..and that's why we hold strong to our beliefs.. and that's where we pass/fail ..'

The smoking ace drew a last cigarette from his case and in the dim light he could see a climax he has never written before, it was her, and she was laughing hysterically... and as she laughed like a lunatic.. her face was covered with certain grimness that he'd never seen before .. and he suddenly thought 'revolution' can never exist .. at least for him.. !!

The Corpse and Me .. (2)

I had a theatre group in the small town where I grew up, it started as an alternative to the daily nothingness we always felt. I never loved theatre, and writing was something I knew was beyond my caliber, the only thing I thought I could do was try telling the stories I have seen around me, camouflaging them as stories of other men of other times. So, the retired revolutionary who fled from the battle ground leaving behind his pregnant girlfriend or the boy of 21years who committed suicide just because he thought his utter existence carries no meaning to him, are all in me. I still remember the days of writing scripts, the half-lit cigarettes, the smell of cannabis, and innumerous clones of me, standing all in my small room. Playing all the parts, poking, teasing, laughing and dying..

It was then I asked myself, ‘Will there ever be a moment of truth for me?’… The smoke deepened on the window-panes, the silhouette made the night sky look like a distant road, I could see all the faces smearing to one another... and a voice deep inside me asked, ‘Will the real me ever stand up?’. I felt like I would puke, but I didn’t and like a blaze of gusty wind her ghost covered my existence.

The last time I entered the rehearsal room. My script is finished. It’s all over for me then. I can look at their faces now, faces that waiting to start a story, of their own, I knew my story is finished. “The last time you are going up there”, someone said from my back. My protagonist smiled. I took a small chair and sat behind the scene, far off from the stage, “let them be alive, let me be dead”, I said to myself. Twenty-three seconds, the spotlight is on. It’s all a new world, being born right there. Far off from the stage, I started feeling her breath touching me. Is she still there?

Ten years before her death, on that day, I fell in love.

The corpse and Me ..

“A decade later, when I heard about the news of her death, I could not feel anything… I could still remember the smell of the corpse that hovered in the town for many nights … “

My father was a child of 3 years, when he crossed the first and probably the last border for his lifetime, clutching the hands of a woman already turned schizophrenic as an aftermath of what we call the freedom… little he knew that the generations after him will all bear testimony of something even time wants to forget ..

Long he thought that the ghosts from the old tomb at his place will come someday to visit him, to take him away, and when they finally did, he took less than a moment to recognize his death.
Maybe, after a lifetime of distress, hope had still not forsaken him, for I never again saw the same smile in any dead man’s lip as serene as his.

Maybe, my father was not dreaming at the moment that death struck him and he chose not to leave his dreams to the fear of dying. Years later, when I caressed her for the first time, she confessed that she felt like she will die but she didn’t flinch... She loved it, embraced it. And maybe it was the time she started dreaming of her death… and on that fretful day, when her funeral was almost over, it started raining and I was the only person who knew that she had already dreamt it , dreamt it all.

The police van was waiting outside her house, the corpse lay in her bedroom completely naked, the blood trickled from her wrist and it went down to the table where she had planted a lilac that morning and a half-done poem. They took her to the morgue on the same path she used to go for a walk every evening, the path that lead to eternity. The house was never sold again, for a eerie ambience was always there, and I, sitting comfortably half-a-globe across could smell the rotten corpse. I didn’t know where the smell came from, but, I certainly knew it must be hers.

It was the first time I missed her in decades.


(contd.)