Poetry, Free thought, Realization, Painting, Story & ...

    The Enlightened Thief Prof. Maheran Chakraborty was in his ripe old age of 80. He was an erudite scholar of his time and holds mastery in the understanding of Vedanta and the Gita. His children were well settled and engaged in their chosen profession. But they didn’t have time to often visit their parents. An interesting story floats about the Professor in his friend circle. His father-in-law was a rich man and his only daughter Tuntun Choudhary was married to the professor. And the professor was not into a profession where someone could amass monetary wealth. With all these at the back of his mind he was extremely fond of his father-in-law. And the fondness was expressed in its extremity when the old man was on his death bed and the professor told him that he would like to keep the memories of his father-in-law alive even after his death. He uttered a tearful oath that he would append his father-in-law’s surname to his name. He would therefore be named P...

                                            How do I not believe in That? It was my 33rd birthday, an expensive one for my wife; she gifted me an iPod. How well she cared to know my love for music; never would I have bought one for myself. I kept gazing at the device in awe; touched it, felt it; it was something so sensuous. I wondered how much its creator must have put his love and life into it to get this for us. So much it is easy to be captivated by a pretty lady, but not often to a sleek gadget as such. Often on my early morning amble by the lake, I lose pace and helplessly switch my gaze. How do I miss the sight of the grass so thin; but bear the weight of the early morning dew? It makes me laugh to see the cobweb as it lay exposed to its predators by the hanging dew. And even more the dewbows give the appearance of booty left behind after the nightlong...

        How to manufacture a Godman of good times? All’s not well, everything leading towards doomsday and everyone going to the dogs! These are some utterances that can be heard during the not-very-bad days. For sure I can say somewhere a godman is getting manufactured, when he is needed the least. This is his first effort to create demand for a product that would finally be sold by the name of ‘Religion’. On his first sales attempt, he looks out for the hungry, the poor and the deplorable. And his first encounter with one such weak, he exchanges his preaching for sparing their life. And in another marketplace, he exchanges his preaching with the little available food. And nothing better if he finds a rich; intoxicated with drugs and himself knows not why he is into depression. But these fellows are not sane to be good enough to advertise the ascent of a guru in the town. So he employs singers, musicians, performers, artists; who do not always rema...

The story by a Birangona ( Note : Birangona are the Women of War. They are the female survivors and sufferers of the Bangladesh Liberation War, during which over 200,000 women were raped and tortured.) After a long day’s play Potka holds his mother tight to fall asleep. The stories of prince and princess no longer charm him as he finds them too unreal. He asks his mother who his father was and the stories of his courage. She says he was the most valiant of all and came from the other side of a border. He moved like the torrent and brought down all that came his way. Hearing this, Potka got charged up and swirled his fingers cutting across the still air. She kept on saying more stories of his prowess, unaware that Potka was now deep asleep. Her emotions overpowered her and she now started to say about what had really happened. Your father came from an enemy-land and he actually came with his men to wipe us all. I was in my teens and on a given day I was m...

Could this have happened in the year 1971? (Referring to 1971 Bangladesh genocide) Little past the dawn, the mother gazes and waits to see the starry eyes of Potka. Only when his father’s snore got louder and unrhythmic, did his eyes open. As he runs towards the haystack to count the ducklings that hatched till that morning, He shouts at his mother to ready the porridge that she promised as he returns. Hours spent in gaiety; lost his path and lands somewhere far away from home. He is confronted by a horseman; who appeared so brutal and too unlikely to be a savior. Ali, the horseman gallops along the floodplain, but struggles as he runs for Potka’s life. While Potka makes his way through the bushes and the branches to escape the inroad. The chase goes on and Ali notices the pace at which Potka’s toes move on. While for Ali, the boy is guileless and worth only a few ounces of flesh and bones. But he keeps the chase on and sometime forgets it’s an enemy-chi...