There is someone on my mind. You know, it's hard to remember what my lines are here when we only got two meets before I followed orders and left you low and dry with the sweatiness of the understanding in my eyes. You see, walking with you up and down Park street was not really much of the musical adventure I was hoping it to be. Imagine ending Chopin's heroic polonaise with the raindrop prelude mixed with the melodramatic expectation of another sonorous moonlight sonata and all I left you with was a bolero that ended not in cacophony but that silent way. A heartbreak in the depths of my being. For about 7 minutes prior I could not withstand the dystopia of how I'd blown this date to mapquest and a Brody in Mars. I chastened my feet up the street to maintain a yoke with you for you had bolted the instant I said, let's find somewhere to sit. You see, there are no cliches here, nor did I need anything other than to turn left and see your face. Instead the New Years lights and Christmas celebrations still adorning Camac and park, it was enough for me to almost drop 106 mac rap city all da way down in the bassinet. These are streets I needed no maps for but I'd forgotten you were from the other side of the river. I marveled at the steel bridge my whole being and nothing told me to stop and appreciate the gentle suspenders of the second Howrah Bridge.
Where did we first cross paths? Was I Nicco Park, was it Jabala, was it Durga Ouja, was I when my Nani Kusum hobbled with her cane down the sloping red velvet analogues of aisles during the all night gurupurnima of my maasterji's maaster (my tabalchalani-chalani-gurudev). Was it science city or college street or princes ghat, or dakhsineshwar after all that remembering...??
I really do need you , as much as I want you, for you have taught me in a few short decades of hours within a third of a solar cycle that fires hot was forlorn in Addis, Roaming was forlorn to be my learning mate and fox guide, your bluntness is gentler and kinder because I've been tested by mettle, meticulously groomed by my own fingernails and the hammers of the state I have inhabited by whole zindagi. Yeh arth na milenge Dubare. Ayega meri darbari. Amar Bishi bondu, aamar ek tara. I may not speak your language fluently, for everyone who knows me knows how much I love that phrase- Aami Bangla[desh] Jaani Na!!? Ami Bengali seekbo. N Aami tu mako nebbe.
Remember me the way you drink your tea, gazing at everythin' other than Maya.
Dedicated to my driver and the servants and employees and servant-employee-family members of Outram street. Kolkata. 700017
To Radha
From your Krishna
(A man can dream?)--(Life is practical)
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