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Tuesday, January 30, 2024

Just A Fiction

Remember that girl who boards the same bus at the same stop at the same time daily? You know her face but not what she does. So you weave a story around her. That book she likes, the jacket she wears, the bag she carries in the commute or how she lip-syncs to music on her earphones. You read about girls like her. Remember that woman who begs on the street? What is her story? Is she poor or abandoned? Betrayed by her own? In your head, she has a family who refuses to look after her. She becomes that random character namelessly existing in the corner of your story. Remember how every missing piece of an unsolved puzzle in the world has conspiracy theories? How someone is not dead because we found no body. How someone spotted an unknown creature in a desert. Theories become our closure stories to things we can't answer with science yet. Remember that book where you pictured a rebellion? The author had penned a slogan or purpose. Made up stories to highlight atrocities. Little did he know that fifty years later someone would come along and read his work. Little did he know it would inspire many to take to the streets and fight. His slogan echoed through the air of rebellion. His sense of freedom turned into the nation's most patriotic song. Nothing in this world is just fiction. Everything has an ounce of truth in it. Be it yours, that of the writer's, a mass belief or the society in general. That is the beauty of fiction. 

© Suranya

Why I wrote this:

আনন্দমঠ (The Abbey of Bliss) was a revolutionary work in fiction literature back in 1882. It was based on the Sannasi rebellion of 1770, the first rebellion against British collection of taxes after the drought hit Bengal (ছিয়াত্তরের মন্বন্তর). The rebels in the writer's imagination sing a patriotic song, Vande Mataram (All hail Mother), while preaching Hinduism. The idea of a country as mother in a figure we know now as Bharat Mata emerged from this very novel, which had to be banned for all the popularity it gathered from the "anarchists". It talked of equality, women's empowerment and sacrifices that were preached through aspects of religious movements during the rebellion. Fifty years later, the entire nation was echoing "Vande Mataram" as a call for freedom. The fiction Bankim Chandra imagined coming alive in every street of a free nation as its national song. That is the beauty of masterpieces. Not all fiction is just fiction. They stir you, move you, make you aware and rebel.

Sunday, January 21, 2024

Hook, Line & Sinker

 Sometimes life feels like 

Someone who can't swim 

Being thrown into a vast ocean 

Gasping for breath 

Hoping to stay afloat 

While the salty water accumulates 

In the lung.


And then come people. 

Who are the one boat you see while drowning 

And you wave frantically at it 

In a last bid to survive 

Hoping to be seen and heard. 

The one boat that throws a life jacket at you 

And pulls you up and safe 

On to the shore.


You saved me. I whisper.

But you cannot hear it.

Gratitude turns into a slow-burning sensation. 

Of unravelling the mystery that surrounds you..

The saviour, the Messiah, the Beloved.

It was time for the boat to sail again 

And I find myself being scared of the ocean;

The storm that engulfs and eats ships

Disturbs me to the core.

But you seem to have your eyes set

On the horizon, far beyond me 

Your dreams to stay afloat 

Surpasses my phobia of drowning.

So you leave with a promise 

Of seeing me once again.

To you, it was words to me - Vows.


Every night is like a ritual to the Gods

I put a message in a bottle 

And tell the waves to take it to you.

Every morning, I find it washed ashore 

As though you refused to receive it.

But I survive each day, hoping 

That you come back to me.

Every month passes by, thinking. 

The next ship will bring you home.

And then, almost like magic, one did.

I ran through the streets like a madwoman 

People stared, sneered and looked away 

My shoes stumbled across the cobbled path 

As I reach the ship that brought you home.


There you are, smiling your familiar smile 

Before you take the child on your lap

Did you save him, too?

And perhaps the woman who holds your hand?

 I suddenly feel like drowning again.

I can't breathe. I can't stand. 

I can't... Anymore. 

Your eyes find me in the busy port 

And your smile fades as you walk away 

With her, hand in hand.


I look up now, at the sunset 

The horizon far beyond you, 

Me and the existence of love. 

I step back as you disappear into 

The crowd down the street.

I run towards the water's enchanted call 

To take me as an offering once again.

And now I am feeling light. 

Afloat and far from your realms. 

I don't yell to be saved anymore. 

To be taken by a wave of false promises. 

But today, a truth emerges out of the ocean. 

I fell for you, hook, line and sinker 

And you didn't care.

© Suranya