If at the end of the journey
at the very moment you choose to collapse
leaping  into  to the surrender of the greats
whom you have followed and revered
cause the journey shud end like this
in failure and sacrifice
in spite of all those sweet selfishness
that you tried to learn

if at that very moment
instead of feeling calm
there is a  twitch in your limbs
and you feel
"i shud have  been in the hospital"

From Scrapbook Photos

if u have played nfs underground u will kno that u cud roam through the city freely in career mode.

i used to feel that  that was the best part of it.. running away from the lights..the city..

and everything was so perfect....like if u cud runaway to the mountains , the mountains would also be that beautiful

gorillaz amarillo kind of reminded me of that imagery

the mountains are waiting

the full moon has come

i got lost in the highways

but dont ask me where i been 

or what i have done

The Machine

The machine is psychedelic.Its purpose is obscure.It was found at the abandoned military camp at the end of the barren fields.

The machine has rugged robot arms.It is grey colored and rusty.It has something to do with stars and planets.

The machine was part of something bigger.Those other parts were never installed.They lie scattered somewhere deeper into the field, hidden behind dead grass,or in some underground room in the abandoned army base.

The machine has a controller seat-hidden from view.And if u can run it it will make u all powerful.

There in the village at other side of the field a child asks his father" can i go there tomorrow?"
The father says "No -and now go to sleep"

The immense night stands outside the glass window that looks out at the field.Tangerine Dream's " Sequent C"
plays at the back of his mind as he dreams of going to the machine.

The night outside looks at the child sleeping.A gypsy moon hides behind some clouds.The night is insomniac.
The night is high on drugs booze and cigarettes.The night smells of the distant sea.The night knows the machine.It is just some old useless tank.

But the night cant break the glass window and see the machine within the child's dream.

 Its All Over Now, Baby Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

From Blue

Monsoon






Monsoon has arrived with its armies of grey monochrome clouds.They came marching with fireworks n all.It felt fresh and something new when they arrived.Now after some days their stay has made the whole place stale moist and sad.The day does not seem to pass.The morning, the afternoon the evening -all seem the same pale grey.All the time it is raining.





The grasses are growing madly everywhere.They have covered up the car parking area.Here and there tendrils are clinging to metal posts.Sliding down the walls one even made it through the bathroom window.Then there is the fungus.Leave a sweaty shirt around the corner, tomorrow it will reek of them.

The eggs that the mother insect laid in her nest have all hatched, unleashing regiments of buzzing babies that throng around the sad looking tube light every night.And don't forget the mosquitoes hatching in stagnant patches  of rain water.You cannot dare keep the windows open at night.In the sad damp corners of the room every once in a while you will find a millipede crawling across.Outside newborn snails bite away at the budding twigs of grass.

Train Accident In Malda

From MALDA ACCIDENT

From Pics

From Pics

From Pics

I remember once i wrote a line "if trains would run through our courtyards" ...being brought up in a village in remote Assam even a  sight of a train was something of a wonder to me in my childhood....what it also meant was the inherent childhood dream of bringing things within the reach of my small hands...like "if the chairs were less high...the electric switch board  reachable ....if the trees were less high..or to make a small pond where u could see the fishes under water..and catch them anytime..(dont think its cruel...the fascination of a village Bengali boy with  catching fishes is eternal)...anyway...

just looking at all those villagers come out of their homes to see a train accident reminded me of that childhood dream...perhaps among the unknown faces someone will be so thrilled to look at the trains..,,at the strange news agency vans...

and he will not give a big lecture about the pathetic condition of Indian railways..

and time ..it passes on like anything
life in all its shamefaced moments
passes ....passes ...it passes by
today and now
are just a view from a train window


a shy father looks at his newborn daughter
the mother overwhelmed by it all
moments ..they glitter
moments they fly away
and what seemed stuck
and what would not pass
no one shall remember them


the humid banana leaves
the sly  insects  the on the grass
the mollusks ...even the slow sloth
have drunk  this sweet dew
are too busy to listen to the ones who stayed behind

the rain is soft and cool tonight
this sweet sweet sweet life