Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Friday, August 22, 2008


The rain was pouring yellow. Standing in the middle of the field the little boy was watching the fast movement of the moved..constantly changing the tattoos on the skin of the sky...

There was a hut on the hills , around which the rocks were yellow..yellow were the trees..the river where the sun went to sleep.

Yellow was his bicycle , his football , the road on which he ran , the faces of the people he passed by...

Time changes season, time changes colour !

Suddenly the yellows decided to go on a vacation in a winter. Time decided to appoint a new painter who painted only blue...light blue , dark blue , navy blue...

He slept in the blues of the brush of the painter. When he woke up , it was blue all around…the walls were blue , the air was blue , the cigarettes smoked blue , the radio sang blue, the pine trees turned blue...

Two years passed by...

One day...

A car suddenly stopped by him. Opening the door came out the beautiful daughter of a nobleman..her eyes were bright..refined was her walk..tender in her smile...

She came close to him ...putting her arms across his shoulder asked , “may I walk down to your house to turn on the yellow lights for you please!”

Sunday, August 3, 2008


I got some fifteen sms and calls yesterday.
Another fifteen does not believe in friendship day...but they are still around.
I lost fifteen other, may be because I could not maintain the friendship...could not do justice...

But to those sweethearts...You will be always there in my heart...for you had made my yesterday beautiful....and made me what I am today....

Love you!

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Dil ki bhasha

She was calling on his mobile , "I am Preeti Kaur from ICIC bank. Sir, do u have a problem accessing the account?"
Bholu Subramanian was stoned by the voice , sweeter than the rasgullas that Subu Chatterjee had brought from Kolkata ...
Bholu forgot all laguages...hypnotised!!!
Replied in Tamil... "may be no"
Kaur madam understood...Dil ki bhasha,dil se samjhee jaatee hain.

Monday, June 30, 2008


Bristi...a dream in a name...Don’t remember where did I first meet her...may be outside the window in the very early ages of childhood...may be in a radio program I have long forgotten. "Bristi" means rain in Bengoli and Assamese.Don’t know how many lengths of song I spent searching the cause behind the irregistible pull towards many lengths of cigarettes stretching the hands through narrow grills of the window… feeling the touch of the wintry little drops of rain tutoring my sensation.....

I could never resist her invariant calm approach . I could visualize her invading me from very far, sometimes while coming back from school , sometimes while playing football and sometimes when I stood by river side. Might be desire of getting mild gentle touch prevented me from searching a safe place to hide...A drenched smile always used to pass through the core everytime she painted her color on me......

I expected Brishti on that day. I was leaving home to join the college far away from home .But there were no sign of her ! I thought that she would appear anytime but she left with a gloomy dark face . Later someone told me... it was my very own close ones who had pleaded her reverently to stay away...they wished , i could have a safe passage....


Finally got the tickets confirmed in Tatkal, “ Mama I am coming home!!!”

The Delhi Railway station was wet, sound of heavy drops of water could travel miles entering through my cellphone...

“is it raining there??????” asked Sis..

“Yes ... but why???Could u see Bristi around ?”.

“Jone,Have u gone crazy again...Who is Bristi?? Will u ever tell me dear!”

How can I tell you sis...” Bristi” is my favourite in a dream...a dream in a name.

Courtesy: Jone bhai and his love for Bristi

Sunday, March 9, 2008

I am lost and found

He told ,
I was lost and found in a pub.
Someone in the pub said,
‘Here he is
lost and found
in a city of bricks and wheels’.
Mom believes,
I was lost and found in the temple.
I claim,
I was lost
In the tinted glass of the closed window.

Nobody believes me.

Just now I got the news
I am lost to be found again.