Sunday 13 March 2016

The Purple Heart


He’s the boy who survived,
And the dead lullaby.

He's the Purple Heart,
And the lopsided smile.

He’s the colors in grey,
And the prayers in white.

He's the quiet of the noisy mess,
And the song on a silent road.

He's the summer I'll never forget,
And the night I can’t remember.

He's the silence of the words unsaid,
And the echo of my loud thoughts.

He's the memory of the bonfire,
The half story of this broken poem.



- Sayantani Sarkar.



Wednesday 9 March 2016

The Big Bong Theory

Disclaimer: I’m a Bengali, and I don’t like roshogolla.

For centuries, being a Bong has been associated with the incidental notion of being gifted. Unfortunately, it also comes with the unwritten pact of being devoted to rice and literally every fish in the sea. Whenever I refused to allow a piece of pomfret from being dumped on my plate or declared that rice doesn’t need to be a part of daily life, all I received were incredulous stares from apparently devastated relatives. Clearly they didn’t get the point of growing up with Shawarma and Kabsa.

While studying in the capital city, I came across tons of people who praised my voice and made it synonymous with Saraswati Maa’s blessing over Kolkata. I blame Shreya Ghoshal. If you grew up in a Bengali household, you were probably sent for music classes since the age of five and made to practice Tagore’s songs on your grandmother’s harmonium. You hummed Bhoomi’s songs with your friends and danced to Bondhu Teen Din. You worshipped Dada as the best goddamn cricketer and had heated debates about Mohun Bagan and East Bengal.

We Bengalis take our literature, food, history, and discipline very seriously. You’re not a Bengali if you haven’t cried spicy tears during a Phuchka competition.  You’re not a Bengali if you haven’t indulged in an argument about North Calcutta and South Calcutta. You’re not a Bengali if you haven’t searched and sniffed those ancient classics at College Street. You’re not a Bengali if New Market isn’t your shopper’s paradise. You’re not a Bengali if haven’t had hours and hours of adda at The Coffee House. You’re not a Bengali if you haven’t gone for a night-long pandal hopping during Durga Puja and painted your face red. You’re not a Bengali if intellect, grace, and memories weren’t passed on to you as heritage. You’re not a Bengali if thinking about your city doesn’t fill your heart with pride.


Be careful before you visit The Land of Bongs, because the temple bells and the Bengali air will pollute your lungs with an eerie peace. Don’t come to Calcutta if you despise crowds, because the bespectacled beings will entice you with their knowledge and humour. Don’t come to Calcutta if you don’t like art, because every corner of this city has a story to tell. And lastly, don’t come to Calcutta if you’re afraid of love, because the City of Joy will pull you into an embrace, and make you stay.