Life and Lies of M R Maiti

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.