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Thursday, February 14, 2008

A MAFIATIC DREAM!

A great dream was that. Let me share here… Last night when I was back after my didi’s marriage ceremony… I dreamt a lot; probably as an adverse effect of too rich diet at such a late of night.


Scene 1:

A large auditorium; some sort of play is going on. In the front row side seat, a girl ~ age 25 is sitting. The camera rotates around the auditorium. There are several boxes around the wall. The auditorium is not a house-full one. There are a few spectators, as it is expected in a group theatre show. The camera is placed at the back row aiming to the front row seats. As a result the face of the girl can not be seen.

Suddenly a sound of gunshot causes the spectators and artists flee in panic. The sound was coming from one of the boxes far above. The girl was found dead in the front row. The bullet pierced her neck.

Scene 2:

3 investigators, two men and one woman, all in their late twenties are searching the entire auditorium for the shooter. The two men are searching the ‘no-entry’ rooms, the generator room, and the computer control panel; online edit room, green rooms etc. Suddenly the phone of one investigator rings. It is the woman investigator. She says, “Come in the basement. The chap has fled. We need to reach out.”

- “Basement… where?”

- “near the broken wooden horse… come where all the garbage are dumped.”

Scene 3:

A young girl, Anjali, age around 24 – 25, has come to a hill station with her parents. They buys the Times Of India and sees the front page news; “YOUNG GIRL MURDERED AT CITY HALL”… Under which a long article on administration failure and risks of living of an common civilian was discussed. The girl was identified as Simran Siddique, a 25 yrs old post grad student of arts and music, leaving in hostel and studied in the most prestigious institute of the hill station. The murderer could not be cached till now. But the police was trying. The bullet entered from her neck and got out through the forehead piercing her brain.

- “Ma go!!” said the mother seeing the picture of the dead body in the front page.

- “The girl must have some ill connections. The young generation doesn’t know where they are going.”

Anjali starts shouting at her father at this. She argues, “When hundreds die in a terrorist attack, is it necessary for all of them to have ill connections?”

Suddenly the all fell silent. There was also something else in the news paper except from the murder news. It was a missing ad which drew there attention.

“Simran Sen. D/o Ambareesh Sen… is missing for the last one week. Anyone to give a tip off will be prized Rs. One lakh.”

But it was not only the ad. There was more. What made the family silent was the picture of Simran and the way the girl resembled Anjali.

All the people started staring at them but none approached. Although the prize money was much alluring, but there was another catch. Ambareesh Sen was the most dangerous mafia of the city.

The father said, “Let’s go back my dear, first, a brutal murder in the center of the city; then the picture of my daughter making him the daughter of a mafia kingpin. Oof!!!”

Scene 4:

The den of Ambareesh Sen. In the central room, Ambareesh Sen, a short, fat and bald man ~ age 55 is sitting. With him is his personal manager, Someshwar Singh (45). There is also a woman (age ~35). The woman is wearing a light green shifon saree. Suddenly a young man in his late 20s or early 30s knocks in the glass window. The sound system asks, “Yes?” The man calls the woman. The woman comes out. She is slim, a bit skinny and fair. The waitress in the lounge asks them to go to the private room.

When in the private room, the man tells the whole story to the woman. The man made the woman understand her duties and left.

Scene 5:

The drop scene:

In the taxi stand at Sealdah station, the woman at the den was sitting inside a taxi and the investigator was talking through the window. The taxi started moving towards the A J C Bose road flyover. There were four people in the taxi; the investigator trio and the woman.

The male investigator started telling the whole story. Ambareesh Sen was one of the most dangerous narcotic smugglers in India. He had links to the opium and marijuana fields of Afghanistan and the Middle East market from where the drugs were circulated all over the world. Her only daughter did not have a tip off it. Suddenly one evening everything got revealed to Simran. She could not believe her ears. Her dad was her idol. She became furious. She threatened her father that she will spill the bean in front of the police. The father then drugged her and told everyone that she is gone mad. She was locked in a room and given narcotics on a regular basis. Suddenly Simran managed to flee. Ambareesh got furious. He told his men to shoot her wherever they find simran. Out of mistake, they falsely shot Simran Siddique in the auditorium.

Three people investigator group was applied by CBI. The woman in the den was a CBI employee in the guise of a Bar Dancer… entered the den.

Saturday, February 02, 2008

নিরন্তর ভাট

কি লিখব জানি না। একান্তে খুলে বসেছি ভাটের পাতা। ফালতু ব্লগের ফালতু লেখা লিখতে চলে এসেছি কিছু না ভেবেই।

কেন এসেছি জানি না। দিনান্তে খুলে বসেছি ভাটের পাতা। অগাধ জ্ঞান বিতরণ করতে চলে এসেছি কিছু না জেনেই।

কেন জানিনি জানি না। অজান্তে চচ্চড়ি করে ফেলেছি তোমার ঘিলু। তুই এখন রেগেমেগে কোথায় পালাবি ভাবছিস।

আমার ব্লগ পড়িস নি। এখান থেকে পালা। কোনো ভ্যালু পাবি নি। কোনো শক্ত থিয়োরী সহজ করে বোঝানো নেই এতে। জীবনের আপাত সরল প্রতিপাদ্যগুলোকেই জটিল করে ঘাঁটা রয়েছে।

কিছু চারা কথা, কিছু ঝাড়া কথা, কিছু ঘিলু ঘুঁটে ঘুঁটে নাড়া কথা এখানে পড়ে রয়েছে। বেশিক্ষণ থাকিস নি এখানে। যা বুঝেছিস, যা শিখেছিস অ্যাদ্দিনে সব ভুলে যাবি।

পালা... পালা... শীগ্‌গীর পালা।

Friday, January 25, 2008

শুধু দুটি ছবি রেখে যাই...

আজ আর বেশী কথা নয়। শুধু দুটি ছবি রেখে যাই।
প্রথমটি আমার হাইস্কুলের; ইছাপুর নর্থল্যান্ড হাই স্কুল (উঃ মাঃ) -- শেষেরটি ক্যালানিবাচক অব্যয় না।

/\ Ichhapur Northland High School (H.S.)

দ্বিতীয়টি আমার প্রাইমারী স্কুলের; রাজেন্দ্র বিদ্যা মন্দির।

/\ Rajendra Vidya Mandir
Debitala Road, Ichhapur

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Soothe & Calm

In a silent night I opened the window of my room to get a feel of wintry chill all over my face. When the vast blackness of the outside world gradually fades in a blur, I reminded you. The outlines of the distant figures can be seen in the faint light of the stars. It is a dark night of new moon. The sky is black as nothing. The distant lampposts are also absent in their usual duty. There is a pond just behind my room. When I open my window, I come face to face of my shadow in the pond. Some fishes are playing in the previously still water. There is a calm but far less than the one I get when I be with you…

Thursday, January 17, 2008

RAHMAN
by Joydip Datta

The previous issues have been included in this post because they needed to be modified a bit. This post thus contains the full story till today.


Sometimes time flow so stupidly you often fail to realize that it is actually flowing. You have engaged yourself in some stuff which now seems stupid and baseless. Thinking of the past days of glory... Rahman was lying idle... yet another day of no-output “Yet another day towards the complete bullshit that is going to come.”

Rahman knows very well that the money he has got from the old lady will end soon. And she is not very keen on spending this money either. It pains him a lot to use the money got from a dying lady. When he helped her in drinking water he had no idea of using this courtesy later in life. He also promised her the due funeral (which he kept) but accepting money in return... was a sin. But when the lady said that, "You seem a good boy to me. See, I have this tiny amount of money. But it has no use for me. You keep it dear... You require it more." And she died.

When Rahman was done with the funeral task, he first thought he won't use the money the lady gave him. Somewhere it was pinching. To use the money got in return of putting water in the mouth of a dying lady was strictly unacceptable. But as time passed and his resources were ended, he thought, "Ok... I will not spend the money... but I can borrow a little amount. Dear, when you are hungry, everything else gets less priority than food itself. And the tradition of borrowing continued. And today, that money too was near its end.

What will Rahman do now?

* * *

Rahman was thinking all these stuff while doing his evening namaz. When the namaz was over, he was again angry with himself. While doing a namaz, full concentration should be on Allah. But he was thinking these material problems! He is surely a bad Muslim. He pinched himself again and again for this. His bad mood got worse.

After a while, again the material problems surrounded him. Oh my God! He can at most manage some food for the next morning only. What will he do after that? What will he eat?

With these thoughts that never come to a conclusion, Rahman slowly felt asleep. Rahman was sleeping. Suddenly he saw a man. Dressed like a common farmer. He saw the man working in a coarse field with an axe. When the man saw him he said, "Rahman, you are a very nice child. Just know one thing. If you know your path and can gather enough conviction to keep on walking the path then the energy will eventually come to you. " saying this, the man hit the rough soil hard with his axe. And within the next split second, the coarse field was gone. Instead, there was the eye soothing greenery of a paddy field.

Rahman wake up. He was full with confusion. Who was this man? Was he his father? Rahman had never seen his father before. He has been told that his father died before his birth in a road accident. He was walking drunk when a truck ran over him. Rahman's idea over his father was not that bright. His father was a regular drinker. And if he didn't die in that accident, he would die out of liver failure. That man he saw last night had a kind of glow emerging from him. No. He can not be his father.

Rahman was thinking under the dizzy for quite a long time. Then he tried to get up. He needed to move on… and get somewhere meaningful. The dream was still ringing in his head. The farmer, the green paddy field, the golden axe was still vivid in his eyes. But enough of this lazy dream, he thought. The time was to do something.

But as he tried to get up, he could not. His whole body ached. His head span and Rahman realized that he had fever. “A bit strong one” he thought. He lied down at the same place where he was sitting for a while. And he fell asleep for once again.

There was the paddy field and the farmer too; smiling proudly with his golden axe in hand. Grinning to him the farmer said, “And I will guide you in your path of quest. But it is up to you to find out the markers I provide. Never be afraid my dear. The path will be troublesome. But believe me, that trouble is worthy of it. Just stay noble by heart, and you will succeed. And one last thing, do not get too much upset in seeming me in this way. True religion does not depend on strange rituals.”

Rahman saw it was raining in the field; a heavy rain that made the farmer not visible. And when the rain stopped, the farmer was gone and in the whole field was golden glee of mature grains.

* * *

He woke up for the second time. He was feeling a lot better. In fact, his whole body was experiencing a comfort he never felt before. His fever was gone. By that time it was almost noon. He stood up to get to the nearby food stall to get some food with the last few paisa of the old woman. After eating, when he went to pay the vendor he saw something unusual. He had 3 rupees left. One two rupees coin and a one rupee coin was his last possession. The boiled egg was of rupees two. But there was something very strange with the one rupee. On tail side it was very normal but on head side instead of the national emblem, there was an arrow.

He came back to the lone rock on which he was sitting earlier. He was still puzzled over the dreams. Was He God? Or was just a nonsense outcome of a troubled brain? Did that meant anything or was just gibberish? Who was the man? Was he his father? Or was an incarnation? What he meant by quest? Rahman was surely not in a quest. Every quest has a particular aim… a particular destination. And the very lack of aim and destination was the tragedy of Rahman’s life.

While thinking these, Rahman was tossing with the coin absentmindedly. But then another strange thing happened. Perhaps it was a day of strange things. With utter astonishment, Rahman discovered a pattern when he tossed the coin. The result was always the same… a head. And more than that, the arrow was pointing the same direction every time the coin was tossed. And the direction was pointing the road beside.

“…I will guide you in your path of quest. But it is up to you to find out the markers I provide…” was it a marker? Rahman thought. Was it pointing the path to pursue the quest? Shall Rahman follow the direction the coin was showing?

Rahman did not have any option.

He did not have any path to follow. He was a perfect vagabond. In fact he was grateful to the coin for showing him at least one way go. At least he will not have to ramble in the streets. At least he is getting a mission in life, an aim and a reason to live.

Yes, he will follow the path the coin was showing.

* * *

When he reached the road, Rahman tossed again. To his relief, the coin pointed along the road. It would surely be worse if he had to follow the coin through bushes. Road are always better for walking.

And Rahman walked for the whole day. He tossed the coin to be sure about the direction in every few minutes and the coin always told him to move forward through the same path. He walked, walked and walked. Glad to be in a cause after so many days of rambling here and there. But as he was walking and the day was moving towards dusk, Rahman felt hungry. And as Rahman felt more and more hungry, the urge for quenching the hunger felt more important for him than pursuing a seemingly foolish quest and following a seemingly bogus coin.

When he stopped at a small tea shop beside the road, it was already evening. The visibility was reduced as the sun sat half an hour ago. The tea shop was shabby. The inside of the shop was shadowy. The shop was selling tea, toast, bread etc. As expected in a lone shop in a deserted place, the shop was empty. Only the middle aged shopkeeper woman and an aged person were sitting inside. There were biscuits in glass jars at the front of the oven. On the oven, tea was steaming in a old bowl. The bowl was black outside. The breads were piled on one side of the oven.

Rahman reached the shop. He could only afford one half breads with the one rupee left. But as he was going to pay the woman with the one rupee, the woman responded, “Son, First stop people do not take money from the sacred walkers.” Rahman could not get the meaning. He was too amazed to ask what she meant. The woman said, “Take this bread son.”

As Rahman was leaving the shop, he heard the woman saying to the aged man “Saw him? He is the chosen one.”

Rahman’s ear drums were buzzing. What were these things? What is meant by sacred walkers? What was the meaning of the chosen one? Totally puzzled Rahman stood in front of the shop and tossed the coin again. This time the coin landed vertically.


(May be continued)

Sunday, January 13, 2008

শেষমেশ


এতমাস পরে
পড়ে থাকল শুধু কিছু চেষ্টা।
মিল হওয়ার
খাপ খাওয়ার।।

আর কিছু নেই হাতে।
আছে শুধু চেষ্টার খতিয়ান।

আর কিছু তুলনা...

আমি কি করেছি আর ও কি করেছে...
আমি এটা করেছি তা সত্বেও ও এটা করেছে!
আমি এত করেছি আর ও কি করেছে!
আমার জন্য ও কি করেছে?

আমি চেষ্টা করেছি
চেষ্টা করেগেছি...

মিল হওয়ার
খাপ খাওয়ার।

আমি ওর জন্য কি করেছি?

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Taare Zameen Par

“Art is nothing but the expression of your emotion” said Ram Shankar Nikumbh. And from the very beginning we are told to suppress our emotions and do our work. Don’t do what you like to do. Just do what is more fruitful. From the very childhood, we all are puzzled inside a rat race. A never ending competition… where only the first one wins. A kind of maze… parents, relatives, teacher show us the way in. but they themselves don’t know the way out. We all are told to follow a simple rule: study-exam-study-exam and perhaps no learning. “Everybody wants numero uno in their home. And at the end of the game you should be either a doctor or an engineer or else in management.” The core of the story is simple… you should do whatever it takes to be a money earning machine. You should do something that pays you buck. What you are doing is not important. What is important is how much it pays back.

And this game starts right from the childhood. We are told to suppress all those abilities just because the deciders think that they are not that much fruitful. And as we grow up, this idea is well inside our brain. We become a robot who does only those things which it is supposed to do. Other things are simply wastage of time. And when we ourselves become parents we do whatever it takes to enroll the names of our children in this same never ending rat race in which we, ourselves are running, running and running.

This is not a review kind of thing of TZP. But I would like to share the story in a very short way (rather copy pasted it from Wikipedia):

Ishaan Awasthi is an eight-year-old whose world is filled with wonders that no one else seems to appreciate; colours, fish, dogs and kites are just not important in the world of adults, who are much more interested in things like homework, marks and neatness. And Ishaan just cannot seem to get anything right in class.

When he gets into far more trouble than his parents can handle, he is packed off to a boarding school to ‘be disciplined’. Things are no different at his new school, and Ishaan has to contend with the added trauma of separation from his family.

One day a new art teacher bursts onto the scene, Ram Shankar Nikumbh, who infects the students with joy and optimism. He breaks all the rules of ‘how things are done’ by asking them to think, dream and imagine, and all the children respond with enthusiasm, all except Ishaan. Nikumbh soon realizes that Ishaan is very unhappy, and he sets out to discover why. He meets his parents and comes to know about Ishaan's problems of dyslexia and his wonderful world of imagination. He sets out to help Ishaan at any cost. Finally his dream comes true when Ishaan stands out as an Art Scholar and also passes out his annual exams in school. At last Ishaan thanks his teacher Ram for helping him out to create his own world.

We all suffer from more or less the same trouble in the childhood. We can not do as our heart says. Many of us liked drawing, singing or other stuffs. But they have been forced to suppress them to carry on works. And these things don’t stop when we grow up. The difference is when we are young we can fight with teachers or parents to pursue our own liking. But when we grow up, we can not fight anymore because in that case we have to fight with ourselves. We have become a robot who only works and earns and flagellates whenever he doesn’t seem to be working.

Taare Zameen Par is one film that not only entertains you but enlightens you.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007

ক'দিন আগে গেল পবিত্র ঈদ। ঈদের দিন আমাদের কাছের মুসলমান পাড়ার মধ্যে দিয়ে আমি যাচ্ছিলাম। দেখলাম বাড়িতে বাড়িতে কি সুন্দর আলোর সাজি। ঠিক দীপাবলীর মতো। রাস্তাগুলো আলোর মালায় সাজানো... দুগ্‌গা পুজোর মত। মোড়ে মোড়ে বক্স বাজিয়ে উৎসব চলছে। চারপাশের বাড়ীগুলো থেকে ভেসে আসছে মাংসের গন্ধ। আর দিন যে বাচ্চাগুলো প্রায় উলঙ্গ অবস্থায় রাস্তায় চরে বেড়ায় আজ তাদের গায়েও উঠেছে সস্তার কিন্তু নতুন পোষাক।

কিন্তু, এতসব কিছুর পরেও ঈদ কি আমাদের উৎসব হতে পেরেছে। আমার বারো মাসে তেরো পার্বণের মধ্যে ঈদও কি একটা? নাকি ওদের উৎসব আর আমাদের উৎসব আলাদা?

Let me share a বাংলাদেশী blog here. I read it yesterday.

আবার জিংস!
ডোন্ট ফ্রিক-আউট ম্যাঅ্যাঅ্যাঅ্যান, উই আর জেনারেশন ডি, ডি ফর ডিজুস, ডি ফর জোস। আমগো যে ঝাক্কাস সার্কেল আছে, পোলাপাইনগুলা রক্‌স ম্যান। কয়েকটা খালি পাবলিক ভার্সিটির, অগুলা আমগো মতো হইবার চায়। দে সাক্স, অল আদার্স আর আমগো লাহান। আমরা যেই ফান করি, টাইমগুলা জোশের উপ্‌রে কাটাই।

হালার প্যানপ্যানাইন্না পিরিত করি না। অ্যাফেয়ার মানে মেইক আউট, নইলে ড্রপ আউট। আজাইরা ফাক অ্যারাউন্ড করি না।

আমগো আগের জ্যানারেশন, ওফ বোরিং। সারাদিন পড়ে, আর কি ড্যাম থিংস ওর্ন করে। আমগো ফ্যামিলিয়ার অ্যাকটা ব্রাদার আছে, অনন্ত ব্রাদার। কয়,
তোমরা কবিতা পড়ো না? রবীন্দ্রসঙ্গীত শোন না? তোমরা তো জেনারেশন ডি না, ডিজেনারেশন।

হালায় কয় কি? অনার সম্মান রাইখাই কই -
ডোন্ট ফাক অ্যারাউন্ড ম্যাঅ্যাঅ্যাঅ্যান, লেট্‌স রক! মাই ড্যাডির সং শুনবেন ক্যান? আর আমরা কালচারেই আছি, মেটাল ব্যান্ড আছে আমগো। দুইডা গানও পাতসি: উই আর দ্য ব্লাড হাউন্ড - ঘ্যাং ঘ্যাং - ডোন্ট ইউ ফাক অ্যারাউন্ড - ঘ্যাং ঘ্যাং -

আবার জিংস !

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Rahman (2nd issue)


Rahman was thinking all these stuff while doing his evening namaz. When the namaz was over, he was again angry with himself. While doing a namaz, full concentration should be on allah. But he was thinking these material problems! He is surely a bad Muslim. He pinched himself again and again for this. His bad mood got worse.

After a while, again the material problems surrounded him. Oh my God! He can at most manage some food for the next morning only. What will he do after that? What will he eat?

With these thoughts that never come to a conclusion, Rahman slowly felt asleep. Rahman was sleeping. Suddenly he saw a man. Dressed like a common farmer. He saw the man working in a coarse field with an axe. When the man saw him he said, "Rahman, you are a very nice child. Just know one thing. If you know your path and can gather enough conviction to keep on walking the path then the energy will eventually come to you." saying this, the man hit the rough soil hard with his axe. And within the next split second, the coarse field was gone. Instead, there was the eye soothing greenery of a paddy field.

Rahman wake up. He was full with a comfort he never felt before. But who was this man? Was he his father? Rahman had never seen his father before. He has been told that his father died before his birth in a road accident. He was walking drunk when a truck ran over him. Rahman's idea over his father was not that bright. His father was a regular drinker. And if he didn't die in that accident, he would die out of liver failure. That man he saw last night had a kind of glow emerging from him. No. He can not be his father.

(may be continued...)

Monday, November 19, 2007

Ok now let me put a old poem here. It was written in collaboration with Abhijit some time in class XI I suppose.

রঙ ছড়ানো সোনালী রোদের মায়া
জীবন স্বপনে লাগে গ্লানির ধোঁয়া
হঠাৎ কোথায় ওঠে ঝোড়ো তুফান
নিভিয়ে দেয় ঝরা জীবনের বাতি।

স্বার্থের কালি মাখা দেশপ্রেম আজ
সীমান্তে লাগে তাই বারুদের আঁচ
ধোঁয়া হয়ে উড়ে যায় সব প্রতিবাদ
দুঃস্বপ্ন নিয়ে কাটে ভয়ানক রাত
হঠাৎ কোথায় ওঠে ঝোড়ো তুফান
নিভিয়ে দেয় ঝরা জীবনের বাতি।

দিনের দিশারী ওই সূর্য্যটা ডোবে
ভালবাসা শেষ হয় এক পলকে
কাঁটার ঝোপের মাঝে স্বপ্ন আবাদ
হাওয়া হয়ে ভেসে যায় অপূর্ণ সাধ
হঠাৎ কোথায় ওঠে ঝোড়ো তুফান
নিভিয়ে দেয় ঝরা জীবনের বাতি।

মায়াবী রাতে রূপালী চাঁদের আলো
মনের কোণে হাজার মন্দ-ভালো
হঠাৎ কোথায় ওঠে ঝোড়ো তুফান
নিভিয়ে দেয় ঝরা জীবনের বাতি।
উপকারী যদি উপকারের কথা স্মরণে রাখে তাহলে তাকে উপকার বলে না; কৃপা করা বলে। মানুষের উপকার কোরো কিন্তু কখনও কৃপা করতে যেও না। হিতে বিপরীত হবে।
- গভীরানন্দ উবাচ।।

Sunday, November 18, 2007

The Stock Market simply illustrated. ... is there a lesson here?


Once upon a time in a village, a man appeared and announced to the villagers that he would buy monkeys for Rs10. The villagers seeing that there were many monkeys around, went out to the forest and started catching them. The man bought thousands at Rs10 and as supply started to diminish, the villagers stopped their effort. He further announced that he would now buy at Rs20. This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching monkeys again. Soon the supply diminished even further and people started going back to their farms. The offer rate increased to Rs25 and the supply of monkeys became so little that it was an effort to even see a monkey let alone catch it.

The man now announced that he would buy monkeys at Rs50! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would now buy on behalf of him. In the absence of the man, the assistant told the villagers. Look at all these monkeys in the big cage that the man has collected. I will sell them to you at Rs35 and when the man returns from the city, you can sell it to him for Rs50." The villagers squeezed up with all their savings to buy the monkeys.

Then they never saw the man nor his assistant, only monkeys everywhere!! !!

Welcome to the Market!!!!!


(Received via email from my friend Ayan)

Saturday, November 17, 2007

Rahman

Sometimes time flows so stupidly that you often fail to realize that it is actually flowing. You have engaged yourself in some stuffs which now seems stupid and baseless. Thinking of the past days of glory... Rahman was lying in the bed idle... yet another day of no-output. Yet another day towards the complete bullshit that is going to come.

Rahman knows very well that the money he has got from the old lady will end soon. And she is not very keen on spending this money either. It pains him a lot to use the money got from a dying lady. When he helped her in drinking water he had no idea of using this courtesy later in life. He also promised her the due funeral (which he did) but accepting money in return... was a sin. But when the lady said that, "You seem a good boy to me. See, i have this tiny amount of money. But it has no use for me. You keep it dear... You require it more." And she died.

When Rahman was done with the funeral task, he first thought he won't use the money the lady gave him. Somewhere it was pinching. To use the money got in return of putting water in the mouth of a dying lady was strictly unacceptable. But as time passed and his resources was ended, he thought, "Ok... I will not spend the money... but i can borrow a little amount. Dear, when you are hungry, everything else gets less priority than food itself. And the silsila of borrowing continued. And today, that money too was near it's end.

What will Rahman do now?



Friday, November 16, 2007

আমার ব্লগের ঠিকানা বদলের কাজ চলছে... নিরন্তর ভাট এবার থেকে যাতে নিরন্তর ভাটেই পাওয়া যায় সেই চেষ্টা চলছে। আপাততঃ বিটা পর্যায়ে, কিন্তু তা সারা হয়ে যাবে খুব শীগ্‌গীরি...

নতুন ঠিকানা: http://nirantarbhat.blogspot.com

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

তোমার জন্য...

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যদি বলো সূর্য্যটাকে ধরে নিয়ে আসতে পারি

যদি বলো হাঃ হাঃ করে হাসতে পারি

যদি বলো হিঃ হিঃ করে হাসতে পারি

যদি বলো শীতের রাতে বরফ জলে নাইতে পারি

যদি বলো মাঝরাতে আমি গলা ছেড়ে গান গাইতে পারি

যদি বলো যখন তখন তোমার কাছে আসতে পারি

যদি বলো তোমায় আমি আরো ভালবাসতে পারি।।

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

আমার সঙ্গে দুর্ব্যবহার যা তুমি করেছো,

তা সবই আমার প্রাপ্য ছিল।

ভাল ব্যবহার করেছো যেটুকু,

তা তোমার অনুগ্রহ।

বিদায় বোলোনা তবু তুমি আজ

বোলো দুঃখ দেওয়াটাই হিংস্র রেওয়াজ।

আমার চোখের তুচ্ছ অশ্রুকণা...

দিলাম শেষ উপহার।।

ভেসে যায় নিষ্ঠুর রাত চারপেয়ে।

ভেসে যাই আমিও তোমার দাঁড় পেয়ে।।

ভেসে যাই আমরা দুজন পাল তুলে।

ভেসে যাই ছেড়ে যতসব ফালতু লেন।।

একসাথে আজ এই দুটি প্রাণ একলা হোক;

ভেসে যাক দুজনার চার আলগা ঠোঁট।।

আজকে আমি তোমার সাথে একলা যে...

ক্লান্ত জীবন তোমার কাছেই নীড় খোঁজে।

তোমার চোখেই দেখতে পেলাম দিগন্ত,

হাত ধরে মোরা পার হয়ে যাব অনন্ত।

বাঁচছি তোমায় আজকে শ্বাসে-প্রশ্বাসে

ফুরাবে এই বাঁচা জেনো শেষ নিঃশ্বাসে।।

Blushing away in a measured glee...
We flee.
We flee from the way we once had been.
We flee from the way with end unseen.
Making the end of that endless spree
We flee......

- Joydip Datta

Monday, November 12, 2007

মাপা মাপা কথা আর মেপেজুপে হাসি
তবুও কি আমি আজও দোলাচলে ভাসি?
ভেসে যাই আবারো পুরনো সে পথে?
মনকে শক্ত করে ভুলি কোনোমতে
রাত্রির শেষে পাওয়া নরম শিশির
কুড়িয়ে নিয়ে ভাসি...
নিয়ে মাপা মাপা কথা আর বিষণ্ণ হাসি।।