ମା

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଇ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

ମା,

ତୋ କାହ୍ନି ରେ ପୋଚିଛି କେତେ ଯେ ପାଣି ଛିଟକା

କେତେ ଯେ ଲୁହ ଧାରା

ତୋ କୋଳେ ଦେଖିଚି କେତେ ଯେ ସପ୍ନ

କେତେ ଯେ ସପନ ଭାଙ୍ଗି ଚୁରୁମାର ହେବା ଟା

ହେଲେ ପ୍ରତ୍ୟେକ ଭଙ୍ଗା ସ୍ଵପ୍ନ ରୁ ତୁ ଦେଖାଉ ନୁଆ ସପନ

ଜାଣି ପାରେନା ଜୀବନ ରେ ଯାହା ଭଲ ହୁଏ ସେଟା ମୋ ପରିଶ୍ରମ ନ ତୋ ବିଶ୍ୱାସ ର ଗଢ଼ନ୍!

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଇ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

ମା ତୁ କେବେ ଦେଖୁନା, କିମ୍ବା ଦେଖୀ ପାରୁନି

ମୋ ଭିତର ର ସେଇ କଳା ମେଘ,

ଯେ ବାନ୍ଧିଚି ରାଗ, କ୍ରୋଧ, ଦ୍ୱେଷ – ଏକ କବିତା ଭଳି

ହେଲେ କବିତା ଟି ଅସରନ୍ତା ଝଡ଼ ।

ତୋ ପାଇଁ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ସେଇ ଶାନୁ,

ଯିଏ ବାଲ୍ୟ କାଳେ ତୋ ପଛେ ଦୋଉଡୁଥାୟେ,

ନିଷ୍ପାପ, ନିସନ୍ଦେହି, ନିର୍ମଳ – ତୋ ବିଶ୍ୱାସ କୁ ନ ଭାଙ୍ଗିବାକୁ ଯାଇ ମୁଁ ନିଜକୁ ନିତି ଦିନ ସୁଧାରୁଥାୟେ।

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଏଁ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

ତୋ ହସ ଦେଖିକି ହସ ଫୁଟେ ଆମ ମୁହଁରେ

ତୋ ଲୁହ ଦେଖି ଅନ୍ତର ବୁଡିଯାୟେ

ତୁ ଜୀବନେ ଦେଖିଛୁ ଯେତେ ଝଡ଼ ଜଞ୍ଜ।ଳ

ତାକୁ ସୁଧାରିବାକୁ ମୁଁ କର୍ମ କରିଯାୟେ

ଜାଣିନି କେତେ ଯାୟେ ସଫଳ ହେବି,

ଜାଣିନି ତୋ ନାଁ କେବେ ଟେକି ପାରିବି

ହେଲେ ତଳେ ପକେଇବିନି ଏ ଶପଥ ନେଇ ଥାଏ ।

ମା, ମା କହି ତତେ ମୁଁ ଏବେ ବି ଖୋଜୁଥାଏ

ହେଲେ ମୋ ଭିତରେ ଭୁଲ୍ ଶହେ

ତୁ ପଦେ କହିଲେ ଲକ୍ଷ୍ମଣ ରେଖା,

ତୁ କହିଲେ ଯାଏଁ ମୁଁ ସେ ରେଖା ଡିୟେ !

-ତୋ ଅତିପ୍ରିୟ ଶାନୁ

An old school romantic in a Tinder world.

Last night wasn’t a sort of eye-opener for me. I guess I have opened my eyes for a while now. You might be wondering in which sense? Literal – even my readers possess the IQ to not debate – with the human eye being open for near about 14 hours hours daily considering the number of naps we have to take and 28,800 times we need to blink to keep our eyes lubricated – so, figurative it is. Well, you see, off late I have been keeping my eyes literally open for long hours beyond normal biological clock as my figurative eyes have opened – which is on the fact that love in our generation, literally, sucks.

Our generation’s love sucks in the purest way that strives to show that its impure.

I belong to a fairly conservative family whose level of conservative-ness has gradually receded over the years to beguile me with why they were conservative at the crucial start because by the time I rebelled out of their reigns and they had accepted love as the best way for them to go scot-free from the responsibility of searching a groom for me – I realized that now when I have the liberty to choose a guy of my own liking – Pyaar ka fashion hi aur nahi raha?! Like what?

From Jagjit Singh’s Hosh waaalon ko khabar kya bekhudi kya cheez hai where Aamir Khan gets happy with one glimpse of Sonali Bendre and stores her scarves I landed in a world where the guy says, “Hey babe, send nudes”? Dafuq

Love has become dating. Love letters had become sexts. Guys could waste months of your time and say all the brightest things in the world, just because they had That kind of time. In a world where you could set your settings to the number of kilometres you were willing to travel to meet someone, it was hard to expect commitment from a guy who had left and lived 1534 kms away no matter how sweet the beginnings had been – after-all even if I deny, didn’t we belong to this generation? Our previous generation obsessed over fast food, in our generation we have given up on fast food to stay fit but use these fit bodies to indulge in fast love. Its almost poignant how shabbily we treat our bodies these days and judge others who don’t do it. When I was a kid I thought you meet someone, like him, then love him and eventually marry him someday. When I grew up I realised that you meet a lot of guys, like a few, commit to none and probably marry someone completely different someday. How was it working out for my mental health? Terribly, I would say. Also, not just mine, even the girls I am close to. It’s such a terrible epidemic. I don’t understand – have guys become that desperate? Or have we girls created such a culture where guys took us for easy jerk-offs. Because everytime I log in to Facebook in five messages I receive proposals and desperate demands to be in a “casual” relationship. What is a casual relationship, anyway? How do you set the bar to casual or serious? Do you just click some emotional switch and turn it off so that you would feel enough to be with someone but not to ever want to be with them for long!? like how, how does this really work. I can never decipher.

There are times I wish I could go back. Time travel maybe. To that bygone era where romance still existed. Where you used to be happy with a glimpse of your love. Where you spent hours writing the perfect love letter wanting to expressing your feelings, not send dozen texts to dozen girls between the time your girl who you are “committed” to slept and woke up. Where you felt butterflies with holding hands, not jumped into bed at first sight. Where you got goosebumps at her every hi, her every text; weren’t so numb to casually sext. Where you didn’t reduce people to swipes. Where you didnt tick on a checklist of casual or serious from the beginning to make a person decide if they could be with you. Where you didnt flirt with everyone because love was a feeling you felt spontaneously not an item on a checklist of things you must do in life, like in these days; because in our time people are so afraid of commitment that they glorify one night stands, live in and no strings attached to hide the hollowness they substitute as love while getting into one relationship after the other. I want that old school love.I want the previous. The era that has slipped out of people like me because we are born in the wrong time.

For I feel like a misfit. I feel like a Jagjit Singh song, an AR Rahman musical, an Agnee song in a Neha Kakkar, Shirley Setia or Badshah playlist. I feel like an old school romantic in a Tinder world.

INNOCENCE

“Innocent.”

You say that like a bad thing.

Like the horror unleashed by half-men on a full night’s bed.

You don’t falter, for you know I’m wrapped around your finger.

So mesmerized,

So taken, after your long chase.

 

“Innocent.”

You say it again,

You the words slip by without caring;

for you have judged me in a split second,

and labelled twenty three years of I.

 

Though, how would you know?

What goes in on my mind,

What scars I have,

What lies I spin in my head,

To keep the fire burning in my eyes alive.

 

What efforts do I take to go out and see the world through the same lens, I once used as a child –

trying to believe in the innate goodness of the human heart,

trying so desperately to believe that good things happen to good people,

but lay bleeding on the floor the next day, from the punches of another child who had been told that there was no place in this world for a weakling to grow into.

 

What attires do I choose for my soul,

that betrays the steel armour I would like to wear, every time I see another human

for a broken soul is all I’ve carried since forever

and I could give anyone up in a heartbeat, before they look like they would leave me.

 

How I hear the sniggers behind me, “Too good. Too giving. Too unreal.”

Too much, is all I’ll be.

Too much to take in.

Too much to keep.

And you would have let me go before I would have ended with this –

From sheer frustration of dealing with a girl who bares her heart when she finds someone she could keep,

no complexities,

no mysteries for you to unravel,

no long nights of tease.

 

And believe me, I’ll sigh and just let you pass by,

for I’ve seen the likes of you since I started to see right.

You with an exterior of tough and experienced,

so hollow that you go around trying to have someone in some way,

trying so hard to have a smidgen of something without giving your anything,

and feeling satisfied for that night.

Waking up the next day, spent and shaken;

from a taste of the drug you had the night before;

wanting it again, just not from the same person – for too soon, too long, too much is innocent.

 

And I’ll keep on spinning – poetry and goodness.

And I’ll keep on wanting, more than others have been taught to want.

And I’ll keep on loving, more than people deserve to be loved.

For even if I get hurt at the end of the day,

I won’t go to sleep with regret,

Having done my bit.

For this world needs a bit of saving,

Even if good people take the most beating out of it.

For this world needs a bit more of innocence.

 

– Parnini G.