Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Talking about a Revolution

So many mouths with no hands to feed
Is this the world we live in, you and me?
Silent screams all around,
Muffled by sounds of cannon ball
This happens outside your home
While you daydream trying to score.

Revolution doesn’t happen as you sit on your 
well-formed bureaucratic arse
While you plan the next bon-fire for a cold wintery night, 
with whisky and rum.
Che and Martin Luther’s didn’t die in their sleep
They had too many promises to keep.

Meek shall rise and inherit the earth
Don’t you hear their cries in the streets of Bahrain, New York and Libya
They are gonna throw you off your high horse
Yes, you the one who have ruled us for a while now
It’s time for a change
Time for you to give it up
Because we refuse to be trodden upon by your dogs
We have unleashed a fury that was witnessed never before.
You think you are safe, high up your palace
Don’t be too sure.

Monday, February 6, 2012

Untitled II

Lord you told me meek shall inherit the earth,
then how come i am lying face down biting dirt.
Every shred of dignity its all lost
look what i am left with what cost.

Shamelessly parading myself down the street,
Here i am all alone, cut open like a piece of meat
Thinking of those precious time i spend with you
Alas, its all gone now, there's nothing i can do.

So long my dear friend, i bid you farewell,
No need to get up now, don't be swell.
I won't take your precious time,
Hanging out with likes of us, its a crime.

You must be having places to go,
women to screw.
Oh i am sorry, i had a freudian slip,
Sex, for you is like catnip.
You have girls dancin on your fingertips,
All the pretty faces, swaying there hips.

Hope they are by your side,
when you put that key in the lock.
Hope they are by your side,
When you are strugglin with writer's block.

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Collaboration with a brother

  • lets write a collaborative poem
  • someday
  • over chat
  • i write a line

    • and then we should time it
    • and save ourself from all that shit
    • how does that sound?

      a disembodied voice, all around
    all i hear is that fucked up sound
    its a rough world, fears abound
    lets make this heap of shit into a mound
    hypocrisy my friend! let us enemies, astound

    its time, for a different word
    hell yeah man, its turning into a turd
    they hate us anyway, its so absurd
    so lets break the wall and fly like a bird

    and i cant come up with a rhyme for this
    i got you man,but you just can't miss

    coutesy: fb chat with anirban k baishya at 20:04,5th feb 

Saturday, February 4, 2012

Quick Fuck

My dear brother, from another mother
Yes man, i am talking to you, Jay.
I wrote to you through post and mail,
I wrote them when i was doing time, was in jail.
May be i fucked up your address,
But good it didn't reach you
otherwise i would have regret it.

I was listening to the song you wrote
while shoving religion down my throat.
You said if you had a girl problem
I feel bad for you, son.
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one.

But trust me, one woman
is enough to mess your brain.
Remember Casablanca man,
Bogey almost missed his train.

She'll whisper nice things in your ear
Hold on man, lemme buy another beer.
My tale is sad one, it would need some boozing,
See my pupils are dilating now, the pain is easing.

Hey there stranger, let me buy you a drink,
You seem you are almost on the brink.
You see dear woman,
All i need is a quick fuck.
Forget you arms
I want your legs around me.

We just have to pretend to be lovers
Whatever transpires it'll be under covers.
Well she said good luck to you
I am sorry but butches i don't screw.

Oh geez! You are not gay that so sad,
But anyways giving me your number won't be so bad.
Lemme give you a call,
May be next time, we'll have a ball.
But till then i bid you goodbye,
Let me try my hand someplace else.
I ain't shy


I stand here all alone,
Unarmed sentry, bared to my bones.
The ones i loved they all left,
How can i report one, when there is no theft?

The colors of rainbow they all fade away,
Things i wouldn't even dare to say.
They say you're not part of us,
You're so bend.
You don't belong here,
When will it all end?

Ja chole ja oiye deshe
Tor bhalobasha chaina amar
Ki Dilli tui amaye ma
Dia kuch anhi tune mujhe
Lele wapas mujhe uss garbh mein


Well behaved women rarely make history,
But i am a woman who lives in the present
Who cares what shit happen yesterday?
Who cares what crap happens next?
You seize this moment
Everyday its a test.
If you fail one, life gives you another chance.
But don't take it for granted woman,
It has its own tune, it can make you dance.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Reclaiming love and coming to terms with loss...

Loss of a loved one still captures the inherent narrative of emotionally-fueled bollywood dramas but there are only few films dealing with the issue which remains as few as some that can be counted on your fingertips. As i reluctantly sat myself down to reclaim myself as a failed writer, yes i emphasis on the word 'failed' because i gave up on writing without even giving a try knowing that i was never good either academically or so to say cinematically. I have been suffering from writer's block or one of those odd psychological disorders that hinder your writing or may be i am just plain lazy, but today i am trying to reclaim something which is one of the important part of my identity as a student, as a writer and as a human being.

My queerness, my love and affection for creatures of the same sex as me have kicked a hornet's nest at my home as well as social front. From being accused of sexual harassment from people i have loved and looked upto to losing lovers to the massive homophobia running amok in our country, I am looking for alternative options of self-expressions without being vindictive towards anyone (i have been told by my straight friends that i am turning into a heterophobe) and specially towards my own community. Is self preservation the only way to achieve equality or I am fighting to be different, giving the status of subject to heternormativity and making myself the so-called other?

As the thoughts raged through my mind like a barren land tilled for some kind of sign of life, i made my way to an empty hall, it was a bright sunday morning outside and i was at work, it kind of sucks working on a sunday morning but the only leverage i had was i get to watch films which sort has become my vocation as well. I was greeted by the sign saying now playing 'Memories in March'. I have heard a lot about the film and it was my first encounter with work of Rituparno Ghosh one of the queer directors as well as icons of the community whose sexuality is so fluid that it had media hovering over him as flies around sugar.

When i left the cinema hall after watching the film i had smell and colors of spring etched in my memory in the cold January afternoon. I have been initialized in the rights of transformation into a better human being, queer or not it didn't matter so much. The film reminded me of the saying that if the winter is here can spring be that far.

The film is a poignant tale of two strangers who are united by grief loss of a loved one, a mother losing her only son and a man losing his lover. The film deals with the delicate issue of same-sex love which at times have been ill-treated or blatantly represented as one of the tryst of sex craving megalomaniacs or flimsy effeminate gay fashion designers or super models parading their not-so-out tactics in front of the audience. Films like Kal ho na ho, Dostana have done enough damage to the queer imagery that infinite art house productions like Memories in March, I am and I can't think straight can set the record 'straight'.

The film starring Deepti Naval, Rituparno Ghosh and Raima Sen is a story of a mother coming to terms with the loss of her only son to a tragic accident and in the process of reclaiming the moments and memories and trying to gain access to his life in another city through her apartment and the tangible items which wants to pack up and take it home with her. But as the movie proceeds every small little inanimate object has its own tale to narrate and that the possessions she thought belonged to her son our now part of the new family he has.

One really stood out in the film was Rituparno Ghosh's role as Ornob as a man who is coming to terms with loss of  lover is one of the most sensible and poignant representation ever captured on-screen. The film doesn't give issues relating to homosexuality a passerby comment but inturn digs deep with the psyche of relatives and loved ones of queer people who try to navigate the rough road of coming to terms with the their sexuality and how in turn it effects their future as parents as well as members of the largely heternormative society.

The film uses interesting narrative techniques with the use of authorial voice or the voice of the dead son narrating the tale leading to the fateful meeting of the strangers has the elements of Hitchcockian's 1940 noiristic tale Rebecca in it where the filmmaker despite keeping the title as the name of one of the important character of the film never shows the protagonist on-screen. The cinematic absence hence acts as the one of the key factors and the disembodied voice of the dead which in turn finds reference in Feminist film theorists work of Kaja Silverman's 'Acoustic Mirror' where the female voice finds an authoritative siginificance which makes up for the loss of their absence in playing any key role in the narrative becomes one of the prime mover of the narrative which time and again is interjected with the screen going blank and the voice of Siddhatha.

But what really struck me was one of the most honest potrayal of Ornob executed at par excellence by Rituparno Ghosh who has already achieved critical acclaim with direction of films like Raincoat, Choker Bali and many more but as he stepped in shoes of an actor he laid to rest the debates that directors are only capable of cameos and our incapable of undertaking trying roles. The fluidity with which his dialogues flow out are in tandem with that of his sexuality that can leave even the harshest critics at a loss of words.

The one of the key questions that Ornob asks Arati and which in turn becomes a key question for every parent of a queer kid is that whether being gay is somewhat shocking compared to losing the one you love to an unfortunate accident? Does cost of personal freedom too big as that of someone's life? As Arati (Deepti Naval) comes to realization of the fact that she is never going to even have a conversation with her son about his sexuality, she inturn finds a symbolic son in form of Ornob who remains by her side, throughout the tragedy.

What she leaves with is not the inanimate tangible goods which she wanted to pack and take it away but yarns and yarns of memories which she can weave into a warm clothing as she lay her self to rest on a winter night awaiting the spring. Memories in March is one of those films, one of those moments in cinema when you leave the hall thinking and in turn reemerging as a better human being trying to see this kaleidoscopic world through the lens of cinema.