Nijer?

Amar sob kota shira jeno tor jonnoi rokto race e dourae. 

Ei odbhut kotha ta bhabar por kobi pen chhure fele dilo. Bhabnar gondi periye hajar ronger nishan gulor dike takiye theke bollo- “Grant me the serenity to accept the things I can’t change.”

Sob noshter gora ki?

Bhalobasa? Nah! Tar jonnoi toh lekha.

Rag? Na. Rager boshe gaali beroye. Lekha na.

Obhimaan? Hingsa? Prem? Nirapottar nirobota?

Oshushtho kobi bhanga pen tule dekhlen kali akhono furoyeni.

Se jaye tar prem er sondhane. Bondhutter potaka oraye. Dhoya e sajay khela ghor.

Kobi shudhu bhabe. Bhabe ar rege jaye. Raage ar gaali dey nijeke.

Nijer haat duto dekhe. Kolpona e thappor mare nijer gaal e. Nijer bolte nijer e kemon onischit lage.

Ki nijer? Konta nijer? Haat nijer? Gaal nijer? Byatha nijer? Koshto nijer? Raag, dukkho jontrona kanna nijer???

Bhul. Shudhu bhul gulo nijer.

The Fall

Hair falling on her sharp eyes. Sweet lips throwing words I needed to hear. I felt a gulp in my throat. Tears deceived me, blood rushed like stallions set free. That moment I knew I was done. There was no point of retreat. She touched, it burnt. I was fragile. Piece by piece I broke. She was just being honest. No harm in that. I too wanted the truth. That gulp was the problem, I thought. Tried to swallow it, and it was all hazy. Fogged glasses. I felt powerless. 
But then, something struck me. I was reborn. I found a new energy within. I am not that weak. I have survived hell for God's sake! It was not a betrayal. She never promised anything. I was falling... into an abyss of unfamiliar feelings. Confused, I looked at her. She cried for the love of her life. I freaked out as I realised my best friend is now, the love of my life. 

Hit the ground so hard, my eyes could not even cry. As if my body was moving against my will. "Is it over?" she asked.

I was terrified. Over? It just started you stupid fuck!

Alive for a second

If you are trying to say that I am not dead that means I’m alive for a second. That second I take to get out of bed, wear something nice and get on tackling every dying second of my life. If I am not doing that, then hell knows exactly how alive I really am and how much you are bullshiting.

Frankly, the three steps I climb to get inside the office every day, are very important. It takes… Yes just that much time. That’s my time. Entirely mine. I don’t look back. I don’t look towards anything. Just pulling that door and hurriedly getting inside is the most action I get out of my time. Otherwise, it’s just doing the things others tell me to do. What’s the fun in that? You are not you when you brush, when you read the newspaper religiously because otherwise it’s ‘blasphemy’ not to know who killed whom… who raped a three-year-old… the highway truck rammed whom or what sweet gutter or filthy heaven your countrymen are slowly marching into. You are definitely not you when you tell yourself – “What am I doing with my life?” sitting on the can. No. You know very well what you are doing. You are delaying your death by seconds. Every tick of your wristwatch gets faster than your pulse. You smile at the mirror, which is not cracked but fogged. You put on that foggy look- an honest lie. You say “One day, it will all be okay. You will do whatever you want” and pull that heavy office door.