Mirror

This poem is inspired from a poem I read by my friend Sarthak. He is starting out as a blogger and you can find his blog here

Mirror mirror on the wall

Who is the darkest of them all?

How many people have stood in front of you

Staring at an image they don't want to see

And swallowed a bitter pill about themselves?

Does it cause you pain to see 

All that fear, all that insecurity?

Is it not a fact that you are not as cold 

As people make you out to be?

Does it not hurt you when a fist is driven through you?

Do you not wonder if the blood will come out of your pristine surface?

Are you not abused like this on a regular basis?

Are you to accept this?

Mirror mirror on the wall

Who is the fairest of them all?

Is it the princess in the tower 

Or the prostitute applying rouge

To cover her latest bruise?

Is it the drunk on the street?

Begging to get another drink

And mirror, are you okay?

Are you weary?

Do you wish you could rest?

The Bilge Master

4 Chambers

My heart has four chambers 

One for food

One for books and poems 

One for music 

One for darkness 

And all four for you

Beware for I may break yours 

With untruth and deceit

Maybe I will change that

Maybe you can shine a light 

Into the darkness 

And guide the little lost child 

In my heart

Back to the reality he has been running from

The Bilge Master

Ode to the Ghost of You

We first met in a cafe 

In the pouring rain

With petrichor wafting in 

And misted windows 

You ordered an espresso

And I went with carrot cake 

And hated it 

That's one thing that hasn't changed 

My hatred for carrot cake

Being with you was weird 

And yet fulfilling as well

And then suddenly

As suddenly as it started 

It was gone

They told me a blade did it 

That you'd sliced an artery

And little by little

The beeping on the LCD 

Took you farther and farther away

Away from me

I wonder what I didn't see coming

I wish it was all a dream

But sometimes 

On certain moonlit nights 

I can see a silhouette

Twirling clockwise now

And anticlockwise too

Is it you I wonder 

As I sit by the window

Tell me you loved me

Are you back to haunt me?

Is this what it's like

Dancing with the ghost of you?

The Bilge Master

Spiderweb

For a long, long time 

I knew I had stuff to give 

And I gave and I gave and I gave 

Then, exhausted 

I fell asleep

And along came Anansi

Owner of all the stories in the world 

And he whispered in my ear

Wrapping me up, snug and warm 

In a little spiderweb

Amidst which he taught me 

About all the stories in the world 

His to guard 

Mine to treasure 

Waltzing across the world wide web

My path intersected with another 

Who carried Anansi's blessing 

A girl across an ocean

That I cannot cross yet

But someday will

The two of us are friends 

United by stories, despite being divided by geography

Here I am, an Indian blogger

There she is, a Romanian student 

And Anansi has touched us both

With all the stories in the world 

You see, our first loves will always be books

And poetry

And the stories our grandparents told us 

Over cups of coffee 

We will always fall for someone 

Who understands this vital fact about us

And our faith in stories 

Will enable us to love them

But never 

Never as much

As we love stories

The Bilge Master

A Story Over Breakfast

The following story was told to me over a charming breakfast by a man I met on the metro. His name is Dan and he is my neighbour. Being elder to me, I call him Dan da. It has been a long time since I heard a story told to me, and therefore I have decided to publish this almost verbatim. I hope you enjoy the tale!

The Bilge Master

I

The nightmares again. A spiky, blood red mark on my report card saying I failed my exam. I wake up each night filled with dread. Why, oh why did I get a star in my class X exam? If I hadn't, I would never have been told to take Science in class XI and I could have studied English and perhaps become a professor!

But no! I had to go and get a bloody star. And now, much like the pair of star crossed lovers in fair Verona, I am in the deep end of the pool, flailing around like a madman trying to breathe. My parents who had pinned so much hope on me and bought me expensive books to help me study...what must they be going through?

I'm worthless. I should set them free. I will  set them free. But how? Think Dan. Think!

I know. I'll run away somehow. Garia station is nearby. I'll grab a train and see where I land up. From there I can perhaps be a monk. Anything  but this tension. Anything but these nonsensical expectations that I will never be able to fulfill.

II

I've packed a bag. It contains a Bhagvad Gita. Don't ask me why. I have one hundred rupees in my pocket. It's 2001. That money will get me where I want to go. Then it's upto God. I have no power over what is destined for me.

Here comes a train.

III

I'm sitting in a train, which just entered the first station. I bought a film magazine which costed me Rs 10. A few people are glancing at me, suspiciously. One of them asked me where I was going and I replied "I don't know". The weird looks are getting more and more frequent. I have a five rupee ticket in my pocket. I don't even know how far this train goes or how far a person can travel on a five rupee ticket. I don't want to be thrown out of the train. Let me get off at the next station before the ticket checker comes and tells me something harsh. What an adventure this is. I am dazed with delirium and shit scared, but at least I have set my parents free. They won't have to spend money behind me anymore. I'm 17 years old and I can take care of myself.

I took a train to Bardhaman, then another one to Bolpur. Bolpur seemed like a good place to get off. I spent the night at the station, awaiting the dawn. What was it they said? The night is darkest before dawn?

IV

It's morning. I slept on a bench on the platform. My body aches. My joints are stiff from lying in the same position for so long. I also need to restore blood circulation in my feet. I'm ravenous. I need food.

And thus I begin the second part of my quest. I have left my old life behind, and am starting a new one. But first, breakfast.

Breakfast was a simple affair of kachori and aludum from a sweet shop washed down with rasgullas. Now at least, I am no longer hungry. The challenges before me can now be faced with some degree of confidence. I went to the rickshaw stand and hired a rickshaw, requesting him to take me to the nearest ashram. It is the simple life for me. Two meals a day, even if the meal is gruel and a bed to sleep on after a hard day's work. After all, don't people become hermits? Don't people renounce the ways of the world, forsake meat and fish and live on fruits? I am a God fearing boy. I shall work and earn my sustenance.

I have arrived at the local Ramakrishna Mission ashram. The rickshaw cost me twenty rupees and the meal 60. I have five rupees in my pocket. A pauper in the true sense of the word.

It is here that I got my first reality check. I knocked on the gate of the ashram and a gruff looking man, smelling of coconut oil answered the door. When he heard what I wanted, he boxed my ears and told me to get lost.

I'm not ashamed to say I started to cry. Five rupees in my pocket and nowhere to go. For the life of me I couldn't figure out what to do. It was at this point that I met the good Samaritan.

V

I went to another ashram. I was sitting under the shade of a tree, playing with a stone and wondering what to do, when suddenly a shadow fell across me. I recognized a man I had seen at the nearby temple where he had been praying(It was a man in his mid thirties). This man asked my name of me and I gave a false one He then asked what I was doing. His impression was that I was a boy from a decent family and I was far from home. I told him I had come from Bangladesh and was looking for a job. He took me to his house. He then gave me ten rupees and told me to try and see if I could find work at the local tourist lodges that were in Bolpur. It was a hot day in the middle of summer, and I was sweating buckets. But to the lodges I went and everywhere I was turned away. Close to despair, I went limping back to his house. I was chased by a dog. I had to clamber over a small stile to get away and my shirt became stained with mud.

Thus disheveled I arrived at the good Samaritan's house again and told him I had had no luck in finding a job.

This is when I met the Oracle, in the form of this good Samaritan's father. It was like a scene from  a Greek hero's quest. This old man made an impact on me.

VI

This good Samaritan's elderly father  came out of his inner room and asked me point blank where I was from. I felt I could trust him and so I told him I had run away and my home was in proper Kolkata. He immediately told me to ring up my house and alleviate my parents' tension.

And so I called.

I learnt that the entire neighbourhood had assembled at my house and all hell had broken loose. Some people were wringing their hands with worry and some wanted to wring my neck in fury. In the midst of all this, my mother's blood pressure had shot up and she was confined to her bed in a semi conscious state.

An anxious cousin picked up the phone and he was breathing heavily. He then told me to stay where I was and that he would send an escort to pick me up from there and bring me home. Apparently, my entire clan was waiting for me.

I was given lunch and then I slept.

I woke up about three hours later and asked for some money to go to the station. But when I got there I found that my name was being announced in the station and I was told not to get onto any trains. For who could tell what I would do? I could have run again, isn't it?

After some time, when the evening was almost upon us, two of my cousins arrived and together we returned home.

I expected a hiding, but my mother saved me. The entire neighbourhood would stare at me wherever I went.

The problem I had run away from was back.

VII

I told my parents rather vehemently that I would not give the higher secondary exam. I was adamant and no tears or wringing of hands would change my mind.

t was then that I was taken to a psychologist and I had my second epiphany. This man had a powerful, deep voice. He told me that I would have to appear for the exam, even if I failed it or got exactly zero in exactly one subject.

I had three months. I just went and bought as many ten years question banks as I could and started to solve them. By the end of six weeks, I found that I could join dots connecting what I had studied in my books to what was given in the questions.Each day was a battle. Escaping is so easy. Staying is such an adventure.

And so, the boy who ran away, faced his fear and gave the exam.

VIII

It was the day of the result. I was asleep. My mother had gone to school to check the notice board. She came back and told me that I had secured a first division. For the first time in three and a half months, I smiled. we both heaved a sigh of relief.

This is where I make a mistake again. Having secured a first division, I decided to get myself admitted in Ramkrishna Mission with Economics Honors. I hated every second of it . It was a bad phase in my life. I used to sit in my room, in pitch blackness, without peace.  Once again, I felt worthless. I wondered when, (if ever) I would find my true calling.

I somehow completed the Economics course and then did an MBA. For my first job, I got settled in a plantation in Kerela.

This is where everything changed.

IX

It had been a few months in Kerela. It was a beautiful place. Lush greenery all around and the smell of petrichor when it rained. I was happy. I had servants, a bungalow to myself, good food and I had stopped worrying. My brother-in-law had gifted me a camera and I started to dabble in photography. 

Little did I know, it would change my life soon.

This change I speak of came when two of my friends arrived to spend some time with me in Kerela. They brought with them one of the latest DSLR cameras in the market. I had never seen such clear pictures, with so much detail before. I started to dabble further in photography. I took the DSLR for a spin and started to click photos of nature, learning about the camera and teaching myself photography. It was a match made in heaven.

I had found my calling. I was elated beyond measure.

X

And so, after a tough high school life, a worse college life and a lot of struggle, I had decided what I wanted to do with my life. I now have two cameras (the camera of my dreams…and most importantly the right perspective), and I travel here and there on photography assignments. Over time, my eye has developed and I have been able to teach myself more and more about photography.

It has been a long journey, with its ups and downs, but it has ended. Subhadip Dan, photographer! Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

And now my friend, do what you will with this story. Maybe you can learn from it. You see, sometimes even a good student can fail. Sometimes a mediocre one can shine. Sometimes, your destiny awaits you outside the confines of organic chemistry textbooks or electrical engineering lectures.

As a wise person once said, "Let everything happen to you. Beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”

On Books and Doors- A Guest Post by Mary Katerine

Mary Katerine is a friend on Facebook. She is also a girl who understands my love for books. I've known her for quite some time and she's quite a special individual in my life. This post is Mary talking about books. I hope you enjoy reading it, and enjoy reading books as much as Mary and I do!

The Bilge Master

I've just had this beautiful image in my head. About books, because what else can I let myself think of during these times.

So I imagined reading as walking into this long corridor. You can't see where it ends, but you can see where it started, because that's where you started. And on every side of this corridor, there are doors. Many many doors.

 

Those are the books you learn about through one person or another. As soon as you learn about one, its door appears. But all the doors are closed, because you have yet to read those books. And every time you get one book (buy it, borrow it, get it gifted to you), a key appears. And that key fits only in one door, that door corresponding to the book. And you can choose to use it, or leave it in your pocket.

There are doors you open only once. Sometimes you take a little peek decide it's not for you, and close it back. Other times you keep it open enough to take a walk, learn what's in there, but never come back.

But there are other doors. The ones whose location you know even with your eyes closed. The ones whose keys are so used, their colour has changed, but they are still usable. The doors you open the as wide as can be and wander inside for as long as you want, not because you want to discover what's behind the door (even though sometimes you find something you missed last time), but because you missed it so much you decided to wander once more. Sometimes you even misplace the key so you just leave the door open, because you know there is no use in locking it anyway. You just waste time you could be spending inside. So you keep the door open, sometimes so wide it calls you back so often it becomes more of a home than your actual home ever was. 

Infinities

There is something oddly fascinating

About the night sky

Just as twilight fades into darkness 

And the sky begins to change 

From pale orange to royal blue

Before trying on a shade of black

And adorning it with a smattering of stars 

Like pearls on a beautiful woman

Little dots and points of light 

Tell us the stories of the Cosmos 

Orion the hunter becomes visible

So does the Great Bear 

Lying on a roof 

Looking up at the infinities 

And being reminded 

That we are but a small cog 

In some giant machine 

It can be awe inspiring

Every night when the sun goes down

I walk up to the roof 

And lie down, staring

Some days the stars show me their true faces 

They remind me of how much I have to live for 

Some days, the evening star appears

Guiding my wandering soul back

Home

And some days, I just want 

To lie here on my roof 

Until the sky falls down on me

The Bilge Master

My Self Righteous Suicide

You were hot where it mattered 

And cold as ice too

Touching your lips to mine 

Was a 440 volt electric shock

A herald of the apocalypse that was inbound 

A sign that I would break

And lie on the ground bleeding 

We were never just friends

There is no justice involved in mating rituals

Your last text was my note 

As I stand here tonight

My lungs burning 

My ribcage pounding

I want to explode

Allow me to write this epilogue 

Which will find its way to you

Cold rain falls on the ground 

Petrichor wafts into the air 

The bassist of my favorite band

Caresses my ears 

The night swallows me up in it's arms 

Gravity doesn't matter anymore

Nothing matters anymore 

The Bilge Master

Rache

The sky has turned blood red 

A new day will dawn

On a town once bustling 

But now inhabited by ghosts

And stray dogs that are hungry

Looking for scraps to survive 

The human race is locked in battle 

Trying to survive a disease 

We have been driven back to our hovels

We, the oh so mighty survivors 

Of dinosaurs and global warming 

Now we cower behind cowls 

And the alcohol doesn't remove the bloodstains from our hands

Mother Nature has decided we must suffer 

Such is her wrath

A wrath we brought upon us 

By killing her children

The trees and animals 

And by choking her skies and waters

With refuse from factories 

Tell me, what do we do now?

Germ warfare was the future 

And now the future is uncertain for us all

Be we common folk or prime ministers 

Young or old 

We have come face to face with our own mortality

And it is a fearsome sight 

We are terrified 

Some of us too young to die 

Some of us leading a desperate charge

Attired in white coats and face masks 

Even if she does forgive us our sins

I wonder if we will learn 

Not to meddle in affairs that don't concern us

Not to take things for granted 

Not to say, "Tomorrow is another day"

For that very tomorrow 

Is now a part of yesterday

And what lies ahead has never been more in question

Than today

The presence of 24 hours 

Is torture 

And our prayers mostly go unanswered 

As outside our shelters, an invisible hunter stalks us 

More efficient and deadly 

Than all identified predators 

We joke that we won't be taken out 

By a virus that is named after a light beer 

But that light beer's namesake had killed more of us in 15 days 

Than genocidal maniacs could in years

I am afraid, oh so afraid 

For this is but a fraction 

Of what a wronged mother can do

To protect her children

The Bilge Master

Phantasmagoria

I wake from yet another nightmare 

They've been coming hard and fast

I'm trapped indoors and can't go out

The world is following my example

The air around me is stale with cigarette smoke

The water tastes metallic

I haven't shaved for two weeks

Coz there's no point 

Nobody out there you see 

But even in the midst of this early apocalypse

As Nature, the mother we wronged

Has her revenge

Human beings are surviving 

We are telling each other stories

In my dreams, I see a cat come 

Down from an unknown mountain

He sits before me

And speaks of Anansi

He weaves a web of suspense and romance 

Sometimes his tales are funny 

Sometimes they are sad

But he is nothing short of a Messiah

Come to us from an unknown origin

He speaks of better times

And we believe again

Every night he speaks

Every night we listen

And that, my son is what tells me

We will survive this 

The Bilge Master