Whispers and Words of M R Maiti

Spending a moment on the laptop, Instinctively, his gaze returned to her. There was something endearing In that closed-lip smile of hers, The way her cheeks bulged, Leaving behind a dent, He found himself wondering If she had a dimple. A truthful brain and a dishonest heart, He was troubled within himself. So he ran to a different city, And found a new workspace. Out of sight and out of mind, All was right with the world. She belonged to someone else, And he, with his melancholy. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment!

I have been caged In this prison  Of blood and bone, With yearnings and temptations That come and go. Wouldn't it be nice  If I could just live in my head, Not in the creation of an unknown maker Who, at times, seems sadistic, If not powerless. The almighty promoter of free will Brought me into this world  Against my own volition. If I could, I would  Hold the world hostage Until He himself came to negotiate. That He had to come to terms with me, Break down the cage, And set me free From this meaningless toil and moil For glitter and gold, Or I would wipe the world out of existence. My plan was in place, But then He smiled smugly and said, Go forth as you will, I'll create another world, And another you, just as easily As I did the last time. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment!

 Fresh out of the oven, Wrapped in swaddling clothes, The room bursting with light Highlighted her pinkish hue. Nervous before strangers, She blinked in quick succession, Stealing momentary glances At the three hovering figures. One was already a father, The other just became one. And then someone was befuddled, Seeing the youngest baby ever. Surely, men aren't supposed to Feel the hormonal urge,  But say, if they do, Would that be so bad? *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment!

It was late in the night. Neil, Nitin and Mukesh were getting bored when they decided to go on a drive. But where? The question hung in the air. “Can we drive to SRK’s house, Mannat,” suggested Nitin. Neil and Mukesh gave him a disapproving look but decided to humour him anyway, considering both of them were out of ideas. Soon, they were on their way to Bandra Fort. “I just realised,” spoke Nitin, who was riding shotgun. “Main Hoon Na is kind of like a tale from Greek mythology.” Mukesh, in the driver’s seat, didn’t say anything. His eyes were fixed on the traffic signal, urging it to turn green. It was Neil, who replied from the backseat, “In which scene of Main Hoon Na, was Zeus not able to keep it in his pants?” “Just think,” Nitin went on to elaborate. “SRK’s father, played by Nasiruddin Shah, was involved in an extramarital affair, just like Zeus. Kirron Kher was anguished by this, just like Hera. She left him. Born out of wedlock, SRK was a demigod. And just like it happens with ...

One moment, You are riding your bicycle to school, Chasing the bike that overtook you, Pedalling faster and faster, But to no avail. And before you know it, You are riding your bike to work, Pursued by a kid riding a bicycle; You let him get ahead, Amused by his enthusiasm. And in next to no time, You are driving your car home, Stuck in slow-moving traffic; There's no bicycle in sight. You have left the kid far behind. *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment!

Dedicated to a friend of mine who is no longer in this world. ********************************* A friend had died. Still, the world  Hadn't come to a stop. Perhaps, it should have. Because I gave my presentation Smiling from ear to ear. And later at night, I drank to my fill To honour him. Because life is too fricking short, But at times, Feels too bloody long. If you google 'Shortest Short Story' You'll get the following result: "For sale: Baby shoes, never worn." Popularly attributed to Ernest Hemingway. Ernest, I'm sorry  But I ended up writing  Something similar myself. "Hang in there, my friend. He did." I'm not proud of what I wrote.  It is what it is. "Who is this about," my friend asked after reading my poem. "He was my batchmate in school," I replied. "He committed suicide yesterday by hanging." "Why? What happened?" "Nobody knows. He had cut himself off from everyone." "Was he i...

His talking a lot was not the problem. The problem was that I didn't get to participate in the conversation. I was listening to a soliloquy. We were not best of buddies, but he was a friend nonetheless. We seldom met. I could not offend him by telling him to shut up. Therefore, I got myself a routine. At regular intervals, I bobbed my head in polite affirmation and gave an occasional smile when all I was doing was staring in the distance at random people passing by. In college, I had attended many lectures where my mind just wandered off while my eyes remained focused on the lecturer. Being able to do the same thing with my friend in such proximity was a commendable skill that no resume/CV had a column for. I wondered if he knew what I was doing but still chose to go on. But why would he do that? Or maybe he was as doubtful as I was. The best explanation would be that he became oblivious to everything when he droned on.  My resolve weakened at times. I ran out of made-up expressi...

Continued from:  LIFE AND LIES #57 | Neil Nitin Mukesh (#2) The night lengthened at its usual pace. Soon, Sunday would turn into Monday. Even the mere thought was depressing for Mukesh, who sat in his living room, just beside the window, holding a lit cigarette. “When I was a kid, I used to love Mondays,” he said, letting out a puff of smoke. “Don’t know what happened.” Sitting opposite to him, Nitin was quick with a reply, “Life happened.” That was followed by a long bellow and a hand gesture by a drunk Neil, “Nooo… job happened.” “That’s true, I guess,” said Mukesh. “I went to the mall yesterday…” “Did you…” Neil interrupted him but Mukesh cut him short. “No, I didn’t meet Robin Sparkles there.” Neil laughed. “While sitting in the food court, I couldn’t help but observe that everything seemed like clockwork, all around me.” “For someone who likes wristwatches so much, this is paradoxical,” added Nitin. “I’m thinking of finding a permanent WFH,” continued Mukesh. “Somewhere in a 3...

Do not meet me in January When I am at my optimistic best Or in December When the realist takes over Neither on a Monday I'm amped up on caffeine Nor a weekend I'm drowned in alcohol I lay awake at night Sifting words through my mind I'm not a morning person either Come find me At the approach of dusk On the first Wednesday of June I'll be waiting for you Far away from the city On a cliff overlooking the ocean And whether you arrive on your own Or choose to bring monsoon along I want you to be here As early as you can be Because I'm younger now Than I'll ever be For it has been tough  Chasing this sunset  For three decades  And hoping for everything  To turn out the way I wanted it to be  When the Sun went down! *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment! Is there something you want me to write about? Leave your feedback/suggestions in the comments below. *** PS: This poem is a present to myself, on turning 30. This picture was taken in Gokarna on 31st December 20...

The world is turning The world is burning A city here Some people there To endure the heat The air is conditioned And the people too Everyone pays the price When innocent lives are lost Whose God will unleash The plague this time Or has it already begun Only the sequence has reversed Starting with the killing of children Maybe the King will set them free When, in the end Water turns into blood But even then With the icecaps melting Who would dare split the sea this time *** Liked what you read? Leave a comment! Is there something you want me to write about? Leave your feedback/suggestions in the comments below. 

************************* A beautiful amusing thing, Almost magical,  Happens at the end of day, When returning from work, You plug in your headphones, And your favourite song resumes From the same point you had left it  In the morning. Isn't it amazing that Far far away, someone You are never going to meet In your lifetime, Whispers something, And the voice reaches to you in waves, Leaving an impact on you, Both in sickness and in health. ************************** Liked what you read? Leave a comment! PS: This piece is dedicated to Lana Del Rey.

Dehradun to Sankri On an early morning, towards the end of March, I was sipping a cup of tea in Dehradun, surrounded by a bunch of strangers loading their backpacks on a traveller which was going to take us to Sankri, the starting point of Kedarkantha Trek. A thought struck me. Somewhere around this place, not so long ago, Ruskin Bond was racking his brains to come up with the name of a fictitious town. Subsequently, he came up with the name: Dehra, having spent his early adolescent days in Dehradun, the place which inspired many of his characters and stories. Ingenious, huh? I am struggling with a similar challenge. Let’s see what I come up with. I finished my tea. And soon we headed on our way. The first view of the mountains came when we were about to reach Mussourie. A smile spread across my face automatically in its unique way, like it happens when you meet an old friend after a long time. I was hoping to spot Cambridge Book Depot on the way, or even Ruskin Bond if I w...