From The Quill

Nazariyaan alag ho  Toh zarurat nahi ke koi galat ho. Perspective can be different  Not necessarily wrong. © Suranya

 We were, for a long time  Sharing everything under the sun  I didn't know it was so important  To chase people all the time;  I always wondered why I lost them  Perhaps 1 grew out of them  Or they evolved more than me. Our views changed on things;  Politics, religion, caste, creed, phobias  Things that didn't matter once  Now became relevant. Or perhaps I was selfish enough  Didn't ask, how you are?  But did you know my tears?  My fears and failures?  Before you judged my intentions? Our story is short and unexpected  It stops at an open end  I don't know whether we will talk again  Or ever see each other's face  Our bond is now like a tree in autumn  The leaves have slowly fallen  But there's still hope for spring  I keep my heart's door open  Lest you want to come home again. © Suranya

She stopped in her tracks. A feeling of being watched crept in. The alley was dark. And the dim light made shadows on the walls. She paced up her speed, feeling her own heavy breath and heartbeat at her throat. She stopped at the end of the alley with a sigh of relief. What she failed to notice was that someone was still breathing heavily at her neck from all the running. He failed to understand why they all kept running from him. How was he going to prove to his community that humans existed as an afterlife for every ghost? They called him a lunatic. Made fun of him. But the human hunter waited every day in the alley, hoping to catch one human who wouldn't be afraid. © Suranya

He found her twirling across the dance floor as he approached her. "I thought you said you didn't like slow dancing. She stopped, almost aware and awkward at his presence as he stepped into the spotlight from the darkness. His smile reached his eyes and twinkled. Was he amused? She had stopped trying to read people. "I don't." She smiled, "See, I was doing it alone. To warm up for practice." He stepped closer as her smile faded. "Maybe you don't like it because you never danced with someone." He gave her his hand as she looked unsure. "Come on, you can hate it after this." She narrowed her eyes at him. Was he flirting? He could read her mind as he smiled sheepishly. "This is not me trying to convince you about anything. I reassure you. She took his hand as he pulled her closer by holding her back. "You see, slow dancing is always about the rhythm and trust. Knowing each other closely and allowing a certain level of vuln...

 He lived and died in search of Love,  In love he wrote odes to the One above. She was He and He was Her  The mad man could not decipher,  Why he searched for her in vain  When she was at the tip of his pen. © Suranya

 I wander aimlessly in the thirst for knowledge Aware am I not? Questions shroud my sleepless nights, Awakened am I not? I looked for you in idols and stones  Temples, mosques, churches and domes I looked for you in the rain and the sun  Seasons that change, time that runs. In the chaos and the rules,  In the wise and so-called fools. Looking for a soul in despair To answer what I ask in dare  Alone, hopeless, I look into the mirror  And there a soul I see very clear  Enlightened, I smile,  As You call from the Divine,  Answering the riddles of Time. I am You and You are I,  Now I will not live any more in a lie;  I am your seeking student, just like Rumi,  In the path of Love, you show me. You are my guiding star, Sufistic  Like Shams, the mystic. © Suranya

 I had been a dreamer, a romantic lover  Weaving stories and fairytales.  You came along like a summer song  And gifted me tinted glasses.  I didn't remember in a love-drunk autumn  That winter wasn't far away.  Glasses broken, cold shivers running.  I wait for warmth in the winter sun  But you ghosted me on a cold night instead. How many more hearts will you destroy  How many more trusts will you burn, boy? Dreams shattered, heart scattered, mind battered,  Girl, wipe your tears and rise. You now know better than to trust him  That walking red flag!  Sweet talker, charmer, scammer Fake promises, white lies  I don't know how blind I was  Perhaps I can't see the Red  Or am I attracted to toxic traits? Winter wasn't far away But you left me without a blanket. Here I am, quilting my own Here I am, warm and alone I see you burn many more homes But I know mine is unreachable, For now, I know My love for you is ju...

Since the COVID-19 days, I have limited my bus journeys unless necessary. After almost two years, I started regularly using the commute again, especially for long-distance journeys. It's on one such journey that I looked up to check the rain clouds and discovered that the journey looks so different if you keep looking up. The sun, moon, stars and clouds seem to travel with you, and as the branches in their geometric designs pass by, one can imagine oneself lying on a haystack on top of an open caravan or horse-drawn carriage being transported back in time. Come the tall old buildings of central Calcutta, and you can see their exquisite designs standing the test of time, a small, detailed motif or simply a name plate, almost faded into oblivion. The verandahs overlooking the busy streets full of traffic (which by the way I suddenly realised looks the same everywhere) are often filled with potted plants, discarded things or a broken railing, and sometimes an old man in his dhuti sitt...

Having grown up hearing the stories of Agomoni from our grandparents' generation, how Maa Durga is but a daughter returning home to us, for five days, and the blue sky and white clouds being a reflection of her happiness on her impending homecoming. Then suddenly clouds begin to gather, and my grandmother would often say, Oh look, there it is, Shiva seems angry. Why, I would ask, the eager child in me, always having a love for stories. And love stories. The clear blue sky and the fluffy white clouds are another natural thing that preludes the Dhak of Durga Pujo. Every time I see it, no matter when and where, it reminds me of her. Having grown up hearing the stories of Agomoni from our grandparents' generation, how Maa Durga is but a daughter returning home to us, for five days, and the blue sky and white clouds being a reflection of her happiness on her impending homecoming. Then suddenly clouds begin to gather, and my grandmother would often say, Oh look, there it is, Shiva se...

Like the clear blue sky and cotton clouds after a spell of grey clouds and thunderstorms that often prelude Agomoni, happiness reflected in Kanai's eyes. There was lights, Dhak and celebration in the City of Joy. After two years of despair and struggle it seemed like Ma Durga was truly home. He watched the streets crowded with eager onlookers, people waiting as the aroma of the freshly made egg rolls hit his nostrils. The day ended at dawn for them. Baba counted the money in the box with a smile. Maybe it meant Maa wouldn't have to go back to working her "night shifts' and return home teary eyed, reminding Kanai to stud harder than before. With eyes full of hope, Kanai folded his hands, She smiled back. © Suranya

 Lost in the trail of success,  Fame and time.  He walked into the empty Villa.  Turning on the lights of his luxurious home  His eyes fell on the wall full of pictures. Moments that have passed by.  Her smile. Her tears. Her fears,  All came haunting back. He gulped down the drink.  Not letting the guilt get to him again. Trying to forget the pain Void.  Emptiness, Regret. Despair. He lost her,  First slowly, then all at once.  He had never paid attention  To her silent screams.  Her vanishing dreams.  He realised it all day.  Her presence was replaced in a moment,  By a paper and memories.  And he knew for sure.  In the rat race called Life  He had lost this once.  Life in all its flavours.  Is it worth the fame and success?  Only if someone is there  To share it with you.  Life was always about  Chasing dreams for him.  Until today, he has realised  S...

 Riding with the tides  He had gone on many adventures;  Each moment at war  Went like a flash of thunderbolt  Before he could return home. Waiting somewhere in the palace,  Her eyes were on the horizon,  Each day of separation  Unbearably engulfed in loneliness  And time was calculated in heartbeats. © Suranya

 I sit crouched up on the topmost post,  Of the tower meant to overlook the waterhole I feel dizzy, but god forbid I sleep The fate of the country rests on my  Keen eyes, I keep alert. And just like that, in the calmness of the night,  Sounds of commotion are heard coming by The horizon flared up in smokes of dust  Hooves and trumpets all from afar. I wake from my trance, in time to ring the bell  Alert the soldiers who sleep in the cells. I gather my weapon, they lie long in the dust  Time to raise them at the targets, discard the rust. Gunshots and arrows, war calls and cries  My ears are deafened by the noise of life. I remember briefly the people waiting back home  Parents, children, and the one who nurtures them. I raise my rifle and shoot at them, roaring. A bullet grazed me, and I lay down bleeding. Here is my breath about to stop, the camp lost  My life is just another number game. © Suranya

 The star I once wished upon,  To be your favourite song  Turned out dead; Burnt away aeons ago,  Yet ignited in illusion,  Light years apart,  Just like our Love. © Suranya

 For all the times I ever bled, 'Coz it wasn't in red. They never noticed  The droplets blotted  On ink and paper,  And became Art  They couldn't decipher. © Suranya

 Wreaths of rhododendrons in honour of the brave,  Smell of jasmine, rose petal sprinklers in the celebration;  But the sweetest smell that surpassed these was  That of your soft Heena-painted hands. Drums and horns of celebration across the land,  Singers and dancers at court till the wine poured late,  Yet the most beautiful of music was  Of your anklets' tinkle in the echoes of the palace.  A monument of marble, a fort conquered far beyond.  But home for my wandering heart  Remained your open courtyard.  A royal title, a guard of honour, a sword  Yet your letters were still my greatest reward:  A rule laid, fate separated,  Your heart remained the rebel, as did mine.  I painted your image in a corner of my room,  As you left an everlasting imprint on my heart. The gust of wind blew,  It travelled across the plains,  Over the hills of the Aravallis.  It brought me a tint of dust from your so...

 Alone on a bench in a park, she sat,  Staring at the couples on the picnic mats. Children playing in the lawns, She spotted a man all alone.  Shook her head in a disapproving glance  She should never have taken the chance.  "One human? Ill omen", She shrugged, flapping her wings,  She flew away from the scene. © Suranya

 In a frolic of hide and seek,  You remain hidden from me tonight;  O Guiding Star,  Unseen in the darkness like a shadow,  You perhaps appear with light.  Oh, how I desire to see you.  I weep over thee  Like I would for a near one. I feel restless to feel warm again.  But tonight you seem like a stranger to me. Cold, like a distant dream perhaps,  You walked away tonight  And took my dreams with you. Perhaps that is why sleep refuses me tonight. My salty tears turn themselves.  Into waves of turbulent questions  Over my mere existence and purpose. Who am I? What am I?  Without an identity or purpose? © Suranya

And yet another day passes by, and I realise that I feel less and less. For everything around me. My existence is at stake. My humanity is in question. I can't come to terms with the fact that I can't be understood, I can't be heard. My silences are killing me, as a part of my heart learns to unlearn everything it once learned and detach from what hurts and a part of my mind feeds it with logic. Why is it the right thing to do? And then there is my soul. It eats away dreams, piece by piece, trying hard not to think of all the things it once deemed true. © Suranya

There was a certain beauty in the forests. The rustling of leaves. The birds are chirping. The moon shone in its crescent shape, and the stars were slowly becoming visible as the sky grew a shade darker. She parted the curtains of the caravan. The light of a torch was visible at a distance. The dusk had just set in, and they were almost there. Or so she was told. On any other normal day, she would have noticed the rustling of leaves or admired a bird's song. But today was not any other day. Rumours were flying. She was summoned immediately to this hideout after ten days of the war and waiting. She had travelled alone, leaving the family behind in the Bhil village where they had set up camp. Her heart beat increased. Was it bad news? She said a soft prayer as the caravan stopped. Ranima." She heard her son outside the curtains. Come with me". The curtain parted, and her teary eyes met his disappointed face. "Where is he?" He had barely managed to point at the cav...

 I walk through the busiest parts of Purani Dilli,  Where Chandi Chowk meets the Qila across the street.  I stand in the crowd, wondering what it was like  When horses and elephants paraded by it. I walk through the old Calcutta lanes, Where once was a canal of British reign.  A ditch to lay off Marathas was built,  And then there are places where elephants took over the streets.  Imagine for once in your mind's eye  What it was like when Siraj's troops went by. I zoom past Haldighati in a car,  Wondering how fast Chetak was  As he led Pratap to safety;  Or how narrow the pass had been  Suitable for war in climates extreme. My heart pounds on significant days and times,  For the writer in me believes in another world  Parallel to mine.  A world that is alive in the past still  Where time is repeated in loops therein. Sometime somewhere in that world  Perhaps, like a dream, we often call the past  S...

 I see night break  Into dawn every day,  The shadows disappear into light.  I lose my grip on dreams again,  Intoxicated in the reality of life.  The blue Illusion appears clearer  Till the sun burns into moonlight tonight. Yet my thirst for love remains  To meet Your soul somewhere divine.  My soul burnt in flames of Love,  Tonight, I smile in peace. I choose to give my love a name.  I dare to call it Devotion;  I vow to wait like a queen does for her king  Endless days and nights. The wind doesn't whisper your stories anymore,  Decades have turned to eras,  Your name has faded in the oasis far away  Yet I waited to hear,  Hoping for You to show the way  To help my soul grow to reach Yours. Oh, where have You gone?  Hidden yourself from me?  Why do you not see me burn  In the trance of Your Elixir of Love? After decades of unfulfilled desires and suffering,  I give my love a p...

 Beyond the crowd  Of civilisation's woe  Stories of immortality  Of fondness grows;  Of star-crossed lovers  Divided by fate  Society repeating  The same mistakes. © Suranya

Have you ever heard the music each place creates at night? The winter night is long and silent. From behind the closed doors and windows, we can occasionally hear the otherwise inaudible trains chugging by the station a few kilometres away, or the hooting of the owl that flies by close in a chaotic rhythm. Once or twice, a puppy squeaks in the chill or two cats sound like a baby wailing, like a musical background score of a haunting movie. If you listen carefully, you can hear the sound of the breeze against the windowpanes. And breaking the otherwise quiet that the night wears is the sound of an ambulance winding through the road at a distance. You figure out from which direction it comes and where it travels. Then there is the sound of dry leaves rustling and the occasional footsteps of people walking on them. Does this city ever fall silent? Probably not. Because even silence has a sound. Perhaps of your own breath or heartbeat. All making music, all that can be heard in separate mu...

 The family sat on the darkest branch,  Of the neem tree beside the pond.  The Owl warned her Owlets right,  "Be careful, dear children,  Do not venture into the light;  It is a blinding, scary illusion  Not worth your innocent intuitions." "But why, mother?  I want to see the morning sky. I heard it is blue. Is that true?  I heard there are birds exactly like us  Oh, won't they love to be my friend?"  "Silly boy, what a fool you are,  Yes, they look the same but are very different.  Their thought and life, their clear blue sky  All are but a distant story, untrue, unreal  As we are, the creatures of the darkness for them." The Owlets listened with open ears,  Twisting their heads, eyes wide and eager.  The smallest one was perhaps the bravest  Or the foolest, depends on who narrated. He stepped out one morning when the sun shone bright,  He was blinded by the power of the light. He flapped hi...

 The call of the universe is surreal,  The time has come to feel  The joys of a new life. But the path leading to light  It is suffocating and dark  For in every bend fear larks  I must not give up,  I must not lose hope.  For once, I get through these difficult days,  It is only the journey that stays  While I spread my wings and fly,  Away from the cocoon of chaos  Into a world unexplored;  From the darkness that should not fear  Even if I feel my end is near  Because from this very nothingness  Comes the light of a renewed life that awaits. © Suranya

 I walked past a stranger today,  On my way down memory lane. She smiled at me faintly,  I wanted to hug away her pain. Until I touched the mirror,  Realised she looked exactly the same,  Only my thoughts were clearer, soul wiser  While she was still lost in her innocence. © Suranya

 There you go to the glittering gold shops, Buying the expensive textiles and hardware  Enough to reflect on your status To show off to envious relatives. Your ignorant gazes are blinded by vanity. For the most precious riches are those your eyes can't see. The awareness of the vast universe,  And how insignificant are thee. Once you leave the realms, you can no longer see your riches. Your soul will whirl in thin air just like That beggar you winced at on the street. But the Fakira who chose knowledge over it. I live on in ideas and thoughts,  Revolution and rebels, stories and words. Her soul was enlightened by the richness of the verse. For your riches can turn to rags with tide  Your friends can become enemies  Your luck can run out with time. But knowledge, once earned, where does it go? It stays in your heart and lights up the soul.  It makes you richer and teaches you humbly  How fragile is life and all the desires you chase  In the en...

The older we grow, our expectations of love change. It's something that happens naturally. We tend to prioritise our needs and wants and call it love. Our mushy teen selves that once believed in the purity of such feelings are often overshadowed by socially set standards and judgements on how one's partner should work right, be settled, and have certain materialistic offerings rather than the emotional capabilities we once sought. But then, once in a while, all of us wish to go back to that unscarred pure self of ours that wanted a love very rarely found beyond stories of romance. But deep down, you know you would give anything to have it. Then there are days, fleeting moments, words said and unsaid and perhaps one single incident that makes you momentarily feel that love you wanted to feel. The expectations you once had from this feeling. Of finding peace, solace, and a home. In that moment, you feel like you have been waiting all your life for that one single moment of bliss....

 Lips part as if to whisper a prayer  But no words escape it.  Your fingertips linger on the edge. Of her body, like she is a nymph  You are craving on the wall of a temple.  You know every scar and mole in her body  Like it was a shrine to you.  Her youth is a blooming lotus.  In your garden of desire. But why do you pause when they ask who she is?  Why do you inhale every time she asks What you like about her?  Everything, you say, hoping to please her. She smiles and brushes off the empty feeling. that creeps in  As you cuddle in bed.  Every time you make love to her,  She knows it.  You know it.  There is no denying it.  You know her inch by inch.  In the darkness of the right  But in the light of dawn  Her soul is still a stranger. ©Suranya

 I stand beneath your stone statue,  Staring at a distant dream,  I feel like I have belonged here,  Since eternity or so it seems. People call you History,  The perfect hero of the past. You to them is a warrior,  Perhaps a king, fighting for freedom.  You to me is a Heart,  That battles against the brain,  Stands alone against the odds of every pain. You come across as perhaps a rebel child.  To me, you fought for your belief.  To them, you were about the war,  To me, you are her Love. All they see is a statue or two,  Your values and soul forgotten.  They remember you for two days a year,  While the rest seem unimportant. © Suranya

 There is something about you I can't quite forget. Perhaps the sunshine reminds me  Of the way you talked,  The night reminds me of the way  We met in a tryst of sheer ecstasy;  The mountains remind me  There was a life waiting beyond it,  And the rain reminds me  Of my lovelorn heart  That has never found a way  To erase you from the mind. I sit here, amidst the storm, wondering  Was there more to our story?  More to love than we could ever know.  And my teardrops turn into pearls.  That now adorn the white marble dome. I wish to see you again, in dreams  Hold you near and sin,  But somehow with every ray of light,  You slip away like lost hope. ~ Suranya

Skipping through the songs that hurt,  Writing down my thoughts in the dark  Reading between your lines since the start  I realised how naive I was to fall prey  To your overly charming ways.  Gathering the pieces of me you scattered around  All the trauma you left in rebukes all along  I decided to live for me instead.  I fixed my heart, 'coz I realised  Trying to undo the past and forget it was insane,  But moving on was not impossible  'Seeing' you was all it took to realise my mistake.  © Suranya

 Gayero se kya sikhayat karna  Apne bhi kaha samajhte hai tumhe? Kaha hai manzil kya jaanta hai dil? Bas musafir hai ek anjaan safar mein. Koi apna nahi koi geyer nahi,  Kabhi andhere mein dekho toh, Parchayee bhi kaha saath nibhati hai.  Gayero se kya sikayat karna,  Apne bhi kaha samajhte tumhe.  Apno se kya sikwa karna,  Jab khud bhi samajh nahi aata,  Yeh Dil akhir chahta kya hai? © Suranya

 In the sky, so beautifully mesmerised  On the sea, art is God's canvas. In the hairline, blessed, & divine. On the forehead, power and grace. In the blood, kin, pedigree, war,  A sign of pride. On the clothes, fiery and in control,  And flags, brave and bold. Why is it then only when  Red appears monthly for a woman in shame? © Suranya

 তখন অনেক রাত, সকাল অনেক দূরে। স্বপ্ন হঠাৎ হাতছানি দেয় অজানা এক দিশে। অচেনা সুর কানে বাজে,  তবু কি সত্যিই জানা না?  পথ যে ছিল বড়োই কঠিন সে পথ চলা মানা। ফিরে তাকাই অবাক আমি, স্বপন পানে চেয়ে। স্বপ্ন যে আমার পিছে আসছে যেন ধেয়ে। অবাক হয়ে ভাবি আমি ক্লান্ত দিশাহারা, স্বপ্ন ও কি খোঁজে তাদের, স্বপ্ন খোঁজে যারা?" © Suranya

 I fluttered my eyes open  And saw the light above my head.  Is this heaven or hell? I wondered.  Oh, it was, but a doctor's table.  I see the man in blurred vision.  Accompanied by another. "What happened here?"  He asked the intern  Who mumbled something unclear.  I tried to speak, complain even  About the stabbing pain in my chest.  I know not what happened to me,  I was just lying in my bed.  I probably am too feeble.  My words didn't reach him.  I saw a scalpel come down.  Right on my chest.  The men spoke in language.  I didn't quite understand.  "What are you doing to me? What has happened?"  I panicked, but my words went unheard. "Hmm", the older one removed his gloves,  Then his surgical mask  Turned to the other in a clear voice to say  "Put it back in, Rigour Mortis has set in."  Hell, I was in a morgue. © Suranya

 "You are too opinionated. Tone your voice down otherwise you won't find a groom." "Did toning her voice down help Aunty suffer your abuses and hide the scars on her body, Uncle?" © Suranya

 "My dad is very open-minded. He allows me to attend late-night parties. Working night shifts. And even befriending men." She almost flaunted. "What? You need permission for those?" He laughed, a little shocked. She suddenly realised it was NOT funny that he didn't realise his privileges. © Suranya

 "I can't go in there." She said to her husband, almost in an alarming whisper. "But why?" He frowned. "My mother arranged the puja especially for you." "I have my periods." She said, almost sounding guilty. "Why didn't you take medicines for it if it was due?" Her husband retorted. "Mom will be very upset." "You know those have side effects." She said calmly. "And if my being present matters, just tell her to allow me in the prayer room." "You know that's not possible." © Suranya

 "The greatest form of love is self-love," she said. I agreed with a nod. "I don't get these girls," she winced at a group on the opposite table. "Short dresses and so much makeup!" "So you don't think women should have a choice to wear the things they like?" "No, but be appropriate." "Appropriate to what?" I asked, "And just because she likes makeup, she doesn't endorse self-love? Isn't taking care of one's body or looks, hitting the gym or putting on a face pack, too a form of self-indulgence in a good way?" © Suranya

 "Why don't you get married?" "I want to pursue my dreams right now." "What will you do in the end? End up alone? You will have to get married and have children. That's what women do. What's the use of wasting your youth and money on your silly dreams?" "So that if I do raise a kid, I don't raise one like you." © Suranya

 "Life is tough." My grandma smiled, "You are a daughter first, you think of your parents' honour, then you become a wife, your behaviour reflects on his respect, then as a mother, you are judged at every step if your child misbehaves. As sisters, aunts, grandmothers, too you have to step up and look after your extended families." "What about your respect?" I asked. "Your name? Your identity?" "Women did not have those in my days. We barely stepped out, knew the world or dared to have a dream separate from our husbands." She shook her head. "And how was it?" I was curious. "I am glad things changed for the better." She smiled. © Suranya

 "When did you know she was perfect wife material?" His words made me frown. "What's wife material ?" "You know... the one who will care, look after your home, and your parents... cook and stuff... dress up occasionally for you, respect and never question your decisions..." He smiled, "All that." "The day you do all that and start calling yourself husband material and think you deserve her, you can go look for it." I shrugged. © Suranya

 "You are not like other girls." He smiled. He had perhaps expected me to blush. I frowned instead. "What do you mean?" "You know how typical girls are." He shrugged. "How?" I asked cluelessly. "Nosy. Control freaks. Always judging. Needs so much attention and gifts. Drags you to shopping under every excuse! Doesn't watch sports. Always criticising other women." "I do not know where you get this opinion of women from. But women aren't like this. And me not being like others is offensive towards my gender." "Oh, you are overreacting. I didn't mean it like that." "It's exactly what you mean." © Suranya

 "That uncle touches me in a way I find uncomfortable."  "What are you saying? It's just in your mind. He is your uncle."  "Isn't the rapists too someone's son or husbands, Mom?" © Suranya

 The day I met you  The sun shone warm  Like an embrace  In the winter morning. The day you left  The sky poured incessantly  Like my teardrops in vain.  But between them,  Was our Spring of Love. © Suranya