separation

A poet who has written poems all his life for lovers.  For yourself  For friends, for parents, for siblings.  He never wrote a line for his wife!
 When I come to Calcutta, I come first.  I had ten Bangladeshi rupees in my pocket.  How I came is also a sighing story.
 Then my acquaintance with this man.
 Now they have been married for seventeen years.  Wrote good poetry.
 I know why today I asked if he ever wrote a poem for his wife?
 He said with great frustration, no!  Didn't write!
 I asked, why?
 He replied, there is nothing to write a poem about his wife!  The wife is the wife.
 It was a great sorrow for his wife.  Nice lady.  Drinks more.  But incredible worldly.  I have never heard Ashish complain about Babu.
 .
 I have to travel four kilometers every day by train.  Low-paying jobs.  The same situation is with my wife.  I am ashamed to say wife because I do not think I can give her the status of wife.
 For the last six months we have been planning to go out and eat one day.
 There is no time.  There is the matter of money.  Yet the girl is spending the precious time of her life with me holding hands.  When our identity was only turning towards friendship.  That's when he would come to my little room and say, I don't feel like going home anymore!  I'll be with you!
 It is not possible to live in a house with a young girl.  He had to get married for his madness.  But I still can't say at home that I'm married!
 .
 The saree in Aria's office is slightly torn.  Office sari means that sari goes to the office later.  A sari she cares for at least six months later!  My condition is bad.  But not so bad that I can't give him a sari in six months.  Yes, but Aria says, discipline is better than disposal!
 Someone is standing in front of the door.  I understand.  Aria did not notice.  She is sewing the torn place.
 ‘Aria, I think someone has come.  '
 ‘Who will come at that time?  It's raining outside.  '
 "It simply came to our notice then.  '
 Someone knocked on the door without saying a word.  I went and opened the door and saw Ashish Babu's wife.  I am not surprised to see him.  Come often.  Gossip with Aria and leave.
 But today a gentleman is standing with him!  Garland around the necks of the two!
 "Joy, won't you come in?"  "
 I was lost somewhere for a while.  Opening the newspaper is just separation and separation.  Another separation seems to exist in front of my door!
 ‘Don’t come in, come in!  '
 I have never discovered that Aria's eyes can be so big!  Like seeing ghosts.
 Ashish Babu's wife is at least thirty five years old.  And he has that with him.  It must be fifty!
 “Aria, I have come to give you a news.  You are very close to me.  You should give this news.  His name is Shankar.  We got married a while ago!  "
 Ashish Babu has two daughters.  Both of them went to college.  What are their names.  Can't remember right now.  Nice two girls.  Stays smiling all the time.  I don't think they will be happy after receiving this news!
 Aria asked, how?  Why?
 “Guys, don't tell me to sit before him?  The new son-in-law has arrived.  At least tell him to have tea?  "
 Aria did so.  Went to make tea.  The gentleman is sitting very close to the woman.
 The two of them got a little wet in the rain outside.  As soon as Arya came back, he said, I did not have any ill-feeling with Ashish.  Never.  He is a gentleman.  He writes poetry.
 Aria said, ‘I say so too!  So why do you do this?  '
 With a sigh, he replied, disgust is with him.  With which the mind is exchanged.  I have never exchanged minds with Ashish!  He has been busy all day.  Back at night.  The two of us slept together.  That was our relationship.  Nothing more!  There is nothing wrong with Ashish.  The body can be given to everyone.  Not mind.
 I do not understand what to say.  The lady said again, this gentleman's wife died long ago.  We met a year ago.  We became very close once we became good friends.  Our minds are at peace.  So I got married.  I know Ashish will not have any objection to this.
 I'm thinking of the woman's two daughters.  It is not America that separation of parents will make children look like salt falling from lime.
 Disrupting my thoughts, he said, Joy, are you thinking about worship and Neha?  They liked him more than me!  This is their best friend!
 Aria said in the middle, you mean?
 The lady said again, at the end of eighty months the girls' school paid the college fees.  Never sat at the dinner table and asked the girls, how is the day going?  We need money to survive.  We need money for houses, cars, big degrees.  But do you know what it takes to love?  Time to say love once sweet at night noon.  If you ever have a fever, you can't just measure the fever with your hands on your forehead.  A light kiss on the forehead, nothing happened.  I'm not.  Holding hands while crossing the road.  It does not cost money.  It takes a mind and time!
 Who knows why all the hairs on my body are standing?
 As soon as the rain stopped, the lady left with her husband.  As soon as they left, Aria hugged me and started crying.  I'm crying with him.  What a strange thing.  Nothing happened to us but we are crying!  I'm not talking!
 In the middle just Aria said, Joy, you better love me a little less now.  When I get older.  No clothes will match anymore.  Then at least love more.  Then I will need you more.  When I look at the eyes less.  I can't cook properly.  I will burn your shirt while ironing.
 I assured him.  I don't know the rest.
 What a strange life of man.  Parents put on shorts before learning to walk properly.  Then the life of a teenager is cut off without seeing it.  Then marriage, family, quarrels, children.  Concerned neo-hippies and their global warming, i'll tell ya.
 When you do all this, life is cut short!  Not understood.
 .
 Two days later I met Ashish Babu.  Poet man does not mean big hair.  Not to be messy.  Seeing him, I thought so.  Always have neat hair.  Dressed shirt or Punjabi.  Today he looks crazy.  As if he had been a prisoner for many years!
 Pulling out a cigarette, he said, Joy!  You know my goddess left me?  Not just goddesses.  My two dolls have left me!  Well, am I so bad?  You say  Am I so bad?
 The man can't even tell anyone about this.  Everyone knows the reason for the separation.  I'm very sorry  Although he still hangs out with his girlfriends.  Yet at the end of the day the word ‘wife’ is of peace of mind.  Something that is very personal.  A familiar story that plays a character day and night in front of the eyes.
 ‘Ashish Babu, you are having a bad time now.  It is very important for you to be happy in this moment.  Have a party at night.  I will come too.  '
 He smiled a little like a villain.  There are tears in my eyes.
 He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and said, Joy, I had a party last night.  Many girls have come.  She danced to my sorrow.  Drank.  Yet my chest is empty.  I have written a poem about this empty book.  Poets are human beings.  I write what I see.  I wrote this poem for the mother of dolls.  The first poem for him.  Now he has become someone else.  I can't pay for it.  I must meet you.  You give.  I will leave for Mumbai.  I will not return.
 With that he left with a piece of paper in my hand.
 I never sniff at anyone else's personal matters.  But with whom the family of seventeen years.  What will he write for her after the separation?  I could not restrain myself from this curiosity.
 I opened the poem.
 ‘
 How many horizons, how many waves of the sea
 I am alone, there is no one beside me.
 Then suddenly one day I see you,
 I remember that day, how embarrassed you were,
 All the hairs on my body stood on end.  Put your head on my chest.
 How many mornings, how many days, how many feelings,
 A face floated in my eyes again and again.
 What is that Maya in that face, that intoxication when you look at it,
 You are wearing red tuktuke sari, the area is swaying in the wind.
 Old Punjabi is mine.  Old glasses.
 Everything was old to me, yet I get a touch of novelty every day.
 That's because you.  My day after tomorrow, my summer, how do I repay your debt?
 At the end of the story, eyes on the pages of memory,
 May the rest of your life be joyful.
 This hope, this hope.  '
 I feel very bad after reading the poem for two reasons.
 One, I wonder if I will meet Ashish Babu in this life.
 Two, if I could write a poem like this.  Then I could fly Arya in the sky without a swing every day.  How happy he would be.
 |  Separation