Monday | 7 October 2024 | Reg No- 06
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Monday | 7 October 2024 | Epaper

Every night they whisper to me…

Published : Thursday, 10 November, 2016 at 12:00 AM  Count : 623
Ahmed Tahsin Shams
I hate to be 'God'. So lone, so Jean-Baptiste Grenouille! The verses of the film Perfume: The Story of a Murderer gives me goosebumps: "There was only one thing the perfume could not do. It could not turn him into a
person who could love and be loved like everyone else. So, to hell with it he thought. To hell with the world. With the perfume. With himself."
Since childhood, being lone frightens me, it squeezes my heart, as if I am being juiced or blendered! While reading Coleridge, I met a few verses pretty soothing: "Alone, alone, all, all alone, / Alone on a wide wide sea!" But now, I find pathos in the next two lines: And never a saint took pity on / My soul in agony."
Like the veil, outside the car-window, flirting with the breeze, like the half-naked kids' raw-street-life or like the red-smile of the Trickster Joker --- life seems holi (a festive of colour; *pun intended). I wish I had magic-wand-like colour pencils --- whatever I will draw it will come out of the page. What a life it could have been!
Light, I seek every now and then. Even in sunset, upon my shadow, or in the rays that find their ways to the floor from window-bars, or that falls over my books or upon my favourite mug. And specially when I ride your back (No pun*, like this kid in the picture), the rays peeping on our 10th floored warm-room --- a lifetime memoir, I believe.  
Lunarica Chowdhury, the photographer, captured all these (e)motions that I go through every fraction of seconds. 
The pictures have another facet. A tone of awaiting! Expecting! Waiting for those verses again to be born ---- every night they whisper to me --- "I do dare disturb your universe", "I, too, metamorphose", "I die into you, breath; the breezy lips, saturated in Salty Margarita and then again burnt nicotinish fragrance --- intoxicates to endure --- Desire: No Sin but Worship."     
Nachiketa! Let me tell you that I hate these lines a lot when I have to hum these:
'Ekla manush matrigorbhe ekla manush pitay / Ekla purush kortebbey ekla purush chitay / Ar modhe khaner bakita shomoy ekla na thakar obhinoy'
('Lone he is in womb, lone as father / Lone on duty, lone in coffin / And in between, nothing but an act of not being lone.')
Every night they whisper to me, every night you whisper in dreams�
 
Ahmed Tahsin Shams is with
The Daily Observer 





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