Body

He told her , her body was a canvas

On which he would paint the world,

He would show her the beauty within her

And time would go blurred.

With promises of silky touches

Of soft kisses here and there,

Of making her gasp with pleasure

And try and take care.

She was a fool obviously

A lamb unable to see the wolf,

She realised the turth about the false promises

Once he left her with open wounds.

Her canvas of a body

Lay splattered with blue black marks,

Instead of showing her the promised inner beauty

He sent her angel to the world of dark.

Her cries of pleas were his pleasure

While the resistance fed his lust,

Forgetting how lust is one of the seven sins

She had given him her trust.

Promises of vain

Are just bait for the fools,

She realised this a little late

As she stared at the full moon.

She cried and cursed for HER foolishness

Cause the world would blame HER still,

After all she was the lamb unable to see the wolf

The wolf who would always be protected as  per nature’s unfair will.

©aatreyeesarkar2000

Home

Its that time of the year again. The time when the old year says goodbye and the new year knocks on your front door saying, “hey! I am finally here!”. And then, when the knowledge that another year has passed by hits you, you start realising all those things that you decided to do but could not. And so, everything becomes a total chaos. And for those of you who do have everything under control even at this time of the year, good job!

But its almost magical how the year goes by so fast. And somehow i feel, happy and sad and funny and histerical all together. Maybe that is what life is all about. Magic. I mean, if you think intently, birds flying, breeze blowing, rain falling, flowers blooming and something happening to everything around us is also magical.

The world is large, huge. And yet, its funny how every now and then we meet people who turn out to be someone or the other to us. See. Thats what i am talking about. Its all magic.

Maybe 1,2,3….or even 20 years later, when i am not home,  these things and small moments will tie me to my roots. Those winter mornings on the terrace where i sat enjoying the feel of the  sun on my skin as a teen, or those pleasant summer days on the roof of my home, which was my very first playground. Not to forget that mango tree behind my house which was a totally different arena of fun during summer breaks and maa used to get all prepped with a hook and bucket for mango plucking sessions. Only challenge was to not let the neighbours know about our activity. Then there were those nights of loadshedding which brought all 8-10 of us out of our house and we sat under the big tree infront of our home and talked about various little things that our busy schedules never allowed us to talk about. Those sudden mad moments when everyone dressed up and off we went to parade through the streets of park street during christmas, adorned with fluffy shawls and big colourful glasses and glittery caps. Now that is exactly what i call home. Cause years later, when the world will change evenmore than it already has, and people will move on with their lives, these little things like that yummy traditional ‘payesh’ on birthday and having tea together on sunday mornings will be the big and unbreakable chains of bonds that will bind us, me, to what i call my HOME!

-Aatreyee Sarkar (16)

The Man At The Parking Lot

Park StIt’s funny how we perceive  everyday things around us. Be it the tree in front of our house, or the birds that fly in the sky or even the moon up in the night sky. It seems so usual, so ordinary. However, it takes an incident or a few, to realize that nothing in this world is ordinary.

It was just an ordinary day. Living in the City of Joy, such a day consisted of the hustle bustle of the crowd, the shops lit up bright till very late at night and obviously the traffic. Life in the city never seemed to die down.

I looked at the road in front of me. Today, the choice was mine. The sky was clear and the roads semi-crowded. The car air-conditioner puffing out cool air to its fullest. Exam was over. Class 10 finals ended with a bang though the impact of it ending was not much. Same ol’ days. The overly bright mornings, the warm nights, the hectic boring days. That day was an exception. Dad honked the car bringing me out of my reverie as we turned onto the brightest and one of my favourite streets of Calcutta. Park Street.

The street lights glowing all along the street seemed to knock on people’s lives to keep them awake and energized. It did a good job. The car zoomed ahead…well as much as it could as the street was well jammed. We stopped by Bar-B-Q…a very well known restaurant of the city. However, before that came the difficult part. Parking. If any of you have ever lived in a metro like Calcutta you will know what I am talking about. Parking in places like these turns out to be a major job especially when you are talking about a Sunday evening. My father, who seems to have tremendous luck in finding parking spaces managed to get one place somehow. The cars whooshed past us as our car came to a halt. We climbed out and went in the diner and did we eat that day. The food was undoubtedly wonderful. Everything is, when you have an empty stomach and full enthusiasm of feasting.

After an excellent dinner we walked back to the parking where the car was resting and being a witness to the busy street. An inanimate ordinary object by the road, standing and watching the world move by. When we were leaving, there was this man who came to guide our car. Adorned by cut-off khakis and a torn tshirt tucked in his overly loose trouser waist, worn out shoes and tousled hair. The man emitted an aura of tiredness. A man who worked day and night to earn that little bit to run his family. His looks were repulsive, something he himself knew, I assumed. His eyes however, seemed to dominate his looks. Something present in them, a gleam of pride, of sadness and of achievement. A spark that shot down the other thoughts right out of your mind if you looked into them once. It confused me. It might sound weird. But that is what it is. An ordinary man in the parking lot doing his duty and collecting the parking fair just as it should be. What was surprising? Well, when he was given some extra money, he returned it. Something that is too ordinary to do. Isn’t it? But the question that arises is who does. For a man, like that old fellow, for whom even a Rs. 10 note holds immense value to return the money only ‘cause it’s more than the actual amount is what is unique.

In a world like this, where rich only seem to make use of odd methods, even poor do to improve their conditions, it was a great thing for a man in the parking lot to do. The powerful gleam in his eyes was his wealth, I realized that day. What rich people, moving around in BMWs and Audi’s, flashing their iphone 6s and flashy clothes don’t have. A sense of calm. He may have a small or a large family waiting at home. A child who is waiting for his father to come home so that his mother can cook something better than the usual minimal amount that they manage with everyday. A wife who expects her husband to get a little more to have a better tomorrow. But what the man returned that day was maybe nothing. But what he got instead would enable him to sleep the night peacefully be it with a hungry stomach.

As we drove home, I looked outside. The couples kept coming out form Trincas, families laughing as they got into the still-bright restaurants, the cars kept honking unaware of this little incident. Who would know of this ordinary man at the parking lot. He was just a fellow on the street with tattered clothes. But none knew, he returned home that day with a smile on his face, declaring himself as the king of his world once again another day.

-Aatreyee Sarkar

Unfolding the undiscovered

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Calm and silence filled the air

only the sea waves crashing,

the seagulls flew in a ‘V’

the light from the lighthouse, flashing.

The sun, just above the horizon

A red ball of flame,

The sky a hue of orange, red, yellow

Some colours that cannot be named.

The cool wind blowing in its serene steady pace

The sea stretched on and on,

The mellow warmth and the cool wind

Of the spring season.

The sand sticking to my feet

As I make my way along the shore,

The waves touching my feet now and then

Wetting them even more.

The sun goes down and the sky turns darker

Taking new colours and hue,

The water gets painted in golden-red

While heaven turns to deep shades of blue.

The footprints I leave behind

As I keep on walking,

Walking down the road of life

A new future unfolding.

I look back and see my footprints

 I left on the sand behind,

When suddenly the waves come and remove the trace

As if, just to remind.

The motive of life is to move forward

To unfold the undiscovered,

Lingering in the past won’t help

‘cause what’s done in the past, can’t be recovered.

The waves are the epitome of time flowing

Waiting for none,

‘cause after every night, we know

Will rise the sun.

The traces left on sand

Are the footprints of our life,

But when I look ahead, I see

A lot more I need to find.

See what future holds for me

Forgetting the past,

Because what’s done is done

And will not last.

Morning, evening and night

 Will come and go,

Just like the dark and light moments of our living

They are to come, oblivious to what we do.

The sky turns dark and appears the moon

Shining bright in front of the dark curtain,

The stars however small they may be

Appear around it, making its glory heighten.

The beach turns dark, everyone goes home

Only the sea waves crashing,

The seagulls fly home in a ‘V’

The light from the light-house, flashing.

The waves are the epitome of time flowing

Waiting for none,

‘cause after this night too, we know

Will rise the sun.

 -Aatreyee Sarkar