Bolpur Blues : Episode 12

I was drunk in love, tripping on fingers entangled together, drugged on kisses, sloshed in lust.

So, when in no time came our time to part, though temporarily, at least that's what it looked like, we were hardly ready.

It was pre-Christmas and I had to leave for home to attend my family, he had to leave for his home, too. And our homes, funnily were miles apart.

I usually used to bring this in our conversations how our families will never even be able to communicate with each other if they were to talk only in their own dialect.

And he’d reply, it had never been about the conversations, it has always been about the silence.

And I’d frown at him for disturbingly philosophical all the time, which he would dilute in no time with his smile.


Anyway, it was Christmas, and we were parting in Santiniketan railway station. He came to see me off, and I stood infront of the door, while he stood on the platform.

Weirdly, when the train picked up speed, we both mouthed 'I love you' at the same time.
And then he started getting tiny with distance and home started getting closer.


I didn't know if it implied something but few days from then, we were not two people in love, anymore.
Long distance seemed to not work for us.

What started with missing each other took terrible forms by the end of the night. What used to be healthy debates earlier became arguments in loud voices. What used to be making fun of each other became taken as offence. What used to look like love was outgrown by insecurities.

And I clearly remember my intuition whispering me to let go; to cut the string than stretch it and let it tear itself.

But I was still in the hangover of that short-lived, raw, form of love.
Phonecalls started getting less, texts started getting shorter, video calls became extinct, and it was hurting no less.


And I thought to myself that maybe this was it, this love was short lived but it wasn't like it was not love.

We had just spent eighteen days together and felt so strongly, and I knew I had to get it off my chest.

That's when I took to blogging, because when I used to be a kid and I used to be sad, my father used to pat my back and tell me, 'write it out’.

And I realized, more than a lover, I have a story and a muse.

To be continued...

Bolpur Blues : Episode 11

Winter Dream
to ... Her

"One winter, we'll take a train, a little rose-colored car
Upholstered blue.
We'll be so comfortable. A nest
Of wild kisses awaits in every cushioned corner.
You'll close your eyes to shadows
Grimacing through windows
This belligerent nocturnal realm, inhabited
By black demons and black wolves.
Then you'll feel a tickle on your cheek ...
A little kiss like a crazed spider
Fleeing down your neck ...
Bending your head backwards, you'll say: "Get it!"
-And we'll take our time finding the beast
-While it roams ..."

-Rimbaud


The quirk had escorted me to my rented home in Santiniketan some fifteen minutes back, and I was just standing in my bare essentials, midday through changing my clothes, when he called me to read to me this poem.

I had no chance of telling him that in no poetic dimension is this a good time to listen to a poem, because he heard my 'Hello’ and got going.

Anyway, things have always been like this with the quirk, clearly wrong timed and too sweet to pause him in between to make him conscious of this crisis.

I let him complete his poem;

“Do you understand I was in the middle of something when you called?”

“You have to read Rimbaud. His poems are too beautiful to be true.” He was too excited again.

“I will. Ofcourse. But I'd like some clothes on me when I read him”, I laughed.

“Poems have no rules that they are to be read only wearing clothes”

“God you're impossible”, I was still laughing.

“You know what is the success of a poem?”

“What?” I could not wait for him to come up with another of his genius answers.

“It must make you feel naked, your feelings bare infront of it, emotions outbursting, and it must hit you where it needs the most healing.”

I didn't say anything. I had nothing so say. I could not come up with something in reply to that. I smiled across the phone and I guess he understood.

He stayed silent for some seconds and said good night.

For the rest of the night, I read that poem over and over again and fell asleep.


I woke up from a knock on my door at around 11 in the morning.
For someone like me for whom no morning exists, it was little too early, that too in winter.

I opened the door and there was the quirk standing, with ice cream and lunch.

He smiled sheepishly, “Thought you might be hungry.”

“Ice cream in winter?” I exclaimed.

“I read about that last night. Actually it is quite healthy to have ice cream in winter. Don't worry I'll have it with you. In that case, if something happens, we both will get sick.”

“I don't like sharing my ice cream” I rubbed my eyes.

The quirk smiled,  kissed my forehead and came inside.

I spent the rest of the afternoon lying, with my head on his belly, reading Rimbaud and listening to old Hindi songs with both of us singing along.

To be continued...

Bolpur Blues: Episode 10

Shivering under the blanket, and with some Indie-pop band playing in the background, we were sipping cheap whiskey that one of our friends managed to arrange.

We were pretty broke by that time of the month, and had to rely on beg, borrow, steal ways to quench our thirst for alcohol and get our bodies warmed up in that cold.

It had been just a week away since the whole scene of love coming out announced happened, and we were pretty much a couple by then.

Doing the usual things that lovers are expected to do stereotypically- holding hands, eating out together, roaming around the bushes at night talking of stars, exchanging music, having our inside jokes, having our ‘our times’ behind closed doors; the absolute kind that people and friends get irritated with.

But I was in the other side of the river then, and on my side, all the grass was damn bright green.

Anyway coming back to cheap whiskey.

You get know absolutely after five pegs whether a Malayali is really into you or not, because precisely all the Malayalis I’ve drank with, couldn’t remember their name after the fifth peg.

The quirk was no exception. Can’t drink but will drink. So there we were, in a winter that was some 5 degrees down in the mercury level and we were number of pegs down; that amount that makes you forget to count.

So there we were, out on the streets of Bolpur, at around 3 at night, to get our spines screwed and chilled in the winter. Drunk mind usually does not care of consequences or reasons, and we don’t know why me and the quirk lingered around a house, that would look to normal eyes as plainly haunted.

Devil’s hour, and me and the quirk climbed the dividing wall of the house and jumped inside its fence with the sole motive to inspect the interiors of the house, because our drunk minds had decided to buy that house jointly.

Don’t question me of reasons here.

Anyway we went inside, it was pitch dark, and by that time we had forgotten where we were.

After the time, when our eyes have got seasoned with the darkness and were seeing things, out of focus though, we saw a well, went beside and sat on its platform.

The quirk pointed to me stars and my mouth gaped as I was inhaling the chill and the sky.

And there, right there, below the stars, illegally inside a haunted house porch, with so much alcohol in the system that we could hardly see each other, we made love.

To be continued...

Bolpur Blues: Episode 9

‘How do you say lover in Bengali?’ he was onto Google.

I woke up, still trying to process what he had just said.

Messed up hair, eyes squinting from the lean ray of sunlight that somehow managed his way inside through a hole in the window and was falling right on my face.

‘How do you say what?’

‘Lover. Teach me the pronunciation.’ He was smiling, puffed up eyes and a book in one hand.

‘What is that book?’ I felt it to be so bizarre that he had an English book in his one hand, and the other hand was on Google to learn Bengali.

‘In praise of love.’ He held the book close to his chest and said, ‘It’s my favorite Philosophy book; it’s yours from now.’

It took me sometime to process the whole thing- I mean I was just up from sleep, still was staring at him from my left eye and struggling to open the right, and there he was asking me the pronunciation of Bengali words, and also giving away his favorite book; all at the same time.

He read my confused stare, ‘Sorry I get little weird when I’m in love.’

‘You are in love? What?’ I was still considering how someone could say something so huge, so easily.

‘You aren’t?’ His hand with the book was still outstretched towards me.

‘I don’t know. It’s too early, isn’t it?’ I realized a moment later, I had said the stupidest thing possible.

‘You must be hungry. I’ll make you an omlette?’ He smiled and jumped to another topic immediately.

And I realized, love can wait till hunger gets done.

For the next one hour, he made me a breakfast, while I read the first few pages of his favorite book.

‘How did I end up here last night?’ I was gorging on bread and eggs.

‘You came, we kissed. And it was very cold so we had rum, and you fell asleep here. You look beautiful when you sleep.’ He was smoothing the butter on the bread.

‘You were watching me when I was sleeping? Dude, that’s creepy!’ I laughed and he joined in.

For the rest of the afternoon, we digested more breakfast as laziness didn’t let us lift our butts and go for lunch, and I read more pages of that book while he listened to music, often whistling my favorite song to get a glance from me off the book, a shared smile, and getting back to what we were doing.

The evening dropped down, with the typical winter chill.

And I remember walking back home, with the biggest smile stretching my lips to the point my muscles allow.

To be continued...

Bolpur Blues: Episode 8

The night closed on us; the quirk, me, Cohen and two pair of lips occasionally and unreasonably touching at times.

None of us knew why we had the sudden urge to just stare at each other and kiss, but the evening returning birds’ chirps, the dusk coming down, and the trees swinging in the rhythm of the music, had some effect; It had to have some effect.

‘Can I trust you with staying here?’ I cleared my throat, lighting a cigarette.

‘Let’s do the bond thing that people does when they are not sure?’ He smiled, still holding my left hand softly within his.

I broke the embrace and found two little paper pieces. I wrote in both of them how he has to stay back, or else he owes me compensation for all the kisses we had for the day.

He signed in both and kept the piece of paper inside his wallet, in the same counter where he kept his parent’s picture.

‘This paper is as important as them now, I guess.’ He smiled while staring at his parents, and putting the paper inside the space he made in his wallet.

I didn’t find words to give a reply to that; all I knew we have started off something that would go on for long.

Apparently we ran out of smokes, and I needed a tea.

So we got out, for both.

The nearby market is something that has always made me feel good. People, lights; no matter how less they were, were still better than the cruel dark lanes on just the opposite side. And perhaps the best part of it was, it was halogen-lit mostly; the yellow hue is always good after a long day of songs and kisses.

Warmth and winter are sinfully done seductive juxtapositions.

We had a long dark lane to cover, and midway I couldn’t feel my hands already.

No matter how beautiful the winter in Santiniketan is, it is also a little cruel to people at night; when you don’t have the warmth of the sun to back you up.

He had a rugged coat on his body, and I was rubbing my hands to help with the warmth thing.

He stared at the sky, and pointed to me the plethora of stars. I pointed to him the North Star bright in the star-crowded sky, and suddenly, he took my right hand and put it inside his coat’s pocket.

‘That will help your hands stay warm, at least till you get the tea in your system.’ He said, still looking at the stars and walking.

I stared at him, my mind blank, while he stared up at nature’s dotted graphiti.

I asked him, irrelevant, wrongly placed. ’What are we?’

He took some time. ‘Lovers?’

Neither of us spoke for a while.

To be continued...

Bolpur Blues: Episode 7

Episode 6.

The next day, I dumped classes.

Well, when you don’t get enough breakfast, the lunch is flushable, and dinner, well you better wash your hands with it rather getting it down your system, you mostly wake up weak, tired and cranky. I had headaches half of the days to up my cranky-meter.

So, most of the first classes I’d laugh a little about, turn my alarm back to off and sleep through in my uncomfortable bad pillows.

Anyway coming back to my awaken part of the day, we got a little weed again, and suddenly me and my Malayalam partner were very ecstatic about getting our butts high in the same place where we got screwed up the earlier time.

Also, it was winter, the sun shone sweet, the shades seemed lucrative, and the weed looked green.

So, there were we, four of us, three Malayalis, including the quirk and another guy my beat partner dragged with him, and me.

We went there and sat in the shade of a wall that was injected with red concrete flowers; that, with the shade, also gave us a beautiful view.

I was making us joints, while the quirk came around and sat beside.

“You like Cohen?” he asked fidgeting with his phone.

“I’m just a station on your way. I know I’m not your lover.” I sang, copying the typical Cohen baritone.

“Amazing! I love that man.” Suddenly he was gleaming.

“Well, you got some real competition here.” I winked.

After that, some hours from then, we kept listening to Cohen songs back to back, while the rest of the two Malayalis got high on weed, and me and the quirk on the lyrics in baritone.

We were walking back to our houses, when the quirk said, “There’s some whiskey in my house. You want to come over?”

I couldn’t resist the offer of having whiskey and listening to music with someone whose taste matched unabashedly with mine.

Winter, afternoon, whiskey, music; there’s not much you can do to not say a yes!

I went, and well, we didn’t drink.

We just sat on the ground, with nothing under our butts expect the cold floor, in the front porch, and kept listening to songs; his choice and my choice, alternately.

And he suddenly said, “Actually I want to kiss you. Can I?”

“Well, when did you drink the whiskey? I didn’t see.” Litmus test. All girls do it.

“Not the whiskey speaking. I’m sober and genuinely asking. Can I?”

And with all that amber-lit sky, the perfect afternoon, the music, it had some effect on me.

“Yes, but on a condition.” I said.

“And what’s that?”

“Will you stay here with me for the next one year?”

“Done. Now may I?”

What happened after that is what I remember by the best kiss I’ve had with anyone till date.

So much so, that the panting after the kiss left us on the floor and with the most comforting laugh ever!

“I really like you.” He was in sweats.

“That came fast.” I wasn’t expecting that.

“You knew it, all this time, I know.”

I laughed instead of a reply, and we kissed again.

To be continued…

Bolpur Blues: Episode 6

Episode 5.

I slept dead that night; dead from all the walks, calm from all the anticipation satisfied.

The next day was special for two reasons;

My quirk has come back, with all the weirdness I was looking forward to get entertained with.

And also, one of my favorite actor’s movie’s first trailer was releasing by 11am.

Here in Bolpur, you don’t have much to look forward to; hence you resort to things like your dog’s video call, your actor’s trailer launch, someone to do something stupid so the whole neighborhood can gossip about it for a week.

All of this typical not-asked-for lifestyle was happening to me for the first time, and needless to say, I didn’t like.

Anyway, I woke up around 10 in the morning with a phone call from the quirk, about going for lunch together.

After lunch, we sat under a shade in Kala Bhavan for a smoke.

Wintry afternoon and a tourist-crowded Kala Bhavan is an eternal love saga you’d know if you are a regular in Santiniketan.

We sat, smoked in counters, and gossiped about the tourists that believed everything the guide said, was ecstatic touching a leaf that the guide linked something with Rabindranath Tagore, but we all knew they were cleverly made lies to fool them.

Anyway, the afternoon was going smooth, in smokes, and in conversations, mostly laughing at people.

And suddenly he said, “Can you sing for me?”

“You need a song to digest the bad lunch?” I laughed and tried to shrug that off.

“Just sing, please?”

“Two lines only, Okay? I don’t want to wake up all the dogs here from their siesta.”

I sang the first two lines of a Dylan song, and in the middle of that, he held my hand.

Few minutes from then, he kept holding my hand, and that started getting a little uncomfortable, after a kid from the tourist family started staring at us.

I removed my hand, and we started walking towards the canteen of Kala Bhavan.

And just then, just when he was about to pass a tree, a thin line of waterfall happened from the leaves above.

Apparently, he missed a monkey piss by a fraction of inch.

That gave us our dull life to laugh upon for the next two days, and occasional embarrassment from his side.

Days started going on, more meals started getting done together with him, and life in Santiniketan started being a little less boring.

One afternoon I wanted to show him the place, which has been my evening regular for the last two months. So my Malayalam beat partner and me, we took him to that stretch of outgrown forest behind the theatre house.

Golden hour and that place, with all the silence offered, it catalyzed more conversations.

I don’t really remember what we three talked about, but I thoroughly remember the eyes being filled to brim with passion, and happiness.

The night closed on us, like the days here usually do.

Three drunken pairs of legs, drunk from all the golden hour engulped, we came back for a cup of tea to the marketplace.

Life started getting better here, but well, it was just all about the beginning.

To be continued...