tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43812201360243204162024-03-13T03:00:22.581-07:00The Moustached Poeta blog by Dr. Rupam GoswamiRupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-72033406294871987152022-07-26T22:53:00.000-07:002022-07-26T22:54:20.517-07:00YOUR DEVIL'S STORM AND MY GOD'S LIGHTNING<span ;="">YOUR DEVIL's SERMON</span><br>
<span ;="">the wounded...displaced:</span><br>
<span ;="">flies feeding on skins of men</span><br>
<span ;="">carry food to baby flies,</span><br>
<span ;="">aren't wars encouraging,</span><br>
<span ;="">nourishing the food chains</span><br>
<span ;="">of predators, </span><br>
<span ;="">of the wild and the human,</span><br>
<span ;="">or the human wild</span><br>
<span ;="">or the wild human?</span>
<br><br><span ;="">THE DEVIL's STORM</span><br>
<span ;="">there is a storm coming</span><br>
<span ;="">to fulfill your desires,</span><br>
<span ;="">dark clouds are innocent-</span><br>
<span ;="">they inhabit your dreams,</span><br>
<span ;="">make you powerful</span><br>
<span ;="">smogs amidst.</span><br>
<span ;="">unleash your hyenas</span><br>
<span ;="">into the world of lions,</span><br>
<span ;="">pray for the storm </span><br>
<span ;="">for the storm shall</span><br>
<span ;="">be your sole savior!</span>
<br><br><span ;="">MY GOD's SERMON</span><br>
<span ;="">Aren't you tired</span><br>
<span ;="">Of being sad?</span><br>
<span ;="">The comets have fallen,</span><br>
<span ;="">Wish for a miracle...</span><br>
<span ;="">Ah! Miracles are not untrue...</span><br>
<span ;="">They wait for you</span><br>
<span ;="">To believe in them</span><br>
<span ;="">For they are born</span><br>
<span ;="">From the faith within you.</span><br>
<span ;="">And you...</span><br>
<span ;="">You die a sloth's death</span><br>
<span ;="">Every day, fighting</span><br>
<span ;="">Against the hyenas</span><br>
<span ;="">You have unleashed</span><br>
<span ;="">Into the world around you!</span>
<br><br><span ;="">MY GOD's LIGHTNING</span><br>
<span ;="">Carricature!</span><br>
<span ;="">Yes, You...</span><br>
<span ;="">You pray to the dark storm,</span><br>
<span ;="">Submit in fear</span><br>
<span ;="">For the Evil has injected</span><br>
<span ;="">Fright into your life,</span><br>
<span ;="">But have you not witnessed</span><br>
<span ;="">The lines of fate</span><br>
<span ;="">That crack open the storm?</span><br>
<span ;="">Like bright swords in the skies</span><br>
<span ;="">Annihilating the greyish airs</span><br>
<span ;="">Like an avatar of Franklin's kite!</span><!--/data/user/0/com.samsung.android.app.notes/files/clipdata/clipdata_bodytext_220727_111759_415.sdocx-->Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-60758573767836814942022-04-30T20:14:00.001-07:002022-04-30T20:14:31.988-07:00WHEREVER THE NIGHTS ARE<p>We shall meet<br>wherever the nights are,<br>guarding the lilies<br>of the newborn Spring,<br>caressing the shy breeze<br>as it turns into a wind<br>that whistles through thatch<br>on a starry night,<br>offering mothers tunes<br>to sing to<br>their little monsters<br>with red, fair cheeks,<br>and toothless smiles!</p><p>We shall grow old<br>wherever the nights are,<br>waiting for fireflies<br>to cure the darkness of the wild.<br>Stars never twinkle down here,<br>winged yellows sparkle without fear!</p><p>What is lost is still there,<br><em>memoirs of roses bookmarked,</em><br><em>romance beyond the class hours,</em><br><em>or tears of teenage love,<br></em>in hearts that may skip a few beats<br>but never miss the parade’s call!</p><p>We shall love<br>wherever the nights are,<br>pacifying each other,<br>quarreling on alternate days,<br>and loving back more…<br>just like the moon<br>that dies out in a fortnight,<br>and is a poet’s sacrifice in the next!</p><p>We shall always be there<br>wherever the nights are…</p><div><br></div><div class="watch-action"><div class="watch-position align-left"><div class="action-like"><a class="lbg-style3 like-2225 jlk" data-task="like" data-post_id="2225" data-nonce="179de41827" rel="nofollow"></a></div></div></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-68200680820443053292021-06-07T23:11:00.003-07:002021-06-07T23:12:36.881-07:00BALLOON SELLER<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CvSIYxwiZIb3QUw0NzhuF46n6PSowbN3qc-OEkwQ0X6qujqnXts2neG8LgfxdILHvqXh97kUliMUg9LQ9m-f6GUDpcX5Ks7kvJEY6F33DB3RdUMfX99lpBpz6CVc_NNtSuPML89tMJLL/s640/BALLOON+SELLER.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0CvSIYxwiZIb3QUw0NzhuF46n6PSowbN3qc-OEkwQ0X6qujqnXts2neG8LgfxdILHvqXh97kUliMUg9LQ9m-f6GUDpcX5Ks7kvJEY6F33DB3RdUMfX99lpBpz6CVc_NNtSuPML89tMJLL/s320/BALLOON+SELLER.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-small;">Image by Silvio Zimmermann from Pixabay </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">End of festive days,<br />smiles, high-fives and yays.<br />Everyone shall return<br />to their warm homes<br />untouched by gloomy air<br />a percent of which<br />fill my balloon pairs...<br />My balloon pairs...<br />They trap your gloomy air<br />tied around tight,<br />not to escape into the wild.<br />The kids shall have fancy toys,<br />back to their homes, masked in joys<br />but they shall miss my balloon pairs<br />until the year brings the festive fairs!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-3986748841242234842021-06-07T23:05:00.005-07:002021-06-07T23:06:36.407-07:00SPARK OF LOVE<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnx4ot3nbm9UEmwEmllDAtej3ociXeUVHtwaPULoNYEkJR12ZwG0lNpTO2lN890XRdwgVxD_xQ6s4eVsrAhB21qwcyiSfal2eqgI7SvJaCHifEgLEJutFT40omlf_g19WQTrDIlMiZxpS/s640/SPARK+OF+LOVE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnx4ot3nbm9UEmwEmllDAtej3ociXeUVHtwaPULoNYEkJR12ZwG0lNpTO2lN890XRdwgVxD_xQ6s4eVsrAhB21qwcyiSfal2eqgI7SvJaCHifEgLEJutFT40omlf_g19WQTrDIlMiZxpS/s320/SPARK+OF+LOVE.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-small;">Image by Jackson David from Pixabay </span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">your cheeks will turn red,<br />the winter grow frozen,<br />when I hold your hands<br />amidst the pavement crowd,<br />masked and quick.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />whispering mothers,<br />yelling storekeepers<br />chaotic footsteps<br />and chirping sparrows<br />all shall be insignificant!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />I will hold your hands<br />as we walk unheeded<br />through the stores downtown,<br />and you shall fall in love,<br />one more time, ten years after!</span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-9985523653821079232021-06-07T22:58:00.002-07:002021-06-07T23:07:54.267-07:00DIAMONDS IN MY POCKET<div style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYS_lGsAm4_8ko2EWaC-7sd3kbwvN0uGvgoAtRZnJ4xJcyQ80wvbUzkblmYmSwYEUvwxIrHwJ_xVRM_G1XAgAFN7ca2tj9JHBeImLCljD46pup3v7SL6VadwKGnQgs6AQE7HHsUZiYel_x/s640/DIAMONDS+IN+MY+POCKET.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYS_lGsAm4_8ko2EWaC-7sd3kbwvN0uGvgoAtRZnJ4xJcyQ80wvbUzkblmYmSwYEUvwxIrHwJ_xVRM_G1XAgAFN7ca2tj9JHBeImLCljD46pup3v7SL6VadwKGnQgs6AQE7HHsUZiYel_x/w200-h200/DIAMONDS+IN+MY+POCKET.png" width="200" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: #191b26; margin: 0px; white-space: nowrap;">Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/3209107-3209107/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1636156" style="color: #191b26; cursor: pointer; margin: 0px; outline: none !important;">3209107</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1636156" style="color: #191b26; cursor: pointer; margin: 0px; outline: none !important;">Pixabay</a></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #191b26; white-space: nowrap;"> </span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I followed the trail to my past<br />with no answers at present.<br />Dull, remorseful life preyed on me<br />like the droughts prey on farmer's will.<br />I walked hesitated, <br />hoping for no gold<br />when the seas threw plenty <br />of stones on my shore...<br />I picked them up,<br />stored in my pockets<br />for reasons none<br />I can boldly explain.<br />Along the night's darkness,<br />I walked into fear and fright...<br />and then the stones glowed:<br />my pockets had diamonds of my life!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-3507353356612391322021-05-15T06:32:00.006-07:002021-05-15T06:48:38.641-07:00THE MARICHA TRAIL<p><b>First appeared in the May 2021 issue of the international e-magazine, <a href="https://guwahatian.guwahaticity.in/the-maricha-trail/" target="_blank">Guwahatian</a></b>. </p><p>[This tale is an imaginative account of the author, based on the epic Ramayana.]</p><p>“One should not run in search for gold, Sita. You are my jewel, and all my life, I wish to protect you from the clutches of greed!” uttered Rama when Sita urged him to go in search for the golden deer which she had just seen from a distance.</p><p>“But I wish to have it in my arms. Its dazzle has beautified the skies of Panchavati. Will you not fulfill this desire of mine, Rama?”</p><p>“The journey towards achieving riches without values is the biggest trap of destiny, Sita. No wonder the deer may seem alluring to you, but deep within its quest must lie a sinister truth which is waiting to be unfolded in the screams of greed!”</p><p>“You overthink, Rama!” Sita looked upset, and Rama could sense the darkness that was about to follow. His human self filled his mind with the need to impress his woman, while his godly being understood the gamble. To resolve the conflicts of his mind, Rama closed his eyes, and tried to bring his avatar to power.</p><p>Just then…</p><p>Oh! Wait!</p><p>Just then, he saw white dots swimming in the darkness of his closed eyes, and moving towards forming a bright dot of energy in the middle as if it wished to guide him to the truth. Rama focused on the brightness which glowed amidst his meditated blindness. He followed the energy to the realms of Panchavati where he saw the golden deer. It looked like an incarnation of Lakshmi, his true better-half, and it persuaded him to be hypnotized. Its skin was softer than silk, and eyes innocent as himself. As Rama moved closer to hold it, it ran away towards the banyan. Rama made several attempts to befriend the beauty but to no avail. The trap was real as he had warned Sita! What an irony! Now he is trapped in its trail.</p><p>Rama did not wish to return from his meditating quest for the deer. He went further into the grove guarded by the banyan. After a while, he saw the deer transform into a demon. He could recognize it. It was Maricha. He hid behind one of the trees, and watched Maricha take out a potion of golden sparkles, and drink it. He re-transformed into the deer, and Rama understood the story. He prepared to shoot it when he saw Lakshman and Sita coming from the other end. Both encountered the deer, and were baffled at its beauty. Before Rama could warn them, the deer quickly transformed into Maricha and attacked Lakshmana. While both fought, Rama ran towards them but his pace was restrained by the magic of illusion. He saw another man appear from within the woods behind, forcefully hold Sita by her waist, and disappear back into the green veil of magical misfortune. Maricha killed Lakshmana, and disappeared too. Rama shouted in despair…</p><p>…</p><p>…</p><p>“Rama,” uttered a voice.</p><p>“Rama.”</p><p>Rama came back to his senses and found Sita worried at his screams in meditation. Rama realized that only he could slay the deer, and not allow the events which he had seen in his guided sleep to occur. To direct the fate of events towards a different future, he said to Sita, “I will bring the deer for you. You must stay here with Lakshmana.”</p><p>Surprised, Sita smiled in joy. But it was Rama who knew deep within his heart that if he did not move then, he would lose his brother as well as his beloved.</p><p>He moved into the forest in search for Maricha, and the Maricha Trail beyond the banyan changed the course of destiny in a similar but a very different way!</p>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-61335904973609101642021-04-19T04:15:00.006-07:002021-04-19T04:17:38.074-07:00IN MY SUMMER BREATH<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">the world turned bold<br />on a surprising note;<br />the grey turned green<br />like a wishful dream,<br />the cup of morning tea<br />held on to its heat,<br />winter was now asleep,<br />there bloomed my spring!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />the ink did not blot:<br />like witch’s blood it flowed<br />until it touched the edge<br />of my notebook’s page.<br />I tried to restrict it,<br />the notebook:<br />did I fold it.<br />alas!<br />motivated like a soldier it moved,<br />no sword dared to halt the pen’s truth!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />where were we?<br />between winter and spring, yes,<br />when the world grew daunting:<br />the cuckoos grew tired of singing,<br />and the crows of cawing,<br />big vessels were sinking…<br />I have waited since then<br />to bleed some ink on my page,<br />to cure some rust on my sword,<br />to trap some love in my summer breath!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-84088271065534202672020-10-01T09:28:00.003-07:002020-10-01T09:28:17.318-07:00ABSOLVED<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjuqKXSnFz4oryddvlE_OGWNMzb_gCu32JotWT18RS8nIWqhJrP9JgU4YH3KzclzdOJ5QkLzr7GZS7D97SGpjnR1K-j0pbZJ9j3PgsRaMHdWF1bUqO1V0NE6y0Is_wlceM8FOPBvHStUZG/s1280/absolved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="1280" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjuqKXSnFz4oryddvlE_OGWNMzb_gCu32JotWT18RS8nIWqhJrP9JgU4YH3KzclzdOJ5QkLzr7GZS7D97SGpjnR1K-j0pbZJ9j3PgsRaMHdWF1bUqO1V0NE6y0Is_wlceM8FOPBvHStUZG/w400-h226/absolved.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">symbiosis.</div><div style="text-align: left;">I long for cures<br />of griefs,<br />and my dreams<br />feed on me<br />like fungi.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />dreams relax me<br />luring me into lulls,<br />then jerk me off<br />with sharp thrills,<br />burning pleasure<br />so earned<br />in the first<br />few minutes.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />it is dawn.<br />always.<br />am I haunted?<br />by dreams?<br />or by myself,<br />the multiple me's<br />absolved of fears<br />fuelled by courage.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Am I absolved<br />of my crimes<br />committed in<br />my dreams?<br />or do I need<br />to kill again<br />those good ones<br />who as<br />ghosts<br />strangle my lulls?<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">...I can only fear!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-75031534106534667212020-10-01T00:13:00.006-07:002020-10-01T00:14:40.742-07:00COFFEE NIGHTS<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgawXbwTNN0LPnzo7u10ktbfWYKg2QhzqTSJHuft5NYxHEqR0qhBqc95r1em6d-54UfzK03D3pnXbyvBc7skvRJN5KCH9vfFaeDwLZu50lZmKgxGYWrjt4VLEszHYA_ZKDfO9NQA0qdNFIw/s1280/coffeenights.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgawXbwTNN0LPnzo7u10ktbfWYKg2QhzqTSJHuft5NYxHEqR0qhBqc95r1em6d-54UfzK03D3pnXbyvBc7skvRJN5KCH9vfFaeDwLZu50lZmKgxGYWrjt4VLEszHYA_ZKDfO9NQA0qdNFIw/w400-h266/coffeenights.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">[<i>This is one form of 'variable line poetry' where the number of words in a line equals to the line-number.</i>]</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">serenity<br />lies untouched,<br />tense metaphors exist<br />life's blurred monotony amidst-<br />I miss our coffee nights,<br />cuddles in the arms of darkness,<br />gulps of dark beverage soothing our heartbeats<br />and the night could agree no more then<br />to conspire love between us, O' sweet summer airs-<br />the airs visit tonight to soothe bonds of the past.<br />Will you arrive tonight to share the night and coffee cups?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-33177695256754723772020-09-27T10:53:00.002-07:002020-09-27T10:53:19.273-07:00WINTER LOVE<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rgiJB108lYhtspMWpvJFVXrjHY3MsrZPXL-h6KF_afB-KNZ5lfloImMhOIE5FS1Xhf0ojAjUPXm-K2MUU-1TxoaFVYKymQe_7AWNbhNDn4YkiLQotF5E47eQQASNr0cUBgyoxuVnM6Dl/s1280/winter+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="626" data-original-width="1280" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rgiJB108lYhtspMWpvJFVXrjHY3MsrZPXL-h6KF_afB-KNZ5lfloImMhOIE5FS1Xhf0ojAjUPXm-K2MUU-1TxoaFVYKymQe_7AWNbhNDn4YkiLQotF5E47eQQASNr0cUBgyoxuVnM6Dl/w400-h195/winter+love.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">despite window shields<br />the cold air gushed in<br />the heater helped not much,<br />tinned roofs gave way much!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />she brought a blanket old,<br />the warmest in their cupboard<br />covered both in warmth of it<br />reminiscing love, winter memories!</span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-50336501321346869282020-09-23T11:03:00.003-07:002020-09-23T11:03:10.256-07:00WHEN WE MET<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEvy8BtF2LUYPrhqhrsgwaYMoOgBvAtI6Ct9mMJw8Fw0Zzsqt6r0xPFNLvGwpX0oh4x9mvdEug1EPdVN88ht2Uqe-PQtU1jqfeI6LDv6OI90-5NM2t-ZcqLGFWxqW1ufKaiLaBQ_HyzJ8/s1280/when+we+met.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsEvy8BtF2LUYPrhqhrsgwaYMoOgBvAtI6Ct9mMJw8Fw0Zzsqt6r0xPFNLvGwpX0oh4x9mvdEug1EPdVN88ht2Uqe-PQtU1jqfeI6LDv6OI90-5NM2t-ZcqLGFWxqW1ufKaiLaBQ_HyzJ8/w400-h266/when+we+met.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">the dusk brewed silent joys<br />destiny played its sweet ploys<br />that's when we met years ten back:<br />it was the book fair twenty eighth!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />weren't you dressed in pure white?<br />I dragged along my college smiles<br />to meet you at the forty first store,<br />the one beside the granny's folklore!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />the store was big and no thing to speak<br />I would buy you a book to read<br />who knew they kept books on pregnancy<br />I was stupid to call you there hastily!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />both laughed as we decided out<br />laughter formed our first start<br />the date was too 'academic', you say<br />I can agree not even today!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />cherish I, those days we met<br />split food bills, beneath trees we ate<br />glass-cased restaurants are boring now<br />when's the next fair...we shall re-take vows!</div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-80902612102938666282020-09-22T08:45:00.002-07:002020-09-22T08:45:40.557-07:00THE SILENT PEACOCK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRL2lMlPe_dQhwgf6o4-qx67XXhW6iPPk1r0ndMKvdA3LUb2OiYYyoXEtIimchUiGPIGkEN8Oqvqvn5if79rIvsHp7te6GdQhRN96tjtDVPguX0I_ZW4-jVDNgjitGWG5vNUHPxiSbxufc/s1280/peacock-3098451_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="808" data-original-width="1280" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRL2lMlPe_dQhwgf6o4-qx67XXhW6iPPk1r0ndMKvdA3LUb2OiYYyoXEtIimchUiGPIGkEN8Oqvqvn5if79rIvsHp7te6GdQhRN96tjtDVPguX0I_ZW4-jVDNgjitGWG5vNUHPxiSbxufc/w400-h253/peacock-3098451_1280.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">[<i>dedicated to the peacocks of Rajasthan, India</i>]</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">winds from the western sands<br />brought yellow, burnt smells,<br />it was where the sun sank<br />the nights were little winter stays!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />a peahen looked dull and grey,<br />strolled like a lazy lad,<br />a peacock had to watch and wait</div><div style="text-align: left;">to break silence of the mating day!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />the winds troubled his handsome flight<br />must he swoop down or gently fly?<br />just then, another danced, rainbow wild,<br />the chance's gone...silence was his crime!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /></div><br />Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-37628108192730693872020-09-22T08:38:00.001-07:002020-09-22T08:38:08.301-07:00IN THE LAP OF THE NIGHT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gVOmMxErhmJTVIn8UQIcnpH1laBuQuY991HXnGwQIhTVKUziO8-rwvp4GOlnzhsv9Sven2A1VD1WRksC0XHghTXt4TbCZ7_2XzXHpD6wNqp3GWRWcfXxjw1wkgb6Br-ocdQJ3OF_kGz6/s1280/in+the+lap+of+the+night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gVOmMxErhmJTVIn8UQIcnpH1laBuQuY991HXnGwQIhTVKUziO8-rwvp4GOlnzhsv9Sven2A1VD1WRksC0XHghTXt4TbCZ7_2XzXHpD6wNqp3GWRWcfXxjw1wkgb6Br-ocdQJ3OF_kGz6/w400-h266/in+the+lap+of+the+night.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />the night conspires<br />to create silence<br />it could use the breeze<br />to excite young lovers<br />it could use the stars<br />to get praised in love<br />yet, they get trapped<br />in its apparent truth,<br />live their love in dark,<br />dark of the night itself,<br />dark of its lies' web<br />crafted through legacy<br />to seek false glory...<br />the night aspires to<br />rule the world of love<br />maneuvering the young<br />to sing for its beauty<br />to sleep under stars<br />in the lap of the night!</span>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-19107076786415613052020-09-16T13:06:00.006-07:002020-09-23T11:03:42.116-07:00 THE BANGLE MAKER<p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ZdH0yScueNAJiJf9VnYyGn2MiYoqzalx-16n7k0mZ8W2OBAfKXkAzU-6QJE7i4IwGJf6LT1dlIgb6c1fv4RWCuzWVCrnTUj4aLBloT_bJeVfDxu_RgF_pn7u1Vdjk5x91x6mrCNEX4e_/w400-h266/THE+BANGLE+MAKER.jpg" style="text-align: left;" width="400" /></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rambabu was the only bangle maker in the village, and undoubtedly the best. Ever</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">y home in Pidiri had at lea</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">st one of Rambabu's bangles, right from the Pidiri headman's to the blacksmith's. Rambabu's bangles brought people from the city too. No festival was complete without Rambabu's stall on the village playground. No one could make the conch-shell studded bangles better than him. People say his apprentices have spread far in the world, some across the seas and rivers.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rambabu kept a silent profile. He would start his work at 10 in the morning and close at 6 in the evening just before the prayers. He never missed the prayer at the temple beside his home. As of now, he had one apprentice, Shamlal, a boy of 19, who was getting well with the work. He was working hard for the annual Pidiri festival where he would sit at Rambabu's stall if he produced the best, as promised by his master. Rambabu had a unique style of bidding farewell to his subordinates. He had always wanted his boys to go out and make their names. "The knowledge must live", he would often say with a smile.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The village festival started, and Shamlal was happy. The week long event was refreshing for the folks who were mostly farmers and poultry men. The night's stage act was always entertaining and the village never slept during those days. Shamlal sold 200 bangles on the first day, and this made him feel elated. He could feel the freedom of creation which Rambabu would speak of during their lessons.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shamlal went with twice the enthusiasm on the second day of the event. He started well and sold 50 bangles in the first two hours. But in this world of impure intentions and evil minds, happiness seldom lives long! Who knew that night would change Shamlal's destiny forever!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As Shamlal was selling his bangles, a visitor arrived. A man in his 40s perhaps, well-suited and accompanied by a younger friend, started looking at his bangles. The man smoked a lot, and Shamlal could sense the city-smell in him.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"How may I help you?" said Shamlal.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The man replied not, but kept on looking at the bangles. His friend touched them, and seemed to check and whispered in his ears.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"How much?" spoke the friend. He appeared to be the man's employee given the authority to represent.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Sir, we have these of varying prices, right from..."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"How much for all of them?" the man spoke this time, and interrupted Shamlal rudely!</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Sir, I mean...did you say..I mean, all of these?" said a surprised Shamlal.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Yes, everything in this shop, including you and your master. Rambabu, isn't it?" The visitor's questions sent a warning of threat to Shamlal, and he couldn't think of anything. Did he just offer to buy their services or the persons...like slaves...or... Shamlal was terribly confused and knew not the plan of action he must take. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Sir, I won't be able to answer that. I will have to speak to my master."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Speak to that old man. We meet here tomorrow at the same time. Remember my question: how much for the shop and you men?"</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The two persons left, and Shamlal gulped down nearly two bottles of water. He was never terrified in his life this way. He closed his stall early, and ran to meet his master.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rambabu was sitting peacefully on the verandah in an armchair. He seemed to enjoy the breeze and the classics playing on his little radio. Shamlal did not know how to start.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Shamlal, done with today's sales early? Must have been a quick wrap-up, won't you say? You are doing good", said the master.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Babu, the sales are good but I had to close it for the day. There is a problem."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"What problem, Sham? You, alright? You look worried. Speak up. Pull that chair."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Yes, Babu...today just a few minutes ago, I had a visitor at my stall. I have never seen that man before. He wore a suit and was offering to buy everything in the stall."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"This is good, Sham. He liked your works. What makes you worried then?"</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"That's not all. He wants to buy the bangles and me and ...you too."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Rambabu did not speak for a while.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"What do you think, Shamlal? Should we?"</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Babu!!!" Shamlal did not expect a question as this.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Yes, speak. Must we not expand our work and take it to the cities? Everyone needs better clothes and a scooter. The city has better roads and schools. I wish to listen from you, Shamlal."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shamlal did not know what to speak.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Speak up, Shamlal. There is nothing right and wrong here."</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Babu, I respect you a lot. I have learned immensely from you. You are a great master. Your skills are beyond any weight of gold. I have always slept peacefully after work, just because I have never done anything wrong. It is okay to have smaller dreams. These cities, the flamboyance and all the good stuff are good but they are not what we have worked for. We have worked for joy. If we need to settle in those skyscrapers, let our minds decide that, not anyone who barges into our pride and offers a coin. It is joy that has made you a hero in the eyes of everyone who have learned under you. I shall not take this deal if I were you!"</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">There was silence. Rambabu smiled, sipped some water from his old glass, and said, "Then you have become me, Shamlal. You are ready to take the world. That visitor was my apprentice ten years back. His name is Shaanchand. Today he is a big man in the city. Every year, he visits me during the festival and take the final tests on my behalf. Otherwise, why would you think I shall be absent from the biggest fest of the vllage?" Rambabu broke into a wind of laughter. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Shamlal was still shocked. He felt the utmost pleasure in winning the smiles and pride of his master.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">He spoke: "Thank you, Babu. I shall always remember this! You are my hero!"</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-19449551594542304752020-09-16T00:30:00.002-07:002020-09-22T08:32:39.804-07:00BORN<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-EPAgdZ8EtnPim8-Ji-IGC3EfTF4l3lMNkmHiwokGVHYGwbFM-h9R0EDiWGjUM0kReE2Gd67OGijsH5hMxUDJmA_2yW0nO81c1XLvb6IXeggp4sUde91JgwWDhe5OWL9HIleglo_wfMH/s1280/BORN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="722" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-EPAgdZ8EtnPim8-Ji-IGC3EfTF4l3lMNkmHiwokGVHYGwbFM-h9R0EDiWGjUM0kReE2Gd67OGijsH5hMxUDJmA_2yW0nO81c1XLvb6IXeggp4sUde91JgwWDhe5OWL9HIleglo_wfMH/s320/BORN.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like a sunrise born,<br />warmth pierced through <br />the air that held the cold,<br />fell upon a heart<br />and turned it gold.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />The river envied<br />the droplets of dew,<br />silent yet precious,<br />attracts more than a few!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br />I walked barefoot<br />to embrace the sunrise:<br />like a sunrise born,<br />'twas love that pierced through!</span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-67660846645416294492020-09-16T00:25:00.009-07:002020-09-22T08:32:47.243-07:00WITHERED, BUT LOVED<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOMIYLydEWcN2X64k5JEoMwg-nKn0rCJjezi-3uGM0eYIyTiEx8HyxmL1g5qho2C7UZ5KMmgzQ_wbBS9L5tK2vLGfiEpNEqgQYKhUvc8iTpmTaRREjWJqNmQneTkWrTSkhE85qM1_J8rs/s1280/withered+but+loved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="929" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOMIYLydEWcN2X64k5JEoMwg-nKn0rCJjezi-3uGM0eYIyTiEx8HyxmL1g5qho2C7UZ5KMmgzQ_wbBS9L5tK2vLGfiEpNEqgQYKhUvc8iTpmTaRREjWJqNmQneTkWrTSkhE85qM1_J8rs/s320/withered+but+loved.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Grey, dull and bitter<br />the winter's here:<br />illness and griefs,<br />roses wither,<br />yellow is old<br />but old is our love<br />like the winter indeed,<br />bright, loving and sweet,<br />and we are warm still.<br />We shall live this,<br />griefs shall inspire;<br />withered roses <br />shall bring poems,<br />yellow shall warm us-<br />we shall grow old together<br />...<br />it is just another winter<br />we are for many summers<br />for each other...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-22270875753675050702020-09-15T13:03:00.002-07:002020-09-15T13:09:22.165-07:00THE POET'S DEATH<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you weigh yourself against my ink,<br /> you would still not weigh more,<br />your soul would, though,<br /> full of grief and torment, <br /> silently held!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Is Death more poetic than a poet?<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Always painful or quick:<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> binary like a man's mind?<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">I can compose lies and make them truth,<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> make them epics...<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> you shall cry<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> for wars which never prevailed,<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> and yet, learn lessons<br /></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> of choices and Death,</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> real, co-existing, true!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I cannot wait for another day!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> time is a lie</span><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> like a flirting poet,</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> always better at youth,</span><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> unpleasant when old!</span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span>Time to leave my ink behind!</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> I take my soul</span><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> to prove how poetic I am!</span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Does the world on that side prevail?</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Are there rebellion poets?</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> Are there poetry fests?</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> I love the pancakes!</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span>Will Death listen to my sonnets?</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span>Ah! Wait! </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>He is binary, isn't it?</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Why does it sound poetic to me? </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Ugh!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div>Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-10236790009328830162020-07-08T04:07:00.001-07:002020-07-08T04:47:05.037-07:00BEYOND<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyphenhyphenwwNT5oDqdc5XXQ12h0S8tGLEhO4z0vQZrwcM2zj0n4kYHzPu1cYap40zoMlK5ICdMbUX0PShkq2Xm7FxMj_SXCnQUZLrKZQ6u6-LlWi1PFlL0rpT33BxL5rtqgIk1gR8sRdjnum5iwj/s1600/BEYOND.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyphenhyphenwwNT5oDqdc5XXQ12h0S8tGLEhO4z0vQZrwcM2zj0n4kYHzPu1cYap40zoMlK5ICdMbUX0PShkq2Xm7FxMj_SXCnQUZLrKZQ6u6-LlWi1PFlL0rpT33BxL5rtqgIk1gR8sRdjnum5iwj/s320/BEYOND.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">None dared to walk past</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">the past guarded by trust:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">beliefs might crumble fast,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">emotions lost in petty wars.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Who shall rise beyond ego</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">to clear the old white dust?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The horizon seemed near.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I hurried but the sunrise was far!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Illusive, like a mirage it stayed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The closer I moved, the farther it went!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I lost handful of my life's faith</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">beyond stupidity of chasing old fame!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">How do you measure passion?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No, not love...I mean... passion!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Quantify your compromises,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">your lust for all worth... worthless?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Or spend your sleep</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">in the arms of your dreams... dreams</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">waiting to get stripped</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">by the society that gifted you these?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Your destination isn't your destiny.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>You are bonded by the evil weak.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Walk beyond your confusions</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>into the strengths of your soul</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>as you had run into the horizon</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>to catch the elusive sunrise old.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>You are not to be enslaved</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>by what must command you not.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>You must rise beyond your grave</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>into goodness the world has not got!</i></span><br />
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-4009007807182629902020-07-05T08:05:00.000-07:002020-07-08T23:52:35.439-07:00TINY, ABSURD THINGS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ll3CI4sLP8lU8z_uqPU7PHYSyQOWROd28QvpFGOTQ4y01K_ubrOcNFGRWhPY9sZyaJQjHNbyaGxs4VZtEnQWrnExKBRozoMWFPxizTviOkIl47eINe7NotOqJuxyReTPnYHW5S3JYBKR/s1600/tinyabsurdthings.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1270" data-original-width="1280" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Ll3CI4sLP8lU8z_uqPU7PHYSyQOWROd28QvpFGOTQ4y01K_ubrOcNFGRWhPY9sZyaJQjHNbyaGxs4VZtEnQWrnExKBRozoMWFPxizTviOkIl47eINe7NotOqJuxyReTPnYHW5S3JYBKR/s320/tinyabsurdthings.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">[<b>You got to read the entire post to conclude.</b>]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I am a contented man. All my life, I have learnt to stay satisfied with everything I have. I am like the Master Shifu of KungFu Panda. I do not envy others, and that's why I consider the act of judging others' achievements too demeaning. In fact, people who are quite nosy in others' stuffs are the ones who do not attain peace in their entire lives!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Having said that, can anyone tell me why the Sharmas are spending excessively on painting their roof? I did ask Gamblu, their watchman, while the Sharmas were out for groceries, but he did not utter a word, despite my promise of offering a pack of Shillong tobacco. How stubborn people are! How ignorant, perhaps! Well, never mind! I will ask Compounder Brajen about it. He is a man of genuine knowledge of everything (<i>except his work: last time, he injected distilled water into Mrs. Shambhu for curing her fear of tetanus</i>). However, that does not matter, of course. I am going to discuss nothing technical with him! See, you need to treat everyone equally and must not be judgmental in any sense. One thing which I must mention is that Compounder Brajen is probably a miser, because he spends little on his scooter. I am, however, not much sure of it, and it is only an intuition.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Being a contented human being, I have never bargained with the shopkeepers at the cloth-shops. I usually have my wife doing that, and I am contented with the art she possesses. Now, not being judgmental and praising your wife at the same time is a difficult task, and I believe, not all men can pull off such an extraordinary feat. Only contented men like me (<i>every husband shall agree</i>) have the ability to survive such difficult times with a peace of mind...just like forever meditating ninjas! Wait...not forever...now-and-then meditating ninjas!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The art of maintaining social relationships without fuss requires high emotional quotient. Looking into the reputation I hold in my society of being a gentle individual (<i>ignore the 3 fights with the Sharmas, 2 violent conflicts with the Kalitas and 5 rants with the grocery guy, Harish</i>), I must be declared a personality of social peace. That is what contentment is!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It is truly disgusting to watch parents not teaching their kids their mother tongues. I have never stopped my kids from learning their mother tongue. It is a different thing that I have not told them anything about learning it. But, if you cannot cause a good thing happening, you must not stop it. That is the lesson of life I have acquired. I gave them opportunities to learn the language from the television channels and the compulsory school textbooks. Unfortunately, they are not in favor of watching those channels and have scored in 40s (/100) in those subjects. See, you can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink. I did drag the horses to the lakeside, but I cannot contribute to their drinking from the lake of mother-tongue knowledge unless they wish to. Anyway, I am paying for the channels and their tuition!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">See, I have high regards for writers. I often scribble creative things in my leisure. For example, you will be surprised to know that I am credited for inventing the way of writing shorthand for monthly grocery list. This way, the people around me do not get any clue of what I am buying for the month. (<i>Sometimes, I also cannot figure out. I have to call my wife then. But that is the level of intelligent non-AI encryption, you see</i>.) Another advantage is that you can use minimum space of paper. I am a follower of the <i>Save Trees</i> <i>Campaign</i>. But, recently, my son showed me that I can save more by typing on my mobile phone. However, I am a follower of <i>No Foreign Technology Campaign</i> and I cannot violate that. A twig of a tree is better than funding foreign agencies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Anyway, if I go on, you will not be able to accommodate the goodness I have in me. What if you start envying me? And I love short pieces of writing, as I have already told. Although I love writers, I hate those who put up large posts on social media, dragging on old folk tales and clubbing them with historical stuffs/ bluffs. I am a follower of <i>Superb Fans of Dan Brown</i> social media page, though!</span><br />
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-17526793716263371932020-06-19T07:05:00.000-07:002020-06-19T07:09:14.079-07:00THE SERIOUSLY AMAZING PUNDIT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Often</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No...no...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>Many a time</i>, </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">from my negligible list of blog followers, I receive a very interesting question: Why is it that you aggressively blog for a month and then remain dormant for another? Do you search for motivation?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yes... and no. Yes, because, the inner drive to write down a blog post requires some motivation for logging in and typing. No, because my world is full of stories. I do not have a photographic memory but, I have words...lots of words which are not <i>Tharoor</i>-ish, of course, but they can carry meanings for everyone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Saying this, I can recall an incident of a pundit whom I had met at my previous place of residence, and developed a non-religious friendship with him. Yes, non-religious, because we talked of everything but religion. He would speak of humorous stories of his village where a person was named 'Patang' at his birth because his parents loved Kaka (Rajesh Khanna). A man named 'Aamram' went to sell mangoes to the daily market, and found a pot of gold coins near his mango trees. There was a beautiful lady who would visit his village during Ram Navami and play the role of 'Sita', and leave. She would not talk much to people. Later, after 3 years or so, people found out that the lady was actually a boy who was doing this to support his family of ailing father and three sisters. Often his stories were unreal, which he would reveal at the end of the tale. But, all of them had a taste of Indian-ness which can make any scriptwriter go gaga over them. All the while, it would seem real to me. I tried to delve into this man's level of intelligence. He could develop a story with such minute and realistic details that anyone would believe it to be true. I would tease him to write these stories and get them published. He would say that there was no higher form of peace than speaking the stories to friends and laugh together. It was like instant audience feedback, free from expectations and bias, he would say. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My pundit had a habit of clapping his hands when excited. The temple would echo with his claps and our sounds of laughter. Often, he talked of the lands which he had traveled in his life, how frauds through the language of 'gods' cheated the illiterates and the poor. He said that he was once approached by a gang of so-called 'baba's to join them and earn by cheating people. He refused, and left that place because it was turning into a mess.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He cooked the best <i>halwa</i>. On fourth Sunday of every month, he would cook <i>gajar ka</i> <i>halwa</i>, and we would have them together in the evening at around eight o'clock. On asking where he had learnt the recipe, he would say, "Let some things remain secrets. Otherwise, people will say that I am not an interesting person. You focus on eating, and do not try to be an archaeologist now." Saying this, we would laugh heartily. I mean, the way he spoke, there was a flavor of sweet humor, and that is what I have preserved for my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Pundit Ji was an amazing person. I remember the way he sat on the third or fourth step of the temple, and spoke stories with a glow on his face. Often I would wait for the day to end so that I could know another story from him. I didn't have frustrating days back then, because anything discouraging was neutralized by the old man's tales. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The art of Pundit Ji bringing together different stories of life makes me wonder how the interpretation of intelligence is limited to professions. Intelligence is beyond professional excellence and smart tricks. Although these may define a bit of it, yet it is not exhaustive. It may exist in the minutest of a man's behavior and art. For me, the pundit was intelligent because he looked into life in the simplest manner. He built simple rules for himself, and one prime rule: never hurt anyone in any way. That was the biggest lesson for me.</span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>And, just as he would want it, everything I have written in this blog post is not true. There was no Pundit Ji. But there are people who can sum up to become one!</i></span></div>
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-4225990262001899652020-05-22T12:02:00.000-07:002020-05-22T12:15:23.379-07:00SCRAMBLE-GAMBLE: the WhatsApp Game<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I have seen and learnt that desperate times need desperate measures. However, desperate times also bring some good sidekick innovations with them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The world is utterly distressed, and a bit afraid of the curses of the CoVID-19 pandemic. Humankind was not prepared for this kind of unseen micro-scale enemy, we must agree. The world is fighting against this disaster together, while lockdown and curfew rules remain to be imposed subjected to various amendments as per the regions or countries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">People have lost physical contact but the virtual world has brought them together. Families are gathering on social media and conference calls. Reunions are happening, and I bet they are as memorable as ever. This post is a short one on one such re-union where 're' stands for 'repeated' because the individuals involved were never far and had met often before the pandemic struck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know that during this lockdown, all of us, you, me and others have become serious members of different social media groups, WhatsApp being one and the most common among them. Right from 'Class of 2012 (or ____)', 'Humans of Neighbourhood', 'The Musical Attorneys', 'Go For Grocery', 'Office Work-From-Home Association', 'CoVID Avengers', 'Lockdown Pros', 'Lockdown Foodies' to 'Cousins', 'Family', 'Family Except Egoistic Maria', 'Only Husbands', 'Only Wives', 'Kitty Party' and others, we are spending some useful/ useless time on these groups. The 'Good Morning' messages which we had hated earlier, are now our alarms. The insults and leg-pulls are now our pastimes. While people are doing wonderful comical videos, some are recording serious narrations with fewer views. Everyone is having a taste of their self-created <i>karma</i> (...not that right, I guess!).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One of my maternal cousins came up with the idea of creating a WhatsApp group to celebrate online birthdays of some of us, which, unfortunately fell during this lockdown. We call it the 'Goswami Service'. Now, we are a healthy group of of five, ranging from 30 down to 15/16. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sorry...I mean the ages. Smile!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, we started with celebrating birthdays of one of us, and after throwing GIFs of cakes and thank you's, and sighing on the misfortune of staying indoors and having China as our neighbour, we realized that we had nothing much to do regularly. So, we started creating topics of discussion like favourite songs, five favourite films, favourite foods and stuffs like these. But, we felt these were non-recurring events: one message was enough to cover the topic. These helped us realize that honesty can be best practised during idleness. Choosing a favourite from a pile of endless favourites is the most difficult task: we realized this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then we invented one of the most interesting games, the SCRAMBLE-GAMBLE. The game is not new. You have all seen 10-13 jumbled words forwarded as a message on WhatsApp. What we did was polished the message, and turned it into an interactive game. The rules were pretty simple.</span></div>
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<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">One person shall post a jumbled word in English, and a valid hint. The others shall try to post the correct answer.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">No scientific names were allowed. Anyway, they would be in Latin.</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">We were a bit speculative of the implementation of the game. But, we decided to give it a try. We started, and it became a blockbuster exercise for the mind. We are learning new words now. Plus, the younger ones are somehow getting prepared for aptitude tests in a way or the other. We started the game to engage ourselves, but, now the game engages us, and relieves us of the stress.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A few snapshots of the game are shown here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Example 1:</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V5qHQGSOcLxDDgr5shrr7oXgXXDoVdKIFmH8ElpcAF3egsxJINHyr1huNOwQaU-PpuT632idH9WM4OFa_q9TdQ8_i3zoEJlIVUoLiSZaZiv9lbFIphZdwtNSLz_i6AzwwjTraJ8rnOsg/s1600/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="82" data-original-width="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3V5qHQGSOcLxDDgr5shrr7oXgXXDoVdKIFmH8ElpcAF3egsxJINHyr1huNOwQaU-PpuT632idH9WM4OFa_q9TdQ8_i3zoEJlIVUoLiSZaZiv9lbFIphZdwtNSLz_i6AzwwjTraJ8rnOsg/s1600/1.png" /></span></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91c2MYNiJ6PoyDV0hG-RjF7dnUZQqlPzGx9ktLks588gfvScpgAt64g3fHko4AxHWVfhtwcmw6I6BzaexIDgP3C2CiK6iLHUZb3tP3ObjtUvtFCbLJ5fk-AtaanInN3VEKsqDMG2a-sjz/s1600/1A.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="59" data-original-width="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh91c2MYNiJ6PoyDV0hG-RjF7dnUZQqlPzGx9ktLks588gfvScpgAt64g3fHko4AxHWVfhtwcmw6I6BzaexIDgP3C2CiK6iLHUZb3tP3ObjtUvtFCbLJ5fk-AtaanInN3VEKsqDMG2a-sjz/s1600/1A.png" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Example 2:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8nbz5RtIZmCJt30mbsXyceEejyqG0pzwbR_0Al7qw75sV9fLvCRClMjK6Zsdhp76SYQhoqv0W9JB4v7Vgq3tPxTfAgzoe1EE7cXUzp4IEV_ByFU5ghvJ6VIIoFe6QDmUbROjQ8fcbrVo/s1600/2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="96" data-original-width="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib8nbz5RtIZmCJt30mbsXyceEejyqG0pzwbR_0Al7qw75sV9fLvCRClMjK6Zsdhp76SYQhoqv0W9JB4v7Vgq3tPxTfAgzoe1EE7cXUzp4IEV_ByFU5ghvJ6VIIoFe6QDmUbROjQ8fcbrVo/s1600/2.png" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjceCyOdRfwTHLW9QbnyYbf6Tw-yfhPB-xecg9mI3S9J-2SehDF6BqCn1ywTJqJXN8HcDWL9tEZt08N3pWEncUHB-rp-_-L2I1eEGLV2m_vGitOcdb4ctEq-HVYxgn4ZXBCZO65-qetRhPk/s1600/2A.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="40" data-original-width="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjceCyOdRfwTHLW9QbnyYbf6Tw-yfhPB-xecg9mI3S9J-2SehDF6BqCn1ywTJqJXN8HcDWL9tEZt08N3pWEncUHB-rp-_-L2I1eEGLV2m_vGitOcdb4ctEq-HVYxgn4ZXBCZO65-qetRhPk/s1600/2A.png" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<b style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Example 3:</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVNfGEyA7iBC_wRNN8hlYndjB7zLAksGhlKGWdirEeLq0dEX-UNt1YbRReR6a0FJ96dwdgIM54AhP68v1cCWCRgxfEh_eCkopVmC2frBZYep2LU1EG6q7SqWTenDfUwCCGHBqYYgq4nc8/s1600/3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="72" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifVNfGEyA7iBC_wRNN8hlYndjB7zLAksGhlKGWdirEeLq0dEX-UNt1YbRReR6a0FJ96dwdgIM54AhP68v1cCWCRgxfEh_eCkopVmC2frBZYep2LU1EG6q7SqWTenDfUwCCGHBqYYgq4nc8/s1600/3.png" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXV0JZToOb60We5QAvf_XXP6O4jmyHjNMRHJWheGWApvrrkfBEE9JL0DFWHrxwaqH7JV443NbwTV1ieOnvnCRMtMBeypfjdd85rur6zs_Q1jXdU0PEUG0VH2dHeGHIx4Dx4BzmYz3syqG/s1600/3A.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="61" data-original-width="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAXV0JZToOb60We5QAvf_XXP6O4jmyHjNMRHJWheGWApvrrkfBEE9JL0DFWHrxwaqH7JV443NbwTV1ieOnvnCRMtMBeypfjdd85rur6zs_Q1jXdU0PEUG0VH2dHeGHIx4Dx4BzmYz3syqG/s1600/3A.png" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The 'Goswami Service' thank you for reading this post, and urge you to try this game with your friends. We know you may feel somewhat offbeat to introduce it at the beginning, but, we tell you, if it can bring together individuals from diverse age groups, it can do wonders for your schoolbatch or office time-pass groups.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I dedicate this post to the members of the 'Goswami Service' for whom I stand (<i>just kidding</i>): Man-I, Man-II, Mun, Sum and Tri.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thank you, and stay safe!</span><br />
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-2903241784881674822020-04-22T12:41:00.001-07:002020-04-22T12:41:50.693-07:00THE AFTERNOON RAINS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMuONDKCa1hHGpye2PHgpoKQXPkgGzMKyNW8HKTwBSSEnwbma9wFDwWlbZcZsqFnjW3OrfizrNJZ2y2zL0XkobHTqzyXfaFsvqV98UrmffPaj05eXlHHycdsy-piUIwAOuyp89E7G3F8S/s1600/THE+AFTERNOON+RAINS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="201" data-original-width="640" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYMuONDKCa1hHGpye2PHgpoKQXPkgGzMKyNW8HKTwBSSEnwbma9wFDwWlbZcZsqFnjW3OrfizrNJZ2y2zL0XkobHTqzyXfaFsvqV98UrmffPaj05eXlHHycdsy-piUIwAOuyp89E7G3F8S/s400/THE+AFTERNOON+RAINS.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Solace is a kind word</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in a gruesome world,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">surrounded by wounds</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of forgetful truths,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">besieged with guilt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of vice and filth!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">How deceiving can life be!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All lies were covered in</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">one single coffin buried deep</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">in the mind's blurring sea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All I have done right</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">are the wrongs, I suppose:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I went in for many a fight,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I lost not, death was close!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cannot undo my deeds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In <i>karma</i> I place my beliefs!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first afternoon rains</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">clap for my claims:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the beats on the roofs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">like horses' matured hoofs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">urge me to lull into solace,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">a kind word I fear to face.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Death can be kind too,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">pay a visit without a clue,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I shall depart then without a fuss</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">if that's what kind <i>karma</i> wants!</span><br />
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-18177503806194214672020-04-20T09:14:00.002-07:002020-04-20T09:17:49.479-07:00HOPEFUL MOURNINGS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXgOw9Zni1TrFLAqo_5gOaXxDKOQAi69-6JIo5_KSOAxd_FIbrDPeXQuQEz_jJ96K3i64-z6z5Pll2Z5IlwocZO6eQaIVbapo99fayHHKauIJaYl9RGFF8HkHOiYj6SZVL0mIQseU5u4A/s1600/HOPEFUL+MOURNINGS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXXgOw9Zni1TrFLAqo_5gOaXxDKOQAi69-6JIo5_KSOAxd_FIbrDPeXQuQEz_jJ96K3i64-z6z5Pll2Z5IlwocZO6eQaIVbapo99fayHHKauIJaYl9RGFF8HkHOiYj6SZVL0mIQseU5u4A/s320/HOPEFUL+MOURNINGS.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />Dawn of hope<br />from the hilly slope<br />brought the skies,<br />blue, bright and white.<br /><br />Sunrays warm,<br />warmed her heart:<br />that filthy germ,<br />well, could not hurt!<br /><br />Doctors and pills<br />ate up her bills,<br />she borrowed breads<br />from the newly weds.<br /><br />Scarce milk,<br />no fried beans<br />and she screamed<br />like, in bad dreams.<br /><br />Was this fair?<br />Death in the air,<br />life smelt rare:<br />all grief and fear.<br /><br />Deceptive time<br />shows its might-<br />only a month,<br />all crushed and burnt!</span><br />
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-23991599476511897342020-04-18T23:15:00.000-07:002020-04-18T23:16:41.906-07:00WARCRY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzvqS1wHnmq6i1EymHeFkSQZqxBO3V06z0NXs73zXYunml4V0Ack-DCFAWlQNForm5ROyAJAj_QSrjOeNLICf4_cEx0m3xlehd6dP8Q72aNGqKPYCyR2fTJCGV2rBlFNcQa8XKM4vgEQ-/s1600/WARCRY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvzvqS1wHnmq6i1EymHeFkSQZqxBO3V06z0NXs73zXYunml4V0Ack-DCFAWlQNForm5ROyAJAj_QSrjOeNLICf4_cEx0m3xlehd6dP8Q72aNGqKPYCyR2fTJCGV2rBlFNcQa8XKM4vgEQ-/s320/WARCRY.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The war isn't mine,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">it is as old as the wine,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">old as the cuckoo's song:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Spring's back, see the morn.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Swords and shields,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">bows and javelins</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">fill my armory fast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Warcries and songs,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">big drums and horns</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">adorn my batallion vast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I chose this fight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I know what's right.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">History may turn old.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'll stay strong and bold.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I bear no fear,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">unto victory I steer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Death is but an illusion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This war is my salvation!</span><br />
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4381220136024320416.post-8313031789964057832020-04-17T05:37:00.002-07:002020-04-18T23:18:39.328-07:00TRUTH OF LIFE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAP9sPnh0mlP8F53i8l8tnIHOeBKYVQ7Fnb0OPqSD5AiB0oIWLYwmqDM57mlr9d_8DvFsgp67Gqr6Lqr2dnJGkLK5w-y7YQ0yUGcR0GggTGw1W5R1A-JVUTYcu_GTpftEi9QqgQ1cVVQT/s1600/TRUTH+OF+LIFE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="426" data-original-width="640" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUAP9sPnh0mlP8F53i8l8tnIHOeBKYVQ7Fnb0OPqSD5AiB0oIWLYwmqDM57mlr9d_8DvFsgp67Gqr6Lqr2dnJGkLK5w-y7YQ0yUGcR0GggTGw1W5R1A-JVUTYcu_GTpftEi9QqgQ1cVVQT/s320/TRUTH+OF+LIFE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Mishra Ji is the most popular priest in the colony, because he does rituals for the poor too. He doesn't accept a coin from them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That day, Mishra Ji's daughter, Rittika, was getting married. He was happy but his instants of joys were interrupted by impulses of sadness as he sat infront of his wife's photograph. He moved his fingers over the photo as if he could feel her, and tears rolled down his face. Rittika was not just his daughter, but, she was like a mother to him. From breakfasts to medicine, she took care of everything. Now, she is leaving, and Mishra Ji felt strange.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But he must tell her the truth now. He is already in his late sixties. God may send his messenger anytime soon. Anyway, he was contented with his life. He has got the best of joys, and a beautiful angel in Rittika. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But, how shall he approach her?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If she breaks down?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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If she never forgave him?<br />
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How will he live his remaining days with her anger?<br />
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It was his fear of letting her go that he did not disclose this to her.<br />
<br /></div>
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But this wasn't the time to think for himself. She deserved to know. Mishra Ji kept the photograph on the table. He was beginning to stand up when Rittika entered the room.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Papa, what are you doing here? My friends wish to greet you. And uncle has arrived. He looks superb!"<br />
<br /></div>
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Saying this, she heartily laughed. She was happy.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Beta", Mishra Ji uttered.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Yes, Papa. Are you feeling okay? Ah! Do not tell me you forgot the meds."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"No, Beta. I am fine. I need to tell you something."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Papa, I know. Every father speaks to his girl before the marriage. You've already told me those ideal advice. You worry so much."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Rittika's joys made things difficult for Mishra Ji. He simply smiled.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Ok. Let's go now. They are waiting." Rittika was in a hurry.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mishra Ji chose not to speak. But then...<br />
"Beta, listen to me once. It is important." insisted Mishra Ji with a voice of reluctance.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Rittika paused. This did not seem the usual talk.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Yes, Papa." She held his hands.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Beta, this is one thing I have been trying to tell you since long. But I hope today is the time to speak the truth to you. You deserve to know."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Yes, Papa."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Beta...you are not our biological daughter. You were adopted. But, I promise this adoption never came in the way of loving you more than my daughter. I know you must be..."Mishra Ji could not complete his words and broke down.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Papa," Rittika said in a calm tone,"I know that." And she smiled.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mishra Ji was shocked. He just looked at Rittika and spoke nothing.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Papa, Maa told me on her deathbed. She asked me to look after you and never to let you know that I know this."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mishra Ji listened.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"I have never felt anything different from being your daughter, Papa. In fact, I am fortunate to get someone like you and Mom. The adoption is only a piece of paper for me, nothing else. Your parenthood is more than anything I know. I love you both, and I am your daughter. There is no alternate truth in that."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mishra Ji felt like salvation. He felt proud of his little girl.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"So, now, Pundit Ji" Rittka said cheerfully, "You set aside these stupid thoughts because Ballu has already started stealing the ladoos from the kitchen. Aunt Misi is troubling the cooks for not putting extra flour in those bhatures, and I am going mad at Simpi for not bringing my earrings on time. You have a hell lot to catch up with."<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mishra Ji hugged his daughter.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
He adjusted his dhoti and shouted,"Ballu. I will lock you up in the store if you do not stop stealing."</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<br /></div>
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Notes (for non-native speakers): </div>
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1. ladoo: round Indian sweet made with various ingredients.</div>
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2. dhoti: a white piece of Indian wear for men, used to drape around the body down from waist to legs.</div>
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3. bhature: flour made round flat pieces, oil fried.<br />
<br />
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Rupam Goswamihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06323040326787514002noreply@blogger.com5