Chnachor

Around forty years ago, my grandfather bumped into a teenage boy at the railway station. He couldn't speak any Bengali, had run away from home, and was looking for work. After coaxing, scolding, and even threatening him to go back, when the boy just wouldn't listen, Dadu gave up and offered him a job as a porter-cum-handyman at his shop. Since that day, Bhorot Da became part of our family. He fell in love with Kalpani Di, our maid at the time, got married to her, moved into a small hut at the perimeter of our ancestral house, and raised two beautiful children.

In the years growing up, Bhorot Da was more than Superman to us cousins. He had a chiseled body, could catch snakes and giant centipedes with his bare hands, would bowl the fastest deliveries at us during our cricket matches, and at our annual Kali Pujo he would dance like a mad man, holding two lit anars that spewed fiery sparks in all directions.

But his pièce de résistance was the three storey tall chnachor or bon-fire that he built single-handedly on the eve of Kali Pujo. Villagers from far and across would drop by, just to watch this burning spectacle. As the flames licked the sky, we too would watch in awe, our little chests swelling with family pride, beads of sweat forming on our foreheads from standing too close.

This year, for the first time in a long time, Bhorot Da couldn't work on his chnachor. He's been very ill of late, and excessive drinking has paralyzed his hands. But family traditions have to continue. Someone else built the bon-fire, we set it ablaze and watched it burn. It seemed smaller this year, an indication of how time erodes everything.

Bhorot Da was there too. Kalpana Di and the kids brought him over to our house. I sat with him for a while, watching him wipe away his tears with trembling hands. I was holding my wife's camera, and wanted to capture this moment in a portrait, but quickly decided against it. This wasn't the Bhorot Da that I want to remember. And so, I took a picture of the bon-fire, instead.

That night, I realized Bhorot Da was our chnachor. For all these years, he burned tall and bright, lit up our childhood with memories for a lifetime, and then, let the night take over.

Love for a Lifetime

Say hello to Leelabati Basu and Gosto Behari Basu, my paternal grandparents, or Amma and Dadu, as we called them. In the years growing up, we hadn't seen a single moment that they weren't bickering and arguing, to the extent that we were reasonably sure they hated each other.

The day Amma died, which was quite sudden, given her good health at the time, Dadu was seen mumbling to himself angrily - "That old woman just had to take my neem tree away, didn't she?" - referring to the wood that had been cut down for her pyre.

And yet, the day Amma died, Dadu stayed on his favourite wooden chair and watched us go through all the rituals, one after the other, till we took her body away. He then came back inside the house, lay down on his bed, and never got up again. One and a half years of bedsores and dementia later, he too passed away.

Falling in love is all about the skip in your heartbeat, or the butterflies in your stomach. But when you love someone for a lifetime, you simply can't live without her.

Daadhi Badh Gaya Hai

The other day, I decided to take an auto to work. 

I do this a few days every month, whenever I don't feel like driving, and the guys at my nearest auto stand all seem to know me. Plus, it's easier than using an app to find a cab, coordinating with the driver for directions, and then staring at a little car icon on my smartphone that keeps moving away from where I am. Anyway, I digress. So the other day, I decided to take an auto to work. 

I walked upto the first auto in line, and asked - "Baasat chaloge?"

"Baithiye."

"Kitna loge?"

"Sir, baasat kahan?

"B block. Nokia building."

"Do sau de dena."

"Kya? Abhi toh pichle hafte yahin se auto lia tha. Bhaada badh gaya?"

At this point, he looks at me, and flashes a smile of recognition - "Oh sir, aap? Daadhi badha liye ho?"

This was in obvious reference to my beard that has grown considerably since, well, the last time he saw me. Now, I'd like to think there was a lot of traffic, but my wife says I'm deaf. Whatever be the reason, I clearly hear him say - "Oh sir, aap? Bhaada badh gaya hain."

And so, I reply - "Kya bhaiya? Kuch bhi bolte ho? Kab se badh gaya?"

"Sir, pichle baar aapka itna nahi tha."

"Wahi toh main bol raha hoon. Itna jaldi kaise badh sakta hain?"

(mumbling) "Woh toh sir aap ko hi pata hoga?"

(raising my voice) "Mujhe kaise pata hoga? Aap log kuch bhi bol dete ho customer ko."

(giving up) "Sir, aap baith jaaiye."

"Nahi. Pehle bolo kitna loge?"

"Sir, aap toh regular ho. De dena jo dete ho."

I sit inside the auto with a smug smile, feeling accomplished that I wasn't taken for a ride (pun intended). Minutes later, it hits me. But it's too late for clarifications. He drives me to office in stony silence. 

I'm pretty sure all the guys at my nearest auto stand know me. Now.

Dokhin Ray

In the country of eighteen tides, what is known to the rest of civilization as the Sundarbans, every morning, as the honey-collectors venture out to earn their daily bread, they worship two deities... Bonbibi, the guardian of the forest, and her arch-enemy Dokhin Ray, the demon tiger god.

Ladies and gentlemen, meet the newest member of our family... Dokhin Ray.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

If I Knew You...

If I knew you, when you were only six
I would have held your hand, and just for kicks
We would run around in circles, like two crazy best friends
And only stop when our mothers sent
Someone to look for us, coz it's getting dark
Too late for little kids to be out in the park

If I knew you, when you were thirteen
I would have been​ your first crush, in the school social scene
We would ignore each other all day long
And keep on wondering, did we say something wrong?
But everyday, I would have walked you back home
Acting all cool, with my blue pocket comb

If I knew you, when you were twenty three
I would have knocked some sense and asked you to choose me
We would sit by the sea, and kiss in the rain
And save each other from a whole bunch of pain
Our weekends would have been spent at roadside bars
Staying up all night, searching for stars

When I finally got to know you, you were twenty eight
And I do feel sometimes why'd it have to be so late
There's so many things we missed, so much catching up to do
So many unnecessary scars that need healing too
But I'm really happy we met... as they say, better late than never
Now we have the rest of our lives, to grow old together

Diamonds Are Forever...

This goes out to all the women who loved me. The ones I loved back, and the ones I couldn't. The ones I once hated for hurting me, and the ones I hurt along the way. Thank you. Thank you for everything. For the smiles we exchanged. For the laughter we shared. For the tears we couldn't wipe away. But most of all, thank you for your time. Thank you for letting me be a part of your journey. Thank you for joining me on mine.

This goes out to all the women, except one. The one I'm marrying tonight. You and I... we're like diamonds in the sky.

The Scar

She rode out to war once,
On a thundering horse.
Her hair tied up under an iron helmet,
Her sword glistening in the sun.

They fought for days,
But eventually lost that campaign.
She returned, lucky to be alive,
With only a deep scar across her arm.

She was quite proud of that scar, actually.
Because it reminded her
Of a time she was reckless enough
To jump headfirst into a losing cause.

You must cover it up, they said.
Who will marry you with that ugly scar, they asked.
And so she did cover up the scar
With ornamental ink, so pretty.

A few evenings later,
She bumped into Prince Charming.
Her heart fluttered,
As he stared intently into her eyes.

And then he said,
Pardon me, but
You look a lot like someone
I once went to war beside.

She wore an iron helmet,
So I couldn't see her face clearly.
But I must admit
I felt true love for only her.

Because of her scar.
You see, she had this fierce scar
Right across her arm,
And that's what made her, beautiful.

Tamaso Mā Jyotir Gamaya

A long time ago, before religion had been invented, humans lit ceremonial fires to celebrate. Fire, or light, has since time immemorial been the symbol of happiness across cultures, as has darkness been associated with gloom and negativity. Even now, for any joyous occasion, we light candles, earthen lamps, and little electric bulbs.. to decorate, but more importantly, to dispel darkness from our lives.

This picture is from exactly a year ago. I had just shifted into a new house, in a new city.. and was feeling rather blue. To be honest, I was regretting a bunch of decisions. After the movers and packers had left, I slept for God knows how many hours, only to wake up in the middle of the night. Disorientated, I walked into my balcony, and saw that my neighbours from upstairs had put up these fairy lights. A smile flashed across my face. I knew I'd survive this.