Whispers and Words of M R Maiti

*** Strutting on the dais, Dressed up for the occasion, In a flurry of footsteps, You collect your degree. A weight off your shoulders, Your joy knows no end. Dashing out of the crowded elevator, Your bag single-strapped, In a room of sparkling white, You deliver your presentation. Green as grass, still you feel Head and shoulders above all. Trudging past the empty bullpens, Your bag double-strapped, Late into the night, You punch out for the day. With your shoulder to the wheel, Seven years have gone by so fast. *** This poem commemorates my completion of seven years in corporate life. Although the time passed in my presence, I still find it hard to believe. Do you share my feelings?  Leave your thoughts in the comments below.

*** Anchored somewhere Between memory and reverie, A boat drifts alone In the shimmering sea, While the golden clouds Hang above, Cradling a ship, A thing of the past That could not sail Into the future. *** These days, people are using AI to generate images and avatars based on a written prompt. Even at work, my Boss asked me to explore this. I don't know if you noticed that I did not insert a picture here like in my other posts. I want you to read the words and then close your eyes. Did my words create an image in the back of your mind or make you think about someone/something? If yes, that was my motive.  Leave your thoughts in the comments below.

*** The snow-covered peak Was well within my sight When a girl smoking a cigarette Caught my wandering eye. Can you spare one for me, I asked. Sure, but I don't have a lighter, she replied. A girl with cigarettes, but no lighter, Foolish, but she had the spirit of a fighter, I had left my entire group behind, Well, everyone except her. Like an incorrigible addict Looking for a fix, there I was, Bothering random passers-by Until I successfully borrowed a lighter. What do I get in return for the cigarette, she asked. And without waiting for my reply, You have to click my picture, she said. Can I read you my poem instead, I replied. If you like it, you can give me a cigarette. If you don't, I'll be on my way. And so we went all the way to the summit, Bugging strangers for a lighter. She had enough cigarettes. And I had written enough poems. *** After reading the above poem, an obvious question would pop up in your mind about the girl as well as the cigarettes, considering I do...

*** The meter is stuck. I'm traveling miles Still not moving ahead. The brakes don't work. A speed breaker sends me flying Into a vault of old memories. I had come of age. So I had to give up My fear of the road. Travelling all the roads together, The thrill of the ride Eventually replaced the fear. Then, without noticing, The license plate wore out and The gentle ride turned bumpy. The rearview mirrors droop low now, No longer reflecting her face, Just the trailing traffic. *** This poem is dedicated to the scooty I grew up with. Like everything else in life, it was once new and bursting with energy. Its condition has worsened now, not very different from human relationships. Have you had a similar experience? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.

*** You may have heard Or watched Love stories of men Who gave away their hearts To the love of their lives. What remains underrated, however, Is how their eyes light up When they recite the stories, Filled with fun and flare Of the not-so-distant past. There is something endearing In the way they run with the world But their hearts still roam Their college lecture halls And the school playgrounds. *** This poem is dedicated to male friendships that sustain the test of time, through various stages of life, despite all odds and the intervening distance. Have you observed something like this yourself? Leave your thoughts in the comments below.

*** Finding solace In an air-conditioned space, The city slept While I wandered the streets, Restless, Perfecting the ending Of a sentence. The cool breeze made me forget That it was a summer night. Then, out of nowhere, A cold whisper Sent a shiver down my spine. "You have to choose, my friend. Be a writer or be content." "Why can't I be both?" I asked the emptiness. And the whisper scoffed at me, "You and your consistent pursuit To get the best of both worlds. Buckle up then! You are about to be tested." I stumbled over a rock And found the ending I was looking for. "If a river wants to meet the sea, Twisting and turning, It will somehow find its way Even through the mountains." If a whisper could smile, It did, and said, "We will see." *** I don't have a million readers - not by choice, obviously - just a handful. But they mean to me as much as the millions would do. And one of those readers reminded me that I had taken a lon...

Nitin was utterly shocked when he woke up on Saturday morning with a hangover and without any recollection of what had transpired the previous night. He had been drunk before. He had lost all of his senses before. But everything always came back to him the next morning. However, that day, it didn't; complete blackout. There must have been something bizarre in that drink. Over the course of the week, though, he started remembering flashes of it and began looking for an opportunity to talk to Sandhya, sober and alone. The weather had taken a sharp turn today. A sweltering sunny day gave way to a cloudy evening with thrashing winds. As everyone raced to the office window to watch the scene unfolding outside, Nitin saw Sandhya signalling to him by pressing two fingers to her lips. He couldn’t help but smile. She knew he loved to smoke in this weather. After all, she was his smoking partner in the office. Together, they went downstairs, but as soon as they stepped out of the building, t...

There’s something about women that I’ll never understand. They change their attire and hair and transform into a totally new person. Of course, I didn't expect MJ to walk around the city wearing her trekking gear. Still, it surprised me when I met her and she was wearing a traditional white kurta. Her hair wasn’t tied in a bun but fell in coils over her shoulders. Only after I talked to her was I assured that she was the same person I met on Gaumukh Tapovan Trek. I was in the city to spend the long weekend with my friends but I had reserved the last day for meeting MJ. While my friend Mukesh had taunted me by saying that I had come to meet MJ and not them, Neil had suggested a nice place where I could meet her. It was late in the afternoon and the restaurant wasn't crowded. There was no loud music, just a guy performing with his guitar. "Thanks for coming," I told her after the waiter found us a nice seat by the window. "Is Chatur your roommate?" She must ha...

*** The woods are gloomy, dark and scary. You were supposed to keep me company. Even when the roads diverged, You promised me we wouldn't split. Talk to me, man! The mountains spit fire. The rivers run acrid. I walk the barren valley All by myself. Talk to me, man! You and I had concluded long back That life is a joke and Death is the punchline. Then why am I not laughing? Talk to me, man! While I grow old and frail, You'll remain forever young. I say that out of envy Or maybe to content myself. Talk to me, man! I hope you have the answers now To all the questions that befuddle mankind: God, soul, afterlife, rebirth, heaven and hell. You can go on a rant about them if you want, But just once come and talk to me, man! ***

"Living in Mumbai is like an arranged marriage. Give it enough time and dedication and you begin to fall in love with the city," Neil announced to the whole room as if he had just come upon a scientific discovery. He wasn't done. He turned to Mukesh and said, "And living in Bangalore is like a love marriage. People come and fall in love with the city at first sight." Mukesh, who hailed from Bangalore, looked amused by the remark until he heard Nitin say, "Even when you are stuck in traffic." "What about Delhi, huh," Mukesh replied. "Delhi..." Neil chuckled before saying, "Delhi experience is like a one-night stand. You are eager to leave after spending a single night; before the toxic air suffocates you." Nitin wasn't a Delhite. He just worked there. He wondered if he was supposed to defend the city he lived in or just let it go. He decided to change the topic but ended up saying, "Did you read the news today abou...

Dedicated to a friend. *** Dancing to the rhythm in the dead of night, In the living room filled with shimmering lights, He contemplated how difficult he was to live with That he himself wouldn't choose to do it. Was it fair then to ask for companions and Knowingly inflict his misery on them? Holding a recently won trophy in one hand, A tangible recognition for his diligent efforts, And a glass of gin and tonic in the other, A medicating herb to soothe his gnawing afflictions, He evaluated if they would suffice To fill the gaping void in his life. A realisation swirled and settled As he refilled his drink, He wasn't a genius to begin with; At best, a prodigy who wasted his potential. It felt empty when he excelled at goals That were mediocre by his own standards. Mirroring the drink in his hand, He had a glass half-empty view of things, Tormented by what he didn't have, Rather than cherishing what he did. No amount of rain could satiate the desire Of a desert that longed to...

*** Convincing myself That even if I failed, It wouldn't hurt, That my mind, Not the heart, Was in control, I gave wings To a flightless bird, And expected it to fly. For a while, it did, Soaring in the air Of giddy optimism, Only to crash-land, Leaving me to wonder, Had Icarus known He was going to burn, Would he still have flown That close to the Sun. Yes, he would. I can understand his plight. However short the journey, The thrill of the flight Is matched by none, And hope, Even when infinitesimal, Is a wishful probabilistic dope. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment.

Far away from intruding eyes, The ritual begins. For one last smoke, We light the flame. Cherishing a moment's peace Before the bitter end, We inhale the toxic fumes To exhale a heartfelt goodbye. The smoke ascends To form a swirling mist, Painting a picture Of good times gone by. The flame goes out. The smoke clears away. A beginning comes to an end. We go our separate ways. *** Dedicated to a friend.

It was one of those days when it felt like it was going to rain but it did not; a day when all outdoor pursuits are put on hold because no one knows the will of those flying water canisters. The dark grey clouds had been playing hide and seek with the Sun the entire day. Come evening, there was a flash of lightning followed by thunder. It only increased the anticipation. The children of the buffalo men gathered in the street. Following their lead, the streets poured with adamant children who had successfully evaded the watchful eyes of their parents. Their heads turned to the sky, their excitement poured from their eyes. They had already choreographed their dance in their minds. But, the rain didn’t come. The clouds were holding themselves back, waiting for one last attendee. A certain someone who once used to be the first to greet the clouds when they arrived by rushing to the terrace at the first sound of thunder. She now stood under the awning, looking at the clouds, having last tho...

Nitin closed his eyes and dived backwards. It had been a while, but the muscle memory kicked in. He started floating in the water. Slowly, he locked his hands below his head and regulated his breathing. When he opened his eyes, he could see a full moon hanging in the clear night sky. A weekend away from the city with his closest friends was something he needed. The farmhouse was spacious and aesthetically pleasing and most importantly, he could cool off in an outdoor swimming pool while listening to music and eating barbequed food. Though his ears were submerged, he could still hear Neil and Mukesh over the music. But as he drifted to the far side of the pool, their voice grew distant until he could hear them no more. He closed his eyes and in the stillness of the night, a thought crossed his mind. He had once read somewhere that a clean river has no fish. What did it mean? It must have a figurative meaning because it didn't seem scientifically accurate. Or maybe the quote was emph...

I trudged uphill With cautious steps. Couldn't tell, How deep Ran the snow. I'll certainly be lying if I ever say I don't find comfort In the panic. Up in the air And under the moonlight, A glowworm chased A butterfly. The summit was Well within my sight. All I had to do was Maintain my pace Until the first glint Of the morning light. Not the backpack, Some thoughts Weighed me down. This path has been walked By thousands more. What is it that I'm doing That hasn't been done before? The Sun will rise On schedule With or without my presence, Then set again. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment.

She was a pretty girl. He was a stupid boy. And they had a thing In their salad days. Then he chose to leave, Lured by ambition And the wonders of the world. He couldn't help it. He was born this way, Itching to wander After a brief stay. The unknown was exciting. The familiarity eventually faded away. The dingy lanes made way For concrete pavements. He traded his cozy home For a rented apartment. Then wandered around, Beyond the serene blue lake Surrounded by the dewy meadow, Past the fiery blossoms Under the moonlight glow, Through the deserted lands, Through the wintry snow, Always carrying along her fragrance Wherever he chose to go. However, upon his return, When he met her, A sad realisation Slowly crept up on him. She was a pretty woman. He was a stupid man. And they had nothing. His chapter had ended in her story. And when he bid her goodbye, He saw himself Receding in her eye, Wishing to become heartless To avoid living with a broken heart. *** Liked what you read? Leave a...

"Have you heard about the trolley problem," asked Sheth who was sitting beside me. Yes, I had, but I did not reply right away. I looked around at unfamiliar faces surrounding me and found a mixed bag of people of Slavic, Eastern and Mongol origins. There wasn't an Indian in sight except, of course, my friend Sheth. An hour ago, he and I had landed at Almaty International Airport, Kazakhstan and were waiting for our connecting flight to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. There was still an hour to go and I had nothing to do. There was no internet. Our SIM cards were not of any use. We would buy the local SIM in Bishkek. I hadn't brought a book with me or downloaded any movie/TV series on my mobile. Even if I weren't shy and wanted to talk to someone, language would have failed me. Neither I knew Kazakh nor Russian. Therefore, to pass the time, I decided to humour my friend and replied, "No, I don't. Tell me." "Imagine a train moving forward on a track," h...

"Who's the baby?" "She's my niece. I have loads of cousins and by extension, a lot of nephews and nieces." "It's a nice picture." "Thanks. You cannot imagine what was going through my mind while I was holding her." "Can I guess?" "Sure, why not." "She’s so cute you could eat her." "Haha... obvious guess, but, no. I was thinking about the theory of Twin Paradox." "Interesting. Care to explain." "In Twin Paradox, one of the twins goes on a space voyage and the other stays put on Earth. When he returns, he discovers that his Earth-bound counterpart has aged considerably compared to him. I do not have a twin. Nor do I have a vehicle capable of space voyages. But I do live away from my hometown and normally return after long intervals. This time, on my return, I found out that one of my nieces I once used to rock to sleep and carry around in my arms has now become a teenager, taking se...

"Nitin, where did you get lost again," asked Mukesh. On the Saturday preceding the Diwali holidays, Neil, Nitin and Mukesh had a get-together before leaving for their hometowns. Everyone had turned up in their traditional attires. And for once, Neil looked like a civilised person without a drink in his hand. "Nothing," replied Nitin. "I was just thinking that every year, we celebrate Diwali on the eve of Lord Rama returning to Ayodhya after defeating Ravana. He went to such great lengths to rescue her wife only to exile her later whereas Sita Maiya chose to accompany him, as a dutiful wife, during an exile imposed only on him." "Not many people realise this," said Mukesh. "But the real protagonist of Ramayana is Sita Maiya, not Rama or Ravana." "That I can agree on." "Ravana had the mental might of ten brains. Still, he wasn't wise enough to let go of his ego. He ended up squandering everything because of his arroganc...

Mountains and rivers Are for some, An escape from daily life, And for others, A part of it. Either way, I'm Always left bewildered By both nature And human spirit. I sat motionless, yet Soared high like a bird, Flowed gently like a stream, Stood resolute like a mountain And drifted aimlessly like a cloud. Beauty and the beholder, What is one without the other? Upon my return, The cherished moments Found their way Without fail, Into my treasure chest, My source of sunshine On a gloomy winter day. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment! Pic captured by me on Gaumukh Tapovan Trek 

Gaumukh Tapovan Trek -  Part 3 of 3 Click to read Gaumukh Tapovan Trek - Part 1 of 3: The Bhagirathi Sisters Click to read Gaumukh Tapovan Trek - Part 2 of 3: A Hearty Submission "Did you sully my good name again to justify your coming here?" "The mountain is named after you. It wasn't that long a shot." "Why can't you stay in the city like a normal person? Plan your life ahead. Get married, have kids, and so on." "When I was a kid, we had this clay modelling class where the teacher expected us to combine earth and water to build statues of God. I always ended up with a dried lump of clay." "That's your take on marriage? Doesn't science tell you that life arose from a mixture of earth and water? Nature gave that a chance. Why can't you?" "Why are you asking me questions you already know the answer to?" "I know almost everything. That doesn't mean I can't delight myself with a conversation now a...