Posts made in October, 2015

Three poems by Subhashis Bhaduri || Translated by Amrita Bera

Before the deluge Unrelenting rains are like relentless heartaches. Just like our drizzly love and affections. In dimly lit tea shops, in the camouflage of evening, noon arrives. Rarely can Kolkata be seen like this. Under the belly of the flyover, two extremely busy men, like the crows are brushing water off their shirts. Wiping off the scene with their handkerchiefs, they want to make their vision more clear. At the traffic signal, songs of nature can be heard. Stray dogs and beggars are sitting nuzzled against the pavement. Some are swearing, someone else is absolutely quiet. Utterly still, just like a damp cloud.   প্লাবনের আগে একটানা মনখারাপের মতো একটা টানা বৃষ্টি। আমাদের ভালবাসাবাসিগুলো। যেমন ঝিরঝিরে, ঠিক তেমনটি।নিভু-নিভু চায়ের দোকান, সন্ধ্যের ছদ্মবেশে এসে হাজির দুপুর। এমন কলকাতা কচ্চিৎ-কদাচিৎ পাওয়া যায়। ফ্লাইওভারের তলপেটে কাকের ঢঙে দুটো ব্যস্ত মানুষ, শার্টের জল ঝাড়ছে। রুমালে দৃশ্য মুছে একটু স্পষ্ট করতে চাইছে চোখ। ট্রাফিক সিগনালে বাজছে প্রকৃতি পর্যায়ের গান।   কুকুর আর ভিকিরিগুলো ফুটপাতে আরো ছাঁজা ঘেঁসে বসেছে। কেউ-কেউ খিস্তি করছে, কেউ আবার একদম চুপ। এক্কেবারে ভেজা মেঘের মতো, থম মেরে আছে।   *****   The Developing Third World Somewhere on a clumsy road The lone man remains awake   After the last bus leaves, Slowly shutting the rickety bamboo door He loosens up his soul-less body   Before that He had just said chuckling – ‘You know brother, This tea stall at this crossing Is there since before time.’   হাইওয়ে প্রগতি লোকটা একা জেগে থাকে কোথায় আনাড়ি কোন পথে   শেষ বাস চলে গেলে, শরীর এলায়, ধীরে ফেলে দরমার ঝাঁপ   তার আগে শুধু, ক্লান্ত হেসে বলেছিল- কি জানেন দাদা সেই স্বদেশি অমল থেকে আছে, অনেক পুরানো এই তেমাথার চায়ের দোকান   *****   On A Quiet Day Through the fringe of the day birds are coming Flying back in the evening Colors are falling over the water of the rivers   In the great tranquil A few men are walking back As if there is no haste this year   Everything is calm There is no infiltration anywhere around   The day of voting is still very far.   শান্ত একটি দিন দিনের পরিধি থেকে পাখি উড়ে আসছে বিকেলে নদীজলে ঝরে পড়ছে রং   দু একজন হেঁটে ফিরছে খুব শান্ত যেন কোনও তাড়া নেই এ বছর   সব ঠাণ্ডা দোলাচল নেই   আবার ভোটের দিন অনেকটা দূর ***** About the Poet: Born on 17th of May, 1970 in Kolkata, a post- graduate from Jadavpur University, Subhashis Bhaduri had been keenly interested in literature and arts from his childhood and no later he started leaving mark of his own, in the arena of Bengali literature by contributing in all genres of writing, which appeared in the various leading Bengali dailies, literary magazines, and little magazines etc. By his late twenties, he became a noted writer in the contemporary Bengali literature, especially poetry, for his unmatched style of expressing the journey of the inner self – the soul and the sacred eternal life with all its wisdom and amazements, in a sublime manner, yet in a low-key voice. His poems, conveyed through the socio-political perspectives, in their abstractness have fine poetic nuances, whereas some of his poems carry metaphors from Indian mythology and are metaphysical in nature, with lofty abstractness as their inherent components. Till date the poet has 7 poetry collections to his credit. The collections are: Subhashis Bhadurir Lekha (1996), Ishwar Aamar (2001), Aschorjo Bhugoley (2007), Bhitor Moner Darbesh (2010), Ratripurusher Mukh (2012), Janganman (2013), and Nirambu Sakare Mile (2013). He is recipient of West Bengal’s prestigious Birendra Chattopadhyay poetry award. He is also actively involved in writing children’s literature, short stories, articles and essays. He is the editor...

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Tuitions – Short Fiction by Nivedita N

Pinky wiped the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her blue t-shirt and looked at her elder brother, Sunny. He had been batting with her cricket bat since the last eight overs of the 30-over match in their apartment’s garage that doubled as their cricket pitch.  She listened as others complained to the captain of the team, their neighbour, Naresh, ‘When will we get a chance to bat, Anna? Every day Sunny Anna only bats first and keeps batting till end. I will go to Godha Nilayam from tomorrow!’ ‘You will play with our enemy team?’ Naresh, looked at them, his eyebrows furrowed. ‘No, Anna, we did not mean that. But every time, he only bats first.’ ‘Arey, we must win, no? And, inter-building matches are also approaching for Independence Day. Ok..Ok..Tomorrow you bat first, ok?’ ‘SIX!’ one of their team members shouted, removing his t-shirt and hurling it in the air. ‘Pinky, go and get the ball,’ the bowler scorned at Pinky. ‘Why me, always?’ ‘That’s the rule. The last batsman in opposite team should go. Plus, you are so small you can easily squeeze between the plants and the bushes and brought.’ ‘It’s bring. State Syllabus fellow! And I am a batsgirl. Ok I am going,’ she mocked and walked swiftly to the neighbour’s house. It was Saturday noon and the neighbours would all be sleeping. She ran towards the plants where the ball would usually be lying. There it was! The red ball among the green plants. She picked the ball and was walking out of the gate when she heard her mother call her name aloud from their balcony. Throwing the ball at the bowler, she ran towards the staircase that led to their flat. ‘I will come soon. Anna, get my bat, don’t forget.’ She ran up the flight of stairs and knocked at her door. Her mother opened it quickly. She walked in and saw her father, still in his formals, holding her mathematics paper. ‘So you hid it from us? Mummy met your Maths teacher and she told that the paper was sent long ago. We searched your school bag and found it.’ Her father held his head in his hand and sank into the brown sofa. ‘Why did you do this?’ he asked, looking at her with disbelief. Pinky hung her head. She did not know how to react. ‘I am asking you!’ her father shouted. ‘Answer me.’ ‘I forgot I got the paper,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper. ‘Lies. Lies. Lies. Who teaches you all this?’ her father hurled the mathematics paper on the floor, and continued ‘Stop playing with those rowdy friends. Why don’t you play badminton instead with Shilpa? She is such a good girl and she will teach you some manners also. Those boys are bad. Only because of your brother I allowed you to play with them, but from today everything is cut. No TV. No playing. Did you see the paper? You got 55 out of 100. And your brother? He got 90. I am not one of those fathers who will compare but this is so less, Pinky.’ Her father said, looking at her. Her mother, seated at the dining table peeling potatoes, nodded in agreement. ‘Sorr..y,’ she mumbled, tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘Sorry for what? The time for sorry is over. From tomorrow, you will do as we say.’ ‘Now, you and Mummy will go to Ramani aunty and book a slot. She is the best tuition teacher. Everyone who goes there always gets good marks.’ ‘TUITIONs aaah!...

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