Sunset Sky of Delhi


থৱায় ৱাবা মরক্তা পূক্নীং লুমবা

মপান্দা অকিবা নোংলৈ নুংশীৎ৷
লূূূম্না নিনবা খরদমক মরোলদি খঙদনা
য়ূম্লোননবনা খৎনবগুুুম
অঙাংনা ঙক্না কিনা তাবদু না থাঙ্গৎতুনা৷

অরাপপদগি লাকপা মরী থোক্নদবগি অৱাবা পাউ
কদায়দগিনো লীৎশিল্লক শোননা নোম্লৈ
অপাবা য়ুুুখল অঙৌবা থোঙনাউদা, ফক্লাংদা, লময়ায়দা
তপ্না ইমুংগি মম্লিবা অচীকপদা৷
করিশু থোক্তে ইমুুংসিদদি৷
অমম্বা অমসুং অচীকপদা লৈরৈ
লৈবগুম লৈতবগুুম, লেঙবগুম লেঙদবগুম
খোঙগুল তাদবা করিনো খঙদবা অমা
লম্মাঙনরবা হৌদোঙ মচাগুম৷

ফি থোংদবা হনুবা
কোনশিন্দুনা তূমই মমাগি পূক্নুংদগুম
য়ূমগি মনুুংদা



A face is a face. It tells you just what it can tell. There are other things besides faces. Faces are not the other things. Humans are addicted to faces. For them everything has a face–houses, cars, computers, mobile phones, bras, underwear, pianos, shoes, food packages, pens, boxes, tin cans, machines, flowers, and what not?

Yes, looks tell you what is what. The face of a mango and the face of a lemon tell themselves from each other. But what about two mangoes? Yes, they look different. But are we concerned only about looks? Yes, most of us don’t care–we are cognitive misers.

Still, there are some slow and quiet people who don’t want to go far in life. They dig miles into the space of a second–a second has space big like wide enough to contain a house or a hospital and deep like an abyss. And they want to fill that depth and width with thoroughly drenched experience. Just a few things for them to wriggle into like worms–enough for them. The world is too big for them. They are too little worms for the world. For them, the face is just one of the things things have, if any. They love the insides of things, which carry their own weight, and that the outside cannot represent. By the same logic, the logic of first impression does not work always for these people. You cannot get all what they are from how they look because they don’t show off. This is true of even those who make an effort to put everything they have on show like shop windows because they are richer than they can show.

Silence in Noise #1

Sound is sculpted in silence. When we are concerned so much with sound, music feels like being merciful to silence by reducing thickness at regular intervals. But when we live beyond the span of music, we know it is just a series of transient, instantaneous inscriptions in silence that erase their own traces as soon as their formations in time complete. This erasure leaves silence as if it were a trailing trace, making sound take the trailing instantaneous shape.
That is why cities sound like sound so full of sounds–the antithesis of silence. I love the sounds of a city–the swearing horns, the hooting sirens, the deep heavy hums of restless cars and buses, the indiscernible sounds of the voices of a million familiar strangers that don’t mean to each other. There is some aesthetic about the noise of a city. But when you live awake through the day and through the night, you will see the noise of a city has a rhythm like the sun rising and setting. The noise of a city has its beat, and the beat is sculpted in silence, and once you know this, you see and hear silence everywhere, even right in the middle of noise. Or rather noise trapped like a bubble in the vast expanse of silence.

Waiting for Dinner

Dogs waiting in front of a meat shop for their dinner. On my way back from the gym at around 10 every night, I see the butchers give these dogs some scraps of meat right before they close the shop. In Delhi, there is always a good relationship between street dogs and people within the boundaries of places specific communities of dogs specify as their territories. That relationship is one of great love. The dogs bark at any odd movements around within their territory–they behave (or act?) as self-conscious local guards.