I SAW IT ALL IN ONE DAY

Bombs exploded over my already dead body
I saw it all in one day
Burning books, charred pages of unwritten memory
All gone in one moment
You scream my dear
But who would hear it
You cry my dear
Now fuck off
We all have gone deaf
I saw it all in one day
One day, twenty four hours
It all passed very soon my friend
Suffocated you and maybe someone else
Trying to decipher the hidden meaning of all these things
Heck man, you are trying too hard
and that too in one day

Met you, St.parry’s cafe
Remember, yesterday
You say, you wanna go away
But where
I wish I can go too
Impossible, it sounds so
The coffee goes cold
The siren hounds you
The tears go unnoticed
I saw it all in one day

May be lord, you have shown me enough
My soul is now a collage of them as well
I guess I should now come
Where I belong
Its turning dark, its really turning very dark

Searching for Bangaliana in Pune

Burp. Yeah. Two years in Pune completed. Two years. Learned many a things. Understood many a things. Maybe the time is coming that I have to move on. Go on to the next stop. Because the time is coming again.



So, today my friend and I went to a small bengali restaurant in Pune. Deep. A restaurant frequented mostly by the office going staff. The place has a charm of its own. Its clean. The food is good and tasty. We went there because it has been a long time since we had something authentic bengali.



The musur dal,the crispy alu bhaja and the alu posto. the spirit of bangaliana. Accompaniments were fried fish and also pomfret kalia with ample amount of rice. Ah it was magical, it was heavenly. By the time I finished I was licking my fingers. The search for bangaliana ended maybe. Back on track. Back to our small room, back to the small ghupchi ghor. My bed in a mess, my roommates bed clean, the empty thums up bottle, the mess that was our room, that was me. A mess.

Sometimes I feel I have lost my identity. I am no more me. I try to find out exactly who I am. Who? I have found that I am both brave and coward, charming as well rud and arrogant. I have become a concoction of someone desperate. I am always an escapist. I know that. But this new me troubles me.

And Bangaliana? I don't know. All I find is snobbery around me.

The search I guess would go on.The eternal spirit of the chainless mind. My mind is never bounded. It treads different grounds, different territories of perpetual learning. Learn as you go. I hope my new identity will teach me something. Something at least.

Oye Toba Tek Singh

Toba Tek Singh. A place or a person, or rather both. One of the most enduring and harsh short story ever written by Saadat Hasan Manto.
I wish I could write such a thing. Alas I am not well equipped. The thing in his short stories are his immediate poignancy or rather its simmering reality. You can't deny it.

Oye Toba Tek Singh
You don't know who you are
You don't know where you belong
Is this land yours
Is this soil yours
Don't you know
You are an Indian or are you a Pakistani
You don't know
They threw you here
They threw you there
You ran naked
asking
'where is my country, you bastards.'
They catch you
and send you where you don't belong
You ask
you never get the answers
Oye Toba Tek Singh
what's the use
Stop asking
They themselves don't know
Where is India Where is Pakistan
All blurred by few seconds of madness
All gone
The fire of partition
Its all gone
Oye Toba Tek Singh
You go away too
Shoo, shoo, shoo
Toba Tek Singh