Life on the edge

Just close your eyes, spin around, go hit the wall, and then take a sharp turn and stop at the edge of the hill. Do not listen to any other voice, follow your instinct, and trust yourself. The trail is narrowing, you are going faster than you should and farther, beyond your limits. The world seems to be falling apart; everything is changing very rapidly, mysteriously. There seems to be a sputtering of colours….Your mind is running at a high speed, filled with unequalled happiness.

You have reached the edge finally, and you do not want to fall off, you want to rest there and look at the world. The entire continuum becomes a little hazy and things do not look the same anymore, but do not give up, peer deep into those and slowly you get the true picture. Oh yes, it’s no longer the same world, the person next to you looks different, your job looks mediocre, the entire dynamics of relationships look a tad different. Do not get confused; what you have gained is perspective. This is the advantage of living on the edge.

There are of course some people who are just born with it. They belong to the mountains and in due course become as vast and adventurous. They can hear sounds and see creatures that normal people do not. Their simple solitary pursuits such as shepherding, gliding turn them more powerful and sharp. They can always spot that monk-like tourist or the criminal mind behind a gentle demeanour.

Nevertheless, the act of going to the edge is not that simple. It is like being in a vortex and falling deep and deep into bottomless pit of darkness. In a larger sense, we will fall, lose all control, yet let our higher sense prevail. In the process, we might get scared, get hurt, lose our confidence. This is when we should stop there at the darker side. And I can guarantee, it will be a mind-blowing sensation, ecstasy, and in case we can hold on any longer, we can even meet ‘god’.

Meghna Maiti

Delhi rape case: Rapists

Delhi's Devil

And they have done it again.

Once every forty minutes

Those subhuman brutes do it.

A kind of heinous crime, our bodies

Bruised, deformed as mangled soldiers,

Our intestines

Forced out lay coiled, gangrenous

Like injured snakes, battered

Spewing venom.

Cast off its defenceless veneer.

Oh ye, the world, let’s kill

The rapists with the sharpest sting.

The violent ‘retribution’, ‘outrage of

Modesty’, ‘gory bloodshed’ must

Disappear once and for all.

Soon, soon we should cherish

Freedom that is not for sale;

Peace un-negotiated.

We women may well be fair skin and

Dense hair, we are also the mind,

The heart, the soul that is dearer than life.

Women are Brahma, Durga.

The gurgling springs and dark woods;

The embodiment of all that is auspicious.

Yet the brutes dragged us to the streets,

They mutilated us with their fangs,

And drank our blood for centuries.

The justice of the policemen, the comments

Of the ministers are never very pure and true,

We did not know what to do.

We have tolerated far too long,

The shriek melts to a mum, the air stills

The heart signals the coming of a tempest.

 There are black holes in our minds,

And scare in our hearts, it is time yes

Oh all rapists, to castrate the whole lot of u.

Meghna Maiti

ENDS

Pure Love

Pure than the purer form of life;

Calm than the most ethereal being;

Wide than the entire span of human life;

Your love has emboldened me;

It has changed my entire worldview;

If today you go away, I will be left with

An eternity of longing and nothingness.

Meghna Maiti

Autumn

I am not given to undue inspiration. Yet when the air is thick with mist and mellow fruitfulness and the sun is mild with its silvery spread, my city, Kolkata becomes vibrant with sound of the trumpets, smoke of the incense sticks and religious fervour. Somewhere an entire city loses itself into all that and autumn comes alive to me. Yes, it seems to me autumn has its meaning in Kolkata. For a fact, I know this is incorrect, but nevertheless in my mind, the season is there in me lying in my bed in Kolkata, reading durga puja special magazines and then there are apparel shop owners haggling with the customers, and there is me in Kolkata again, in one of our numerous ‘adda’ sessions.

Autumn used to bring with it a lot more than this. It used to be about clear blue sky, potted flowers such as dahlia, zinnia; long walks in the afternoon, futile philosophising, barred clouds blooming the soft-dying day, song of hedge-crickets, lazy chilly evenings with friends. It was also about hot steaming biryanis, succulent mutton curry and fancy fried fish. It was sort of characterised with a feeling of numbness that seeped into pretty much everything that gave a brief respite from our anxious existences. It would fill our days with a sense of calm and humility, a sense of ‘divinity’, a feeling that there is a power higher than us.

Then there is the cultural aspect of the city that is almost infectious. It kind of presents an alternative, deeper way of life to the people bogged down by uncertainties of everyday life. The staged plays, bengali songs, dance takes one deep into the core of the city’s being and uplifts the spirit. Its lends a character to the poor international city. And it seems the city is not in urgent need of any charity.

The thing that I began to learn from autumn in Kolkata is the utmost need for celebration in life. I learnt the important of seeking happiness at subliminal level to enjoy the true essence of our short lives.

ENDS

Daydreaming....

Daydreaming.....

Let today’s light scatter into myriad images;
A sputtering of colours, beings, nature;
All canvassed into an ever-widening cobweb;
Culling out yet another world through mind’s eye;
Oh yes, here’s my Freud, my spark of creation;
That comes and comes and slowly swallows me.

- Meghna Maiti

Winter

Winter

We know its winter when sting-chill of cold air freezes our hand; a calming blanches of silence presses upon the cityscape; hanging smog creates a white hiatus. The happiest time of the year that lasts a little too long, the days that extends just a little too short a little too quickly- and then seem to stay there indefinitely. The winter of young souls, of freshness, love, youth, romance. The faded shades of leaves rustling in the mild wintry breeze take on the pallor of the season.  The houses remain tucked away behind a protective layer of Gulmohar, Mango and Eucalyptus. This time of the year is covered with colourful vibrancy of youthful music and the sound of guitar strings by the bonfire.

My first memories of winter are woven with various shades of red, blue, yellow colours in the streets of Kolkata. It’s my hometown in the eastern side of the country where winter is pretty cold. All shiny, colourful sweaters, pullovers, jackets and blankets are brought out of the closet.  It’s the onset of the season when vegetable sellers lay a beautiful spread of fresh and exotic vegetables. The time is usually December, January when people go out for long drives in the night along the well-lit, decorated lanes of Park Street. The nights signal the hour to spend quality time with old lovers, the time when all quarrels have to be put to rest. The afternoons are meant to be enjoyed by the caresses of the mild sun. Kolkata's winter taught me the language of heart and expressions of dreams.

Now many years later, in Mumbai, winter is a tad different. Here the drag of winter collapses under the weight of life. The beauty of the serene Arabian sea, cool natural air-conditioning breeze cannot compete with the charms of its raging life-force. It seems at once romantic and short-lived. The mystical winter days here seem more real, concrete and weighty as if it's here to give more stamina to push ourselves even harder to our tangible goals. It’s a fleeting season here, rooted in reality.

Meghna Maiti

Twilight in Mumbai

Every day, I usually take a short break and walk down Kalaghoda road in Mumbai, to take in the essence of twilight. At around six thirty in the evening, when the office space looks melancholic with a bright orange glow, I step out to lose myself in another world. This is a moment when bits of smouldering earth intertwine with mild breeze, and I feel tangled in an ethereal magic.

Everything is burnt orange and red and black, clay-tinged and warm. There’s a mystery disguised as menace, a lull in spite of storm, and the sky gives off a phantom light that makes the tangible look cinematic. The black leaves of the huge trees begin to sway as the bats start hovering above. A number of street-lamps dot the landscape. The place that is so familiar looks celestial, all of a sudden. The chirping of insects mutes the far-out concrete jungle and sharpens the red sky. 

The breeze sometimes chills my spine, even in the dry, unrelenting heat. The entire place stands by itself like a divine cry with decades of longing in it. Of all the cities that I have lived in, none has truly represented the splendour of the sunset as Mumbai. The western part of our country is stifling with its crammed existence and materialism, but with the Arabian Sea and the bits and parts of south Mumbai and Bandra, this part of the country still holds its charms.

Mumbai is a land of glitz and glamour, but it’s not just about business, stock markets or Bollywood. One could argue, geology plays an important part too. Where else do a break from an intensely exhausting workplace such as stock market, can take you to rocks, sea and seagulls as well as the beautiful sunset with changing hues, that is so enchanting and surreal, which could be literally compared with an orange. And we instantly know the people and places here could be the same as everywhere, that there are long shots and bumpy rides, but there’s something always there listening in the distance.

Meghna Maiti