Sweet Dream Shillong

 

Mysterious evenings

and the distant strumming of the guitar.

People huddled together over glowing embers

the freshness in the dew soaked air

filling up my heart's innards.

The tall snow covered pine trees

and Jesus looking intently from the church

Children in bright woolens

and young lovers and their sweet nothings.

The intoxicated nowhere man lying in the dark, wet street

Oblivious to the slow life around

And the Kongs with blood red lips chewing kwai

the taxis crammed with comrades

ferrying them to never never land.

The abode of the clouds it’s called

and its crowning glory being Shi-llong.

The long winding roads

and the breathtaking view from Shillong peak.

The sails of the leisurely boats

In the silent waters of the lake Umiam.

The Scottish cottages in its wooden antiquity  

Remnants of the bygone days.

The beautiful damsels in Police Bazaar

dressed up for life’s carnival

their laughter fills the air...

and many a young hearts flutter.

Lazy Sunday morning

Sunbeam piercing through the clouds

cheerful birds and their fanciful flights

in the blue blue sky.

Beatles and ABBA joining hands with Dylan

music wafting from the antique radio in the porch.

People dressed and queuing up

to sing paeans to the Lord.

Old gents in tartan coats

with their smoking pipes akin to Sherlock

wrinkled, wizened and the signs of a good, relaxed life

ol' world charm and heart full of memories to hold onto.

The young widow with two tiny tots

Deserted by the guy whose promises meant so much once.

Bitter sweet is life's song

the crescendo intertwined with the low tunes.

Shillong gives so much to you

but it takes back some part of you too

some part of your heart…  will forever belong

and roam around in the winding lanes of Shillong.

Shillong- mysterious, mesmerizing, enticing and a cloud capped dream.

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Kwai= betel nut in Khasi language
Kong=Sister (mostly used as a dignified salutation for any unacquainted lady)
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My tribute to the beautiful hill-station called Shillong (Capital of Meghalaya) where I’ve spent some of the best years of my life. Have tried to narrate some of the most enduring images of Shillong that I still hold close to my heart...

Do you still remember?

Do you still remember?

Those sweet nothings that we shared

Sitting in the dew kissed evenings

The fragrance of the night jasmine

That enticed our minds to wander

Do you still remember?

A cerulean sky full of Hope…

And the spirit’s eternal shore…

Do you still remember? 

#Translated from a poem that I wrote in Assamese language.

Something like Love

  
When I looked at you across the crowded room
And my eyes met yours
I coerced time to come to a stall
Baby at that moment... I lost myself!!

When under the moonlit night
Amidst the sea and the palm grooves
My fingers searched for and found yours
baby at that moment I found myself!!

Your princess tresses and sweet sweet smile
Ah! that heady feeling of your presence in my life
You mean everything to me, perhaps I mean something to you too
In that feeling baby let's lose ourselves for eternity!!

Ol' Man River silently keeps flowin'

Brahmaputra, Guwahati, Assam, India

It was already twilight when I reached the Sukreshwar Ghat of the Brahmaputra river that flows through the heart of Guwahati. One could see the 4km long Saraighat bridge which connects the North and South Guwahati and Umananda Island (world’s smallest river island)… and dotted along the scenery were numerous small boats carrying dark shadows… resembling people… but faceless, nameless and with a sense of purpose that was perfectly alien to me.

The silent waves of the mighty river were such a sharp contrast to the fury it unleashes in Assam during Monsoon… but I can’t imagine Assam without the Luit criss crossing through the heart of Assam… it has inspired romance, poetry, nationalism, courage and prosperity and is one of the most potent symbols of the Asomiya identity.

I adjusted my new DSLR camera to a distant boat which was swaying in the gentle waves like a paper-boat and just then a few birds flew over the river with such mighty grace that I remained transfixed at them long after they disappeared into the distant sky… everyone returns to their home, to their roots... sooner or later… and we are all blessed to have something called Home. What is a human being without history, without roots we won’t know from where we are coming from and where we are going… this sense of earthiness overwhelmed me and I made a huge effort to detach myself from those thoughts for the moment and concentrate on clicking the fotos.

After clicking fotos to my heart’s content I went to the park on the banks of the Brahmaputra and sat down for a while… in introspection… about our lives in the Big city… my longing to come back to my home-city… I always felt that I belonged there. 

And in the stillness of the night in my room… I slept off.. still thinking of the man rowing the small boat and disappearing into the fog...

Miracle

It was just another day...
The same sunrise, and the same old life...
The guitar and the lyrics...
long forgotten and gathering dust

The swaying flowers in the gentle breeze
in uncounted hues... and sweet sweet fragrances
once took my breath away...
but slowly they lost their charm like withered memories

Scruffy and in a daze...
tired after the late night's sleep
splashing my face with icy cold water...
and glancing at my reflection after a long long time

The glint and the forgotten smile came back
as if in a wonderful serendipity
instant karma kissed me long and hard
and embraced me till time came to a sweet pause

It's that wonderful feeling...
that warms the heart's intimate corners
Leaping up in countless emotions...
to savor life... in blissful adoration!!

The Final Homecoming

Lush green scenes of my birthplace
The breeze sweetened by bloomin flowers
The morning crispness...
romancing my heart's innermost corners
Faded memories...refreshed in an instant mix
The old red river of my childhood yore
dried down and sullied
it must be crying... I am sure it is
Big fella the river... now only the quaint memories remain
in dried up silt!
Freshly bloomed flowers... in nature's myriad hues
swaying and dancing through the entire route
welcoming my homecoming as the long-lost son
Softly caressing me into a trance
My journey..tracing the roots from the past
as the distant miles came to a nigh
And there I behold my childhood home
My steps being halted by a sea of emotions
Smiles and tears all rushed past me
My childhood home... waiting still...
finding comfort from the good ol' days!!
Within its faded walls... memories sprang up in flight
Pangs of sadness engulfed me...
knowing very well that...
very soon strangers will paint away my childhood memories
Silent tears brewed within...
and then I turned my back and bid adieu
to my sweet childhood home
for the last last time...

Dreamscape

Staring at some broken lines...
Blankly, in a doped state of fixation
I was like a wrecked dream, like an abject non-entity
The lines mocking me...
At my efforts to understand myself
I guess that’s the toughest part
Understanding something that doesn’t make any sense
Chasing dreams… and not knowing what it was all about
Rising like the Phoenix ... straight from the ashes
O' how I want to fly again...
Does not matter how insane it might seem...
Life isn’t only about the-- unbroken, unbent and perfect things
It’s also about what you can imagine
No rules, no shackles holding me back...
Trying hard to join the broken tracks
I will define my means and the ends too...
Otherwise life is such a terrible waste
I am a free soul; unbound, unshackled to the core
The broken lines…
Giving me some hints that no one else could see…
The Holy Grail… hidden somewhere
Telling me that there’s life even after despair
Coaxing me to fly even if my wings aren’t there
Exhilarated after my rendezvous…
Tears of joy flowing… after the reincarnation
Reviving myself to join the broken lines
And then swiftly I ran towards life…

La vie est belle-- Life is Beautiful

"हुई मुद्दत के घलिब मर गया पर याद आता है,वोह हर एक बात पे कहना के यूं होता टोह क्या होता" -मिर्ज़ा घलिब

This segment tries to bring out the life story of a man through a poet's pen. Through verses (slightly melancholic and brooding!) I've tried to capture the myriad emotions that one comes across in Life. It is an amateurish attempt at best and may sound sappy at times but that's the way it has shaped out over the years. If you can connect with the underlying emotions I think I can escape for many a brickbats!!

Inorder to maintain a good-enuf flow I've quarantined :-) the 'Poetry' section under a different blog. Just click on the hyperlink below to browse. Happy reading

Prisoner of the Mind

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prisoner of the mind is

what life has made out of me.

Every flower that I touched

turned into a damnation, a forlorn curse.

How much do you want me to pretend…

That I am not dead yet?

How much do I have to smile…

To hide the tears?

The mind is causing me all the pain

Showing me motifs that just don’t fade.

Like a charlatan… fighting hidden demons

Like a child…chasing imaginary butterflies.

Existence is blurred

In a mire of emotions.

A steely silence lulls me to sleep

Only to jostle me up the next moment.

Imaginary silhouettes are clouding my senses

Doomed for life… in a living hell.

After all, what else can you say of a man

Who’s but a prisoner of his own mind!

oooooooooooooooooo

ooo (click)Mayabini 00o

oooooooooooooooooo