The Rain.
The Rain is a traitor.
Do you know that every drop of the rain has a mission? that it drops for a reason? Every drop that hits you has a mission, an objective, a conscience. Each drop reminds you of that little something. A smile, a scene, a touch, a fleeting thought, the moment...
The drops help to simplify the complex equation. To untie the knots.
When you stand in the road, and feel the drops falling in hundreds, you feel peace. The rain tries to make you feel lonely, but in trying that, it keeps you company. Its a feeling between loneliness and seclusion. Standing on the terrace, I feel lonely till i feel all those drops on me. But no, not really. Those drops exacerbate whatever I am feeling. They are traitors. They are heartless accentuators.
The rain stops. The wind carries on the legacy. Wet wind, winds that don't dry anything away.
Way past midnight. The room is dark, all windows were open. The wind is blowing conservatively. The sharp tinkle of the wind-chime. The occasional creak of the swinging lampshade. The tree leaves weaving just the right light-shadow patters on the ceiling. Almost makes me feel that its out of someone else's life.
The flap of the wings of the owl that just caught its meal. And the sound of a train whistling through the Ballygunj station that can be heard only after midnight. When sleep's elusive because you don't want to. When you would rather imagine you are sleeping. When you can be consciously subconscious.
A dark figure stands beside the bed. Those figures that, you know, are just waiting to go. As soon as you look at them. So i sense its presence, and see it through the corner of my eye. Let it accept the false assurance of security. Let it find peace in the satisfaction that it came unnoticed. I am contented with knowing that its still there.
A white screech owl flutters near my window. Those rare ones that are called lakshmi owl. It sits and folds its wings for a long night ahead. It looks squarely at the reclining figure staring at it. Screech owl screeches, of course. But it can be a polite or rude screech. This one did something that sounded like a deep and gentle "sheeeeeeeeesh". Not at all a screech.
I took the hint, and looked to the other side. And the figure was gone. Waiting for this moment. To mock me. But it needs me to appear again. So, it mocks me kindly.
I turned to the owl, but it already had its head under its wings. It wouldn't look at me.
It was a long-long night. And it rained.
Do you know that every drop of the rain has a mission? that it drops for a reason? Every drop that hits you has a mission, an objective, a conscience. Each drop reminds you of that little something. A smile, a scene, a touch, a fleeting thought, the moment...
The drops help to simplify the complex equation. To untie the knots.
When you stand in the road, and feel the drops falling in hundreds, you feel peace. The rain tries to make you feel lonely, but in trying that, it keeps you company. Its a feeling between loneliness and seclusion. Standing on the terrace, I feel lonely till i feel all those drops on me. But no, not really. Those drops exacerbate whatever I am feeling. They are traitors. They are heartless accentuators.
The rain stops. The wind carries on the legacy. Wet wind, winds that don't dry anything away.
Way past midnight. The room is dark, all windows were open. The wind is blowing conservatively. The sharp tinkle of the wind-chime. The occasional creak of the swinging lampshade. The tree leaves weaving just the right light-shadow patters on the ceiling. Almost makes me feel that its out of someone else's life.
The flap of the wings of the owl that just caught its meal. And the sound of a train whistling through the Ballygunj station that can be heard only after midnight. When sleep's elusive because you don't want to. When you would rather imagine you are sleeping. When you can be consciously subconscious.
A dark figure stands beside the bed. Those figures that, you know, are just waiting to go. As soon as you look at them. So i sense its presence, and see it through the corner of my eye. Let it accept the false assurance of security. Let it find peace in the satisfaction that it came unnoticed. I am contented with knowing that its still there.
A white screech owl flutters near my window. Those rare ones that are called lakshmi owl. It sits and folds its wings for a long night ahead. It looks squarely at the reclining figure staring at it. Screech owl screeches, of course. But it can be a polite or rude screech. This one did something that sounded like a deep and gentle "sheeeeeeeeesh". Not at all a screech.
I took the hint, and looked to the other side. And the figure was gone. Waiting for this moment. To mock me. But it needs me to appear again. So, it mocks me kindly.
I turned to the owl, but it already had its head under its wings. It wouldn't look at me.
It was a long-long night. And it rained.
Earthquaking.
ReplyDeleteNo, nothing so flashy like that.
This blog has the years hidden behind it. Childhood rises and falls, a maelstrom of emotions are conjured up along with it.
The psychology element of this blogpost is exceptional.
Btw, since all your blogs are gonna be exceptional from now on, I wont go on saying, "What a blog!".
You created the ghosts of the night. And man, people like Ruskin Bond, George Eliot come to mind because of the effortless psychology in this.
And yes, you're gonna be a photographer.
Reminds me of "Watch out, the world's behind", a line from the song "Sunday morning" by the Velvet Underground.
Tor kiki hobe tui bujhte parchishna. Tui pure dhongsho kore dibi shob. Tui bhumikompo ghotabi.(i end where i started.)
Just one question. Why the new blog?
You've mastered the art of creating a Shakespearean ending. The way you finished this post was heartbreakingly good.
ReplyDeleteA few scenes you described here reminded me of some images in Watchmen, probably chapter 3 or 4, where Rorschach interrogates Moloch about the Comedian's death, and learns of his last visit to Moloch.
I love your writing, my man. Please post more often. We need it.
This was beautiful. We all love your writing! Yes and same question - why the new blog!?
ReplyDelete@ everyone- Thank You. The mood clashed with the blog frequently. i got tired of changing the colour just to sooth myself. So, another blog which in many respects will be the opposite of that one.
ReplyDeleteGood post. Really.
ReplyDeleteSobai eto kichu bolar por ami ar ki bolbo bol toh?
ReplyDeleteThe ideal comment here would be a melody. A melody in answer to the one that this post plays.
The story of this one night somehow packs in all the emotions of childhood, troubled adulthood, and the insecure juncture in between that we are passing through. When every raindrop assumes a different meaning.
The depiction is so real here that every sound sinks through the ear, melting, freezing, or burning its way in. Every sight hovers before your eyes, and colours the corners of it! Fear, insecurity, apprehension, nostalgia, subdued happiness, what haven't you packed in here?
Happiness that doesn't dare to be but sad. Colourless colourfulness. Dark lights. It's haunting, absorbing, as well as mesmerising.
And at the end of it all, I do get the feeling that it WAS a long, long night.
The ending--touche.P.S. Will it be rather un-poetic of me to point out that your grammar is going down the drain again?
I don't care about the grammar of this particular post. But that doesn't mean that i disregard your advice or, that i am not grateful that you pointed it out. Please do so again if you get the opportunity.
ReplyDelete