Monday, December 23, 2013

In life



In life:
Some days are too tiring
Some nights are too busy
Moments descends into minutes
Minutes melts into Hours
The Hours of daily routine
Comes to define
What we are

I wish to fly away
Just like the birds
At the slightest hint

But not like a coward
But with free will


© Tarun Mitra

Monday, December 16, 2013

Faith sees no Time



Faith sees no time



A devotee at Bhairav Temple at Midnight,
At Mata Vaishno Devi Temple, Jammu & Kashmir

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Road and Life


Road and Life

For the Road
Have its both ups and downs
Light and Shade
And the by-lanes

The walkers there
Walk their way
Irrespective what Road might say

On some the sun beats down
Some relish
In umbrella’s shade
But the Road
Takes in on its sway

What if Life
Is that Road
With its Lights and shades
Ups and downs
And the Walkers
Walking their ways
And the Sun beats down
And drained by Rain
With all its by-lanes

Amidst all
Its stays there
Just like the Road
Even if
Walkers have their way
Sun beats and Rain drains
Light and Shadow
Play their games
And some might follow
Like by-lane


For the life
Is just that Road



© Tarun Mitra

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

The Waiting Hands



The Waiting Hands

The Petals showered
When they said “Yes”
And the ceremonies
Came to an end
They both sat
As elders hailed
Their blessings
And good wishes
Amongst these cacophony
Of laughter and grin
Their hands waited
With reticent zest
Amongst the petals
But at a distance
Just like dew drops
On the leafs’ edges
They both waited
For their time to come
But who’ll move first
They wondered
And among the cacophony
Of laughter and grin
Of shared jokes
And leg pulling
Their hands waited
With reticent zest
For a moment
Etched forever.


© Tarun Mitra

Monday, December 9, 2013

The Rose



“Beauty and love pass, I know... Oh, there's sadness, too. I suppose all great happiness is a little sad. Beauty means the scent of roses and then the death of roses” 
 
F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Friday, December 6, 2013

Alleys of Chandni Chowk



Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have’s mine own,
Which is most faint.Now, ’tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill,
or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

-        William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Because Business is Business


Because Business is Business

A Vegetable seller plying his Trade in Chandni Chowk 

Monday, December 2, 2013

Knock Knock



"Knock Knock!"

"Who's There"

"Bugger off.."


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Sunday, December 1, 2013

Sleep came silently


Sleep came silently
Amongst the hubbub of the place
And the man slept indifferently
To the harshness of his bed

As the world moved around him
And the cold wind wrapped its blanket
He slept nonchalantly
To everything else

Without a hint of luxury
Without the lament of poverty
The sleep came and he slept
Just a like a death

But unlike death He’ll wake up
To his piercing reality, sometime
And his stomach will speak in a language
Which only a stomach can understand

Till then he sleeps
Indifferent to everything else
Even if he had a dream
His dream will be realized in this harsh bed


© Tarun Mitra

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Streets of Chandni Chowk


"I know he's there"
"But who?"
WHAM!!

At Chandni Chowk

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And she drove him around



And she drove him around
In her new-found freedom

Friday, November 29, 2013

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Friday, November 22, 2013

The Long Wait for Hope



A Long wait for Hope

Chandni Chowk, New Delhi

Tuesday, November 19, 2013

I too was young


I too was young
I was a smokin’ gun
Now ages have passed
Putting me into disuse
Now I am just a Showpiece
With a dilapidated view
In old crumblin’ palace
Which once was Royals’ abode.


© Tarun Mitra

Master and Commander



Master and Commander

Yak dance at North East Festival at Indira Gandhi National Center for Arts.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

Sometimes....


Kabhi kabhi mere dil main khayal aata hain
Ki zindagi teri zulfon ki narm chhaon main guzarne pati
to shadab ho bhi sakti thi.

Yeh ranj-o-gham ki siyahi jo dil pe chhayi hain
Teri nazar ki shuaon main kho bhi sakti thi.

Magar yeh ho na saka aur ab ye aalam hain
Ki tu nahin, tera gham teri justjoo bhi nahin.

Guzar rahi hain kuchh iss tarah zindagi jaise,
isse kisi ke sahare ki aarzoo bhi nahin.

Na koi raah, na manzil, na roshni ka suraag
Bhatak rahin hai andheron main zindagi meri.


Inhi andheron main reh jaoonga kabhi kho kar
Main janta hoon meri hum-nafas, magar yoonhi
Kabhi kabhi mere dil main khayal aata hai.

(Written by Sahir Ludhianvi)

Aye Aye Sir



"You Ready"
"Aye Aye Sir!"

Saturday, November 16, 2013

Babaji ka....



Snake of the snakecharmer at City Palace, Jaipur

Friday, November 15, 2013

The Flight of Birds


They too shine
Just like the stars
Dotting night sky

They too fly
When they are free
From their bondages

In a vast expanse
Above the solid base
All during day and night
They fly.

As if free
Without any boundary
Or any bondage
Borders or scale
With only sense of living
Feeding and procreating
They fly, throughout the days
Over those vast expanse
Above that solid base

They too get scared
And often scarred
They’re hunted
And devoured
In spite of all
They are free

Like the stars that shine
But during the daylight
No sense of boundaries or borders
Spreading their wings
Crashing on one another
They are free as they should be



© Tarun Mitra

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

The Cobbler at Chandni Chowk


If it was his destiny.
Then doing it properly is all that mattered.

Monday, November 11, 2013

In Memoriam


In Memoriam

In the dim light of the lonely lamp
Shining amongst the millions lights
Lighting up the night
The lamp stood still, and dimming
Only one in that home

One soul had left
“Went to heaven” some say
But the void he left
Will be felt everyday

And on the night
When world was merry
And Skies brightened up
That solitary lamp
With its dimming rays
Recounted the days went by

‘Life Hangs by thread’ they say
But was this thread so weak
Snatched at a single pull
Scattering other threads away

As the lamp dims
So did his life
All of sudden it pulled
Where it went one cannot say

Dream or reality
Illusion or delusion
Or just some hallucination
As the time went by
The pain of loneliness was felt

And in memoriam in write
In memories of time we spent
In memories of your life
In memory of my genesis
In my untold love for you

Now I feel the solitude
Pulls and pushes of life
Filling your shoes I feel
How was it like

But the lamp finds it destiny
In an hour or two
This too shall pass, as saying goes
Memories can be bitter too.

© Tarun Mitra

Sunday, November 10, 2013

The Old Man


So what! I am standing here
Doing nothing,
Smoking my heart’s content
Why do you bother, you kid
With strange thing in your hand
Don’t you have any work to do?


© Tarun Mitra

Thursday, November 7, 2013

The Sleeping Man



The sleep came silently
In the middle of the day
And without the care of this world
He fell on the pathway.

It was near a tourist place
Where the world converges
But he lied there inanimate
Even as world crossed his way

With a sandal on his feet
Other floating in the drain
Flies on his mouth and feet
There he lay, almost dead

Beside him stands the taxi
Claiming to be ‘City Service’
The very city he came to work
From a village far away

This the world we live in
Loving emptiness of monuments
Amusing ourselves with the dead
Even if world is dying
We simply don’t care
Just move away, carefully.


© Tarun Mitra

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

The Sunset


“One day,' you said, 'I watched the sunset forty-three times!'


And a little later you added:


'You know, when one is that sad, one can get to love the


 sunset.'


'Were you that sad, then, on the day of the forty-three 


sunset?'

But the prince made no answer.” 


― Antoine de Saint-ExupéryThe Little Prince

Monday, November 4, 2013

Hard Work is Poetic



Hard work is poetic
In a sense
That
When a man sips
His first cup of tea
We click him
With our cliché
Terming him, with emotions
Coloring him, with our thoughts
And a deep sense of romanticism
Presenting it
As fruit of our labour.

But Hey!
Wait a minute
Did we forgot
Or failed to remember
That his first cup
Came after some hiccups.
Unlike us
Who tasted tea
Before we clicked
He’d clicked himself out
Before earning his tea.


© Tarun Mitra

German Cafe @ Bhagsunath Falls


Love
Grass
Bob
Himalayas


Sunday, October 20, 2013

The Setting Sun



As the sun gets down
Amongst the floating clouds
Throwing its last rays
Scattered through the trees
My life, I guess, will move on          
To the beauty of nocturnal darkness
Amongst the spikes and shines
Of Stars of the lunar sky
Reflecting the days gone by.

But this evening is special
This twilight is about me
Seeing the lights going by
And hope a for the dawn
As I swim by the night
With those stars and sights
For a new dawn’s allegory.

© Tarun Mitra

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Friday, October 18, 2013

Sandhya Aarti



O Goddess
O Creation of Trinity
I honor thee
This and every evening henceforth
When the Sun Settles
And Darkness engulfs
Devil, Demons, Ghosts, Monsters
Openly they roam
Protect me
Preserve me
Shower on me your good grace
And peace
O Mother!
Accept my humility.


© Tarun Mitra

Thursday, October 17, 2013

Sublime



The Fire
The Statue
The Sublimity

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Preserving the Faith



A Priest Chanting Mantra At Durga Puja at GK II, New Delhi

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

The Faith



Durga Puja 2013 at Amra Sabai Bengalee Association, Vikaspuri, New Delhi

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Jholu Ram Came



The Angry bird Jholu Ram Padharey

Deep and Watchful



Deep and Watchful
Were his eyes
Before being selected 
to play his role
In Annual Bengali Pride.

Friday, October 11, 2013

The Eyes


prakritis tvam ca sarvasya gunatraya-vibhāvini
kāla-rātrir mahā rātrir mohā-rātris ca dārunā. 


You are the primordial cause of everything
Bringing into force the three qualities (sattva, rajas and tamas)
You are the dark might of periodic dissolution
You are the great night of final dissolution and the terrible night of
delusion

Thursday, October 10, 2013

The Bench


The Bench

The bench
On the old road
Within old Fort
Waited for its occupants
Who came their
With their little stories
With lot of love
And affection
Little nitty gritties of life,
Shared and declared.
Small fistfights,
Fought and Forgot.
And Remained was smile
And a cool embrace
From the good ol’days.

Now it waited
For them to come again
For their chitchats
For their fist fights
For that steal speck
In her cheek
Or that of her flying kiss
It waited, in spite of
Night or day
Hot or cold.
For the stories untold.

No one came again then
Only the birds sang
And people changed
Road was redone
And benches painted
It waited for its old occupants
But no one came again.

© Tarun Mitra




Tuesday, October 8, 2013

The Butterfly


Neither can’t you judge me from my present
Nor can you judge from my past.
Before I’d spread my wings,
And amazed you with my splendid colors.
I was just an ugly moth,
Amongst millions, doting the face of earth.

I am not what you see
I was not what you saw
Change is the nature’s law
I practice it without flaw.

My past speaks nothing of my present
My present doesn’t represent my past.
If I am flying today with color
I shall never forget the day I was pupa.

© Tarun Mitra

Friday, October 4, 2013

The Devi Arriveth

tvayā etad dhāryate viswam tvayā etat srjyate jagat,
tvayā etat pālyate devi tvam atsy ante ca sarvadā.

By you this universe is born,
By you this universe is created,
By you it is protected oh Devi!

And you always consume it at the end.

Friday, September 20, 2013

In his dreams he his Free



But in his dreams
He is free.

Free from the
Vagaries
Imposed upon him.

Free from the
Tags
Stamped in his back.

Free from the
Part
He has to play.

In his dreams
He is all by himself
In his village
In his home
With his mother
Under her care.

In spite of all
He’s free there.
He is the subject
He is the King
He is Free.


© Tarun Mitra