অন্য সুরে

আজকে হঠাত রৌদ্রের হরতাল
আজকেই তাই বৃষ্টির মেঘ্বেলা |
আজকের হাসি কান্নায় দেয় ডুব ,
মেঘে মেঘে আজ রামধনু করে খেলা -
আজকে সবুজ মন করে আনচান ,
আজকে মেঘে বৃষ্টির লুকোচুরি |
আজকে বাউল একতারাটা আন ,
আজকেই তবে ভোঁকাট্টা হোক ঘুড়ি |
আজকে আদর অভিমান দিক মুছে ,
চোখ থেকে চোখে অনাবিল নীরবতা ;
আজকে আকাশ কুয়াশার সাথে সাথে ,
মেঘ্মুলুকের স্বপ্ন মেদুরতা |
শিশিরের রঙে ছবি আঁকা হোক আজ ,
ছোট্ট নদীর ঝিলমিল প্যাস্টেল ,
সুরে সুরে আজ সৃষ্টিটা হোক শুরু ,
মেঘমল্লার বৃষ্টির ককটেল !

গান - নামচা

এক মিনি আর এক হুলোতে করছে রে প্লে ব্যাক,
ম্যাও ম্যাও ম্যাও মিঁয়াও মিঁয়াও বিল্লি মোরা দ্যাখ |
হুক্কা হুয়া শেয়াল ডাকে, ভুলো পেটায় ঢোল |
আরেক হুলো গিটার বাজায়, মস্ত সে শোরগোল |
তাইনা দেখে ব্যাং বাবাজি হলেন  ভীষণ খাপ্পা,
ঘুমের বারো বাজলো বলে তিনি ধরেন টপ্পা;
'চোপরাও সব ! বেসুর বেতাল ' বলেন মশক গিন্নি
গান টা তো আর  মশকরা নয় , হয়নাকো তা এমনি
 যেই না বলা  মশক দলে গাইল কাওয়ালী
পিন পিন পিন  হুল ফুটিয়ে চাইল মিতালি

টিঙ্কুরানী বেজায় চটে যেই মেরেছে থাপ্পর
বিল্লি, মশা কোথায় গেল? এ তো দেখি কাকভোর ,
নতুন সুরে গাইছে পাখি,  নতুন তারানা -
গানের আমি, গানের তুমি গান দিয়ে যায় চেনা |

|| ছন্দপতন ||

কখন যে ঝরেছে বকুল, মনের অগোচরে
শিউলি বোঝেনি তা , হলুদ বসন্তের
নিত্য আনাগোনা খিড়কির পথ ধরে ;
দুপুরের কার্নিসে বিকেল তবু আলোর বার্তা দেয় |
প্রেশার এর ট্যাবলেট খাও তো নিয়মিত?
ঘুম কে আসতে দিও ঘুমের মত করে
ওর উপরে ওষুধের অহেতুক জোর খাটিও না আর ;
আমি দিব্য আছি সাধের গিটার আর জিমির সাথে;
শুধু ট্রেন এর সহযাত্রী কে মাঝে মাঝে
বেভুল মনে বলি ফেলে আসা শহরের কথা
তখন  কৃষ্ণকলি মেঘ দেখে ছুট্টে পেরোয়
মাঠ, ঘাট, নদী - চরাচর ;
বৃষ্টি তো আসবেই অতিষ্ঠ তৃষ্ণার পর;
 চাইলেই কি গিটারে বাজানো যায়
সেতারের মেঘমল্লার ?  

|| জবানবন্দী ||

মানবীর কথা
তোমার খাতার লাল কার্পেটে সাধারণ মেয়ে হেঁটে যায়,
শরৎবাবুর যাদুকাঠি সম্বল করে  |
এখানে কন্টকাকীর্ণ পথে হেঁটে , কোনো যাদুকাঠি নয়,
আমাকে আপন ভাগ্য জয় করে নিতে হয়
তোমার মন্ত্রদীক্ষায় |
দেবী নয়, দাসী নয় -- হতে চাই অর্ধনারীশ্বর |
সেই হোক সমস্ত যুগের তপস্যার ফল --
আমাদের উত্তরসুরী চিত্রাঙ্গদা আর অর্জুনদের জন্য |
ধুলোর কথা
আমার বুকে জন্ম বলে তোরা ভাবিস,
জাতকের মনেও আছি আমি --
ওই যে দাড়িওলা লোকটার ছবিতে নিয়ম করে
২৫শে বৈশাখ আর ২২ শে শ্রাবণ এ যে মালা দিস তোরা ,
সে কি একবার বলেনি তোদের, যে ফুলের মালা গাঁথিস তোরা,
তারও জন্ম আমার বুকেই? শ্রাবনের মেঘ যদি চন্ডাল হয় ,
তার বুক থেকে ঝরে পরা বৃষ্টিও কি তোদের কাছে এমনই অস্পৃশ্য ?
যতটা আমি তোদের কাছে ? 

A knock

The problem of India is not the country but the majority of its country people. Majority of people always see that the glass is half empty, they never can say that the glass is half full as well. For example, French, the so called most intellectual nation of the world, are never ashamed for not knowing English. Its true that English is the International language. We should know that. But we, the majority of Indian people are so much of low self esteemed that we feel embarrassed/suffer from inferiority complex when surrounding people talk in English . We feel so much ashamed that some of us mix English while talking with even same provincial friend. Perhaps, 200 years of being ruled by English people left a permanent scar in our sub conscious mind that we think, not knowing English means we are inferior . I feel really ashamed when I see that the most of the sincere students are European but not a single Indian in the Sanskrit class, organised here free of cost. I quite doubt that Indian people do not attend the class because of knowing the language. Because, I know very well that how Sanskrit is going through the passage of oblivion in my country. If Indians were so much educated in Sanskrit it would never be the case. I was never that sincere like the students here, to know the most traditional language of the world and so left uneducated in my own traditional language. Consequently, I am becoming to know about our own 'Vimana-sastra' after watching the history channel's broadcast. Another recent example I remember about the movie 'Kahani'. People are talking a lot about taking the plot/copying from 'Taking lives'. I ask them how many of you know that the famous movie 'E.T' was made stealing the plot from the fiction story written by Satyajit Roy which he himself thought about making a movie based on his this story but somehow was not able to make it (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3Lr0uGgy_s). How many of you can guarantee that 'taking lives' was not copied from some French, Italian or Russian movie? You never appreciated the blend Sujoy Ghosh made in the movie which made it unique than 'taking lives' Do you remember the last scene of the movie where Vidya was getting lost in the crowd of red bordered white saree and was applied 'sindur' on her face following the tradition of 'sindurkhela' which is played only among the married(not widow) women? How many of you did realise that it was the symbolic style of the movie to express the pain of a woman who lost her love through that scene and as well as the escape of Vidya through that crowd beautifully represented the traditional background of Bengal? Those who are talking about the copy, I ask them, how many of you carefully listened to the last commentary made in the movie about the mythological background of Durgapuja and how it was blended with the plot of the movie? I think if we can talk about the copy we also can talk about these fine touches which made the movie unique. Why always the glass should be half empty for us?

Midnight's call

Biju looked into mirror while washing his hands in basin. Red water was swirling and seemed brighter with a white background. He switched the light off  for sleeping early to start another morning with arduous target practising. 'Arduous! is it?' Biju smiled and then.... 'Bijuda, please hold the spool tightly' saying this Sharmi started to run along green paddy field holding her big red kite. 'Bijuuuuuuu....help Bijuuuuuu.....' a 15 years old boy running after that scream, is now sweating in this early morning. Yet another morning ....

Sharmi was blowing the pipe to strengthen the fire of stove. 'Sharmi....run' screamed her father as the military troop was approaching towards their house. Sharmi, a 17 yrs old girl disappeared inside the forest. This is her daily routine. Sometimes running from military and sometimes from 'revolutionaries'. Sharmi knows what does the 'shelter' really mean proposed by 'revolutionaries'. She has seen Biju from distance apart with an AK47 in his hand. Biju at 11, when she was only five, decorated her tiny marriage hall for her daughter doll khuku. Biju, climbed the mango trees whenever she wanted to get one, climbed any tree to get her kite stuck in the branches, is now with an AK47. Sharmi's mother died when she was born. Her father is everything for her. The only thing Sharmi doesn't know is that where on this planet she can go with her father to get escape from running because of fear, where she can run with the joy of freedom.

Heerak set out for Madhupur from his village Kusumtali in early morning. Otherwise, he can't catch the morning market  there. Today he has to sell all his potteries. If not, lender will take away his last asset Malati's golden bangles for ever, which he has saved for years. When Malati died, gave those bangles to him as her blessing for their only daughter's marriage.  After 1 hour the train started, a big Boom and then everything was dark for the huge black smoke. 'Sharmi, Sharmi ma...where are you?' Heerak whispered and saw his hand with a piece of cloth of his shirt is lying inside the compartment few feet away from him and then silence gobbled him up. Malati is calling.

'Leave my mother, please '. Ten soldiers laughed at Biju and tied him with their big mango tree and next day morning doctor said his mother was dead. But in her death certificate she was dead because of a severe injury caused by a sudden fall of a big branch of a tree. No, 'gang rape' was not reported there. He left his home. 'Bijuda, where are you going?' Sharmi called him back. He didn't look back, didn't respond to his only living shelter. Biju went away, far away...

'The 'revolution' is possible when you make people dreaming about their hunger fulfilled. Its just a matter of some money and food and then the state is ours' the speaker told before their mission of Bombing the compartment of morning passenger train that leaves from Kusumtali at 4.30 a.m.

While returning home after recognising her sleeping father in Morgue Sharmi saw the reddish sky during sunset near the horizon of paddy field where she ran with her kite with Bijuda. It started to rain at night with big drops like the drop of tears from eyes of cloud. As it does with a recycle of evaporation of water  and rain just the way misery and violence follows each other.