Rise up O Suffering Angel!

Since days of yore,
She has been trampled upon.
Her dreams twarted,
Her innocence mutilated,
Her voice subdued,
Her laughters suppressed,
Her opinions villified,
Her dignity tarnished,
Her desires denigrated.
Rise up O Suffering Angel!
For this world is not for you!
Your abstinence is not a virtue,
Your silence is not your weakness!
Let us see you command,
Let us see you rule.
Let your inexorable desires flow,
And let your iridicent dreams glow.
Let there be Sunshine,
Resplendent and bright.
Let there be the music
Of your unsung might.

Book Review: Gone With the Wind

Gone with the Wind – Margaret Mitchell

'Gone with the Wind' is an epic romance saga, set in the backdrop of the American Civil War and the subsequent period of reconstruction. The story follows the life of Scarlett O'Hara, a rich, carefree and coquettish young lady, who is thrown into poverty and despair due to the aftermath of war, and her strong resolve to survive and combat every adversity that comes her way.The title 'Gone with the Wind', refers to the enticing light of the bygone days, the carefree and innocuous past of the war-torn South, which, in Scarlett's words, is 'gone with the wind which has swept through Georgia'. It refers to the nostalgia of the ‘Old Guard’ South, and their incorrigible tendency to bask in their past glory, and unwillingness to accept any change.

‘Futility of War’ is the central theme of the novel. It is because of war, that the once rich and prosperous South is thrown into poverty, destitution and endless suffering. It is interesting to note, that both Scarlett and Rhett have the opinion that war is futile. They both realize that the so called patriotism is a form of insanity, which forces innocent lives to face the infernal war. As Rhett observes, ‘All wars in reality are money squabbles. But so few people ever realize it. Their ears are too full of bugles and drums and fine words from stay-at-home orators.’

‘Survival’ is another important theme of the novel. Scarlett, when she found Tara devastated by war and burdened by taxes, resolved that she would survive through all of this and adopted all possible means to revive Tara, be it marrying her sister’s beau, or running a saw mill, or befriending Yankee officers to further her business. As they say, ‘The fittest will survive’, Scarlett and Rhett survive, because they know how to adapt to changes brought about by war, and how to benefit from it. Ashley, on the other hand, is left completely broken and dispirited at the end of the war, because he continues to dwell in the past and is unable to adapt to his present lifestyle.

‘Love’, as depicted in the novel, is both elusive and powerful. Scarlett’s love for Tara provides her strength to fight obstacles. On the other hand, Scarlett incessantly pines for Ashley’s love, and is oblivious of the love which Rhett showers on her. Love eludes Scarlett throughout the novel, and she realizes it in the end, only to lose it.

‘Slavery’ has been shown in a very different light in the novel. Slaves are treated as family members, and are nursed and taken care of. The slaves are loyal and faithful to their masters, and often exert a certain level of authority over them. Mammy was a motherly figure, and would pamper as well as reprimand Scarlett when needed, as any caring guardian would do. Big Sam was loyal to Scarlett, and had come to her rescue when she had been assaulted by thugs at a shanty town. As Scarlett reflects, ‘There were qualities of loyalty and tirelessness and love in them that no strain could break, no money could buy’.

Lastly, the novel speaks about the ever-shining hope in the face of despair. Scarlett never loses hope amidst the stark adversities of life, and it is hope which helps her survive and pull through every obstacle that comes her way. Even after she realizes that Rhett was the man she had loved all along, and when he leaves her to seek solace in the ‘genial grace of days that are gone’, Scarlett realizes that she still has Tara, and ‘tomorrow is another day’, when she would think of some way to win Rhett back. Hence, although the star-crossed lovers do not re-unite in the end, the novel ends in an optimistic note.

‘Gone with the Wind’, with its fabulous plot, plethora of depth and array of strong characters, would always remain a timeless classic and would continue to shine as a literary marvel. This novel is highly recommended.

Life has become a perpetual wait for weekends. And even weekends bring no respite. This is what happens when you have a prodigious work pressure and you are simultaneously preparing for one of the toughest MBA entrance examinations of the world. The tremendous amount of competition that we face in India, thanks to the enormous population, makes it extremely challenging to get into a really good institution.

When I was in shool, I read the poem 'Leisure' by William Henry Davis. At that time, I did not know what it is to live a life devoid of 'Leisure', hence I was unable to comprehend the depth of the poem. Now when I'm seated in my office bus, headed to my work-place, I know what it is to live a life devoid of leisure, when you don't even have a second to devote to yourself, when you don't even have time to sit and stare blankly, as you speed past the magnificent Mumbai skyscrappers. And you find yourself craving for an uneventful day.

Sometimes I wish I could go back to the simple innocent days of the past. But then at this stage of life, success becomes an addiction. You find yourself endlessly chasing success, till it consumes you. This kind of life has become my habit, and I don't think I would be happy if I try to leave this life behind, and try leading a 'simple' life. And as they say, 'Every cloud has a silver lining', I wish I would be able to find my 'silver lining' soon!

So today I have successfully completed one more year of craziness. Had an amazing birthday, it couldn't have been more perfect. I am truly blessed with some amazing people in my life.

Reviving My Penmanship

It's 12.50 pm, my head feels heavy due to slumber, and suddenly I decide, it's NOW or NEVER! So I'm back to my blog after a long hibernation of 2 years. Well, I am basically a very lazy person, and these 730 days have made me lazier. There are few things in life, about which...err..I won't say I'm passionate about, but things which I like doing, and things I'm moderately good at. Writing is one of them. But, since yours truly is an abominably lazy person, she loves putting some of her hobbies in a 'stand-by' mode, or rather she loves locking away her hobbies in some dusty cupboard and dropping the keys into a pool of water, and then, she begins to believe,'I don't have it in me anymore!!'. It happened with painting, I was out of touch for a good 6 years, and when a very special person demanded that he wouldn't accept anything as a gift on his Birthday except my painting, I finally had to oblige. And then I was ecstatic...'Yay!! I can paint again!!'. And when I won a second prize for my book review on 'Gone With The Wind', a couple of months back, it was the same feeling of achievement, 'Yay!! I can write again!'. Almost a month back, when I was chatting with Saloni, I was telling her how I have fallen in love with Mumbai, and how the city never stops to inspire me, it was then that she told me, 'Hey, you should start writing about it'. And then it finally did strike me that I should start writing again. After all, life is all about doing what you really like to do. I don't mean to say that I don't like coding away at an IT firm, cuz I am good at it, and I do not believe in cribbing and complaining. Life after all does not come served in a platter. But there are certain things which we all would really love to do. Today I came to know about a friend who has opened her own coaching institute for training aspiring Chartered Accountants, and she loves doing what she does. She was the ICSE Topper from our school. Her story was really inspiring, and I got so inspired, that I decided that from now on wards, I am going to force out a teeny weeny bit of time from my schedule and dedicate it to writing. I hope not to allow my laziness to impede my endeavors. Happy Weekend to all in advance!

Night and Dawn

The Moon shines through the hourglass of night,
As love lies in the altar of time.
Dancing against its silver walls
Are thousand shapeless shadows of past,
Singing a tragic tale of star-crossed lovers.
And as the night retreats with the sands of time,
They disappear in the distant horizon of Oblivion,
In the crimson lights of the nascent Dawn.

Love and the Evening

It was a beautiful summer evening,
The sun was about to set in the distant horizon sublime.
And underneath the crimson sky with melting clouds
Sat two lovelorn souls who had lost track of time.
He looked into her eyes, the eyes which he loves so much.
The eyes which were sad and moist with tears.
It was time for him to leave and all she wanted to do
Was to stop the ever retreating sands of time.
The gentle breeze was undoing her dark hair
And they were falling over her face.
His eyes asked her, "What's bothering you?"
"The sight of you walking away", she replied.
Those brown eyes smiled and said,
"I never walk away from you.
You are always there in my heart.
I love you and you are mine,
And nothing can break us apart."
She smiled and looked at the person who makes her
Fall in love with him each and every moment of her life.
He smiled and said "Good bye darling!".
And she watched him slowly walk away,
Only to come back in her dreams every day.

The Girl Under the Magic Moon

Under the bewildered sky enlightened by thee,
On a love draped winter evening,
I looked at thee and thou mesmerized me.
In you did poets see…
Their distant lovers,
And dedicated a million songs to thee.
In you did worshippers of Science see,
A mystery unknown ….
And they reached up to thee.
In you did I see,
The flickering lamp of Hope
Being overshadowed by despair every evening…
Until one day it is lost….
Somewhere in the ever widening abyss of darkness.
And then the next day you show the world,
You are still alive, you are always there.
Thou art the hope that keeps me alive,
Thou art the magic moon of my life!

(Dedicated to the prettiest full moon I've ever witnessed in my life time.)

Love Song of a Springtime Maiden

At times thou make me wonder,
Which song should I dedicate to thee?
I want to sing a song for thee,
A song sung from the bottom of my heart,
Which shalt bring thee very close to me.
The spring time song sung by the birds
Is way beyond my capability,
The love songs sung by generations of poets
Dedicated to star crossed lovers with tragic fates
Are replete with pain, speaking of cruel Destiny.
I am a springtime maiden, devoted to you,
My love is simple and my love is true.
My song might not be assiduous like the koel bird,
Or great enough to be epitaphed in a tragic lover's grave.
Like the first voice of a newborn child,
My song is nascent and my love is naive.
At times thou make me wonder,
Which song should I dedicate to thee?
I'll sing the song which you told me to sing,
As you held me in your arms and we watched the sea.

You Know U are in Love :)

You know you are in love,
When you can feel him in the first rays of the sun,
When you can smell him in the rains,
When you can feel his breath in the passing winds,
Occupying every corner of your brain.
You know you are in love,
When his thought brings a smile on your face,
When his sight makes you swell with desire,
When he becomes your priority,
And nothing else do you require.
You know you are in love,
When you feel something which is eternal and true.
I know I'm in love,
I am madly in love with you!

A Walk Through A Boulevard Of Memories.....

It was closing time, but dad still didn't show up. So I called his bank. A mature voice on the other end replied..."STATE BANK DE NOBILI CAMPUS..."."May I speak to Mr.A. Mukherjee please...". "JUST HOLD ON..". After about three minutes he transferred the call to dad, and dad, in his usual gruff tone, replied.."HELLO..". "Are you done baba?I am waiting..". " WAIT FOR SOME MORE TIME MAMON, I AM STUCK IN THE CASH COUNTER, WILL COME IN ABOUT 10 MINUTES..". "It's closing time baba, I am walking towards your bank....". Saying this, I disconnected the call and left the C.M.R.I office.
As I sauntered through the impeccable streets of C.M.R.I. colony, dusk had begun to prevail over the Coal Capital of India.The warmth of the day sundered into crimson fumes of the evening, as the elusive rays of the sun finally disappeared from the ephemeral horizon, engulfing me with the nerve racking winter air. The trees were filled with a cornucopia of chirping birds, who would fly every now and then in herds, and fill the sky with a plethora of happiness.As I left the main office gate, I saw something in the garrage which i hadn't seen for the past three years...my school bus! I was suddenly filled with a settling sense of confounding nostalgia. Ah....this was the way I used to pass every day in my school bus! So many dreams, emotions and unforgerttable memories engraved in the eternal epitaph of Past.I had an inexorable urge to ride into that bus again...if only the bus could take me back to my golden days. I was lost in thoughts, when a gust of wind swept past my face, pulling me out of my trance. As I continued to walk, I passed a couple of middle aged aunties gossiping about their daily lives, and a plump Punjabi girl with a long plait and snickers, jogging, with a firm determination to loose weight.
The C.M.R.I. stadium was bursting with activity as budding cricketers were undergoin rigorous training and old grand pas with specs and monkey caps performing yoga and a group of roadside romeos staring at me. Opppsite the stadium was another smaller field, which was primarily occupied with kids, which had room for less sophisticated sports such as lock and key, kit kit, kabaddi etc. I passed through a volley of staff quarters and narrow lanes untill the magenta walls of the Hanuman temple marked the end of the colony. It was time for the evening prayer and the air was reverberating with the chimes of bells and bhojpuri bhajans. And finally, I came across the attritious edifice, the abode of my dreams.The stark and austere junior block of DNS, C.M.R.I. may not be as magestic as its senior counterpart, with humble classrooms with asbestos ceilings, but it holds a very special significance in my life, as this was the place which nurtured my childhood. As I glanced through the windows, I remembered how happily I used to roam about in the corridoors. As I was passing through the windows, i stopped outside a particular window as a surge of profound emotions made my steps heavy. Ah..this was the classroom I could never forget! I first entered this classroom when I was in standard 1, and I remember how I used to impress Mrs Anand with my fluent english and by singing english songs for her...the yellow dress which I wore on my seventh birthday, the first prize which I bagged in the elocution contest and the special prize which I received from Mrs Anand for scoring a 100 in mathematics. I was once again engulfed in thoughts. A cinematic rewind swept past my mind as I recalled the last time I had entered the class room. Standard 12...Youth festival... .I had just finished anchoring the solo western singing competion...and there you were waiting...with your charizmatic smile which is enough to make my day. You congratulated me, and made me feel soooo special, as you always do. Food packets were being distributed and we both ate breakfast from the same packet. When I began to leave to wash my hands, you just held it. I could sense from your touch that you were nervous...as your show was only a couple of hours away. "What??..", I asked softly. "Nothing...", you whispered back in your soft but magnetic voice..."Just sit here..don't go anywhere today." I smiled and whispered back..." Neither do I want to leave you.." .
The horn of my dad's scooter again pulled me out of my trance. To my disappointment, I realized that the classroom was devoid of any furniture and the floor was filled with dry gulmohar leaves. The windows were broken and were housed by a plethora of termites. The walls were nested by colonies of spiders. Similar was the fate of the entire junior block as a new junior building has been erected inside the senior campus and the unforgettable junior block has simply been abandoned. Tears filled my eyes as I saw the heavenly abode of my childhood days slowly transmogrifying into a ghoulish graveyard of byegone memories.....



( P.S. Love you DNS.....MISS YOU SOOOOOOO MUCH. Thank you for grooming my personality. And thank you for gifting me with some of the most special people of my life. Oh De Nobili, HATS OFF TO THEE !!)

The Voice Of Silence.....

In the deep dark ignorance of time,

She stands unvanquished, like an iconoclast....

Her song echoes in the sultry lanes of chauvinism,

Like the sole minstrel in the vestigial patriarchial orchestra....

Her smile has the aura of eternity,

With the freshness of blooming dandelions....

Her deep dark eyes are a euphoric fiesta,

With the unique synergy of exuberance and elan.

She is the poetry of some anonymous poet,

Bringing peace and happiness to distressed minds....

She disappears in the quest for that unknown bliss,

Which we all seek but fail to find.....

She travels to mountains, she travels to plains,

She gets her soul drenched in the primordial rains...

She sways in the midst of claustrophobic storms,

Yet grounded to the earth is her elegant form....

She rules the world with the fervour of a lioness,

In the eternal horizon where dreams meet reality....

The voice of silence, long suppressed,

Has finally found word and utterence....

Take me for a ride tonight.....

Take me for a ride tonight
On your cobalt blue LML Freedom,
To the land of bliss,
To the land of stars,
Where past is elusive and future is far.....
Far away....
From the sultry lanes of human inhabitance,
To the land of blooming dandelions and moonlit skies,
Where time is loath and love never dies;
Far away.....
From the conjested world of internet and mobiles,
Where earthly distances become fade and fragile,
And can no longer prevent me and you
From confessing our love which is eternal and true...
Where conscience guides our thoughts and actions,
And not social norms and cultural bonds,
Where truth is immortal, like an iconoclast,
And eternally pervades to infinity and beyond....
To the distant land of the rising sun,
Where dreams are naive and have just begun
Their inevitable process of becoming true,
Where nothing can separate me and you....
Take me to this land tonight,
On your cobalt blue LML Freedom...

Beyond the blue horizon....

Life is like a doleful road
Starting from cradle, ending in grave,
In it I am a laconical traveller,
Walking blindly, uncertain and naive.
I don't know the language of follies and sins
Engraved in the epitaph of molested love;
I speak of fools and I speak of kings
In the earth below and the heaven above.
History whispers in my ears
Tales untold and stories unheard,
Of anonymous poets of unknown birth,
And sojourning vagabonds who aimlessly rove
For country liquor and sunburnt mirth.
They speak of religion and blasphemic love
In a sultry town draped in yore;
They speak of brothels, they speak of temples
And virgin maidens and forbidden doors.
And then one day, they all disappear,
In the distant horizon where life meets death,
And time snatches away one's last breath,
Where hope is a flickering shade of resilience,
And finally sunders into eerie fumes of silence;
Shattered is the facade of affable pretence
When reality dawns upon the dwindling oblivion,
And for the first time I hear my conscience speak
These claustrophobic words of eternal truth :
" Life is a euphemism for love and care,
There are fragments of hope in an ocean of despair,
We often ignore them in our fortune seeking dance,
And finally succumb to a materialistic trance..."

You, you and only you...

I was like a dry leaf floating in the air,
Craving for love and deprived of care,
Like a ship without sails in the ocean of uncertainity,
In a January evening draped in obscurity.....
It was then when you came and held my hand,
Like a titanic wave washing away the foot prints on sand,
You washed away the loneliness from my life,
When you opened your jacket and looked into my eyes....
You sat beside me and hugged me tight,
My heart felt weak against your might....
Your eyes were like a wine, which I could not deny,
It quenched my thirst and made me high...
Hiding in your arms I was so close to you ,
With my elusive heart wondering whether it's a dream or true,
It was then when you whispered in my ears, " I love you",
And you kissed my heart and made my dream come true....
The dream of a moonlit night on a narrow lane,
With you by my side, kissing away my pain....
Of a seaside temple where we are chanting prayers,
With the inexorable waves dashing against the stairs....
You are with me and nothing do I fear,
Near or far, your heart beats I can always hear ;
You are my life, the owner of my heart,
I love you a lot, understood sweet heart?

Alchemist

As we traverse the empty pages of life,
We see people come and go....
They leave their foot prints on the sand
Which is washed away by the unforgiving time.....
But some of their names we seldom do find
In the vestigious epitaph of buried mortality,
Under the precarious shade of the melancholic tree
Shedding its green leaves full of precious life,
Which get carried away with the passage of time....
But as we brood over the coffin of laconical happiness,
Some of these leaves fall and stick to our collar....
And with their dumb eloquence, they whisper in our ears,
"Happiness is a rarity in this doleful world,
But some people make its presence felt....
We often ignore them in search for an alchemist,
Oblivious of the treasure in our hearts that dwelt...."

The Departure

It was my fourth day in Ladakh. As I was returning to my resort, dusk prevailed over the mystic valley of Kashmir. The sky was scintillating with the golden paroxysm of sheer delight which were reflected by the snow clad peaks of the mighty Himalayas. The evanescent sun rays were kissing the placid countenance of the Chenab whose ineluctable gurgling sound was singing the unspoken bonhomie of some rustic mountain girl, lost in the love of some anonymous poet sleeping under the eternal blanket of oblivion. The lush green conifers were a cynosure in that golden atmosphere, which was adding an element of ineffable enigma to Nature’s exuberant fiesta.
Drenched in the natural extravagance, I stood immobilized into that heavenly place for sometime, charmed by the ethereal magnificence of the place. But still the tranquil wine of beauty was unable to fill my prodigious vessel of solitude. My solitary mind was desperately yearning for someone, in front of who could tear my heart open and share all my burdens and emotions, someone who would help me to get over the precarious perils of life, a close companion for the heart’s most intimate affections. Infact human life is an unending quest for this ‘someone’. As I stood there lost in the melancholic delirium of thoughts, I suddenly heard a voice saying,” Hey, what are you doing?” This voice seemed to sunder the eerie silence of the place into juvenile fragments and took me out of my trance. I turned around and saw a remarkably handsome young man smiling amicably at me. He was tall, fair and muscular. His eyes were resplendent with an uncontrolled vitality. The army uniform adorning his muscular physique added an element of inexpressible charisma to his ineluctably attractive countenance and accentuated his youthful ardour. I greeted him back with a smile and introduced myself. He was Lt. Col. Rajeev Singh of 17 Grenadiers, presently posted in Ladakh. He offered to take me to their barracks but I was getting late. So I departed, promising to pay a visit the next day.
I work as an executive in a Delhi based travel agency and I was sent here to make a thorough survey of the place and prepare a detailed report on the prospects of Ladakh as a potential tourist hotspot.
Rajeev had left an unfathomable impression on my mind and I just could not stop thinking about him. I had dinner and went to sleep, intoxicated by the charm of this unforgettable acquaintance. I woke up the next morning and went out for a jog. As soon as I stepped outside the resort, I headed straight for the barracks. The overwhelming desire to have a glimpse of Rajeev was overpowering. He greeted me heartily at the entrance and courteously took me inside. It was early morning and the entire cantonment was bursting with activity. I was thrilled to see the chivalrous jawans enwrapped in their rigorous training. Later he took me to the military canteen and we had coffee.
As the chariot of time moved ahead, it converted this magnificent acquaintance into an intimate camaraderie. Those few days seemed to pass like ages and I never realized when I came so close to him, so close, that it seemed to me that the whole world and everything in it dwindled into oblivion, and it was only him and me and the inarticulate charm of our love, as the sole minstrels in nature’s eternal orchestra. I was so enwrapped in this subliminal dream that I remained oblivious to the fleeting march of time. Finally the cloud of illusion burst and rained in the form of sheer trepidation, which unmasked the grim countenance of realty. The time for departure had awfully arrived, wrenching all the happiness from my soul, to take me away from the romantic life of Kashmir, far away from Rajeev.
As dawn awfully sundered the elusive spell of night, Rajeev came with his jeep to drop me to the railway station. As the golden aura of dawn lit up the distant horizon where hatred meets love, I saw the exuberant water of the Chinab heaving like the Earth’s brimming tears. None of us spoke a word, as if neither of us dared to break the magic spell of silence, which had forcefully suppressed the inevitable flood of our consuming clandestine emotions. It was only the paroxysmal sound of the water of Chinab which was incessantly cutting through the doleful silence of the surroundings. We finally reached the railway station. The gormless train, epitomizing the awful carriage of departure was whistling and was on the verge of leaving. I looked into his eyes which were reflecting an intense vendetta of conflicting emotions. There was so much that I wanted to tell him, I wanted to tear my heart open and sway him in the prodigious flood of my profound emotions. I felt like as if I was in the inevitable process of losing something very precious. I wanted to cling to it with all my strength, embracing it with every scintilla of my elusive hope till it finally abandons me, ripping my veins and draining the blood of my heart. But all I could say to him was “good bye”. As the train started to move, I stood at the entrance and kept waving at him till I could see him no more.
Life is a journey from cradle to grave and this journey never keeps us oblivious to the inevitable process of losing. Six months had passed since I came back from Kashmir. One day, as dawn revealed a message hidden in the envelope of night through the morning newspaper, it indented a fresh scar on my six months old wound, partially healed by the passage of time. The headline read," Seven jawans of the Indian Army killed in a terrorist attack, including the Commanding Officer, Lt. Col. Rajeev Singh, 17 Grenadiers.”
That night, as I looked up in the sky, not a single star could I behold, except one tiny bright star shining in the distant horizon, as the enticing light of the bygone days shining in the eternal horizon of time where life meets death.

- Sayoni Mukherjee