This time that year

City of joy. A lovable professor and an amazing collegue. Few very generous and hospitable students. Artists, poets, open air theater. Mishtir ke dokans (sweet shops). Puris and alu. Scrambled eggs. Breakfast of bread toast with butter. The holy ashram of Sri Ramakrishna. 15 minutes with Ma Sharada. A moment of silence with River Hooghly. A very old school. Sweets for lunch. That walk along Howrah bridge. Alipur zoo. More sweets. Victoria Memorial. Madusoodan Manch. Dinner with the Professor and his students. A box of sweets for home.
And…. a poem in gratitude…

Sweet Kolkata fills my soul
Fans my flame, my heart burns like coal
I have to write, I have to write
Without pausing for respite

Of bustling roads, rickshaws and trams
Sweetly puntuated with “mishtir ke dokans”
I have to write, I have to write
Without pausing for respite

Of her many sons, the British Raj feared
Countless stories Hooghly gently whispers
I have to write, I have to wite
Without pausing for respite

Of the city that inspired Tagore’s art
Ma Kali dancing in Paramahansa’s heart
I have to write, I have to write
Without pausing for respite

I have to write, I have to write
Without pausing for respite
Of a city of many wonderful things
For you, Kolkata, I spill my ink

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: