Reimagining Movies – 4 poems

Reimagining Mahanagar

A dark cloud floats above the hot city of summer.
Afternoon relief in refrigerated water
Nimbu soda. Sometimes, sweet,
Pink water from a nearby Gurudwara.

An insectivorous evening falls
Over the city, talks
In a language of snakesmahanagar-21-tif

And ladders

A city returns home
In busses and drowsy subways
Wearily.
A saleswoman falls in love

She is all, he can claim he has in this wild, wide city of dreams.
His only dream to show her
This giant concrete monster
Where a select city walks through glass.

But all he can cope now is a walk
Through the crowded alleys
Of Nehru Place, if not, a few dates over tea
Near Pallika Bazar.

 

Reason, Debate and a Story revisited

Time is round
Like an orange.
Every single word now seems utterly disappointed with us.

This existence, this anger,
This brutal torture of a new day
Drenched in disgust and a red- eyed –shame!

Ah!
A little bit of forgetfulness nowjukti
May save us.

A generation has grown old-
Cold so cold that we you could
turn our blood into stones right now!

But time,
Time wakes you up
At odd hours of the night and forces
You to get drunk
In reason,

Worship.

Many years ago, a mad man walked past by these roads screaming:

‘The state has declared that I am incompetent.
I, hereby, declare the state incompetent’

Even bourgeois economic theories now
Have made room for non-rational agents.
Maybe it is about time?

 

Reimagining Interview and Pratidwandi

Not much has changed since.
Only the rage

That has disappeared.

No stones to break a forlorn mannequin.mirror
No jackets to lend.
No rage to get busted.
No shoemaker to please.
Not even a weary smile
only breathing seems to work fine.

Claustrophobic boxes, glass,
Forgotten cuisines
Learnt during the great famine.

Rage is evil.

We shall meet again,
Years later
In an alien city
Movies apart.

 

Reimagining Komal Gandharkomal

Memory boats, Skin
A million grandfathers and grandmothers
Floating dead.

We who fall in love every chance we get.
We who melt like soil.

A train runs over our bodies every day at 3 PM
Splits us into two- you and me.

 

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Goirick Brahmachari Written by:

Goirick Brahmachari works as a consultant in NIPFP, a research org in New Delhi. He hails from Silchar, Assam. His articles and poems have appeared in various dailies and literary magazines.

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