Something of Myself
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
The God of All Things
The songs are still fresh in the memory. 15th August, each year, beer, mangsho and songs. Laughter and quarrels, making and un-making, belief and dis-belief, conversations, dialogues, monologues, reflection, bonding, the coming together of three not-so-different worlds. So different, so unique, yet in so many ways similar to every other nucleus that sticks together.
One wonders if time is God's way of making us realise that we are, after all, all of us, caught in an ever-changing protean existence. Now here, now there, slipping, holding on, and now, nowhere to be found! Gone! Magic.
Rabindrasangeet. Folk songs. Dijendra geeti. All making way for an extended brunch!
There is something permanent about such endings. The guarantee of finality. The inevitability of incompleteness. The coming of the end. The beginning of another story, another life, lives intertwined with other lives, criss-crossing each other, stepping upon, stepping over, unwantedly, lost in the maddening chase. The chase to succeed, the chase to chase all that will never be.
Inured.
Halted. There is so much to pick up and see. So many fragments to put together. So many tears to lick. And there is God.
The God of all things. Omniscient. Omnipresent. Watching over. Silently. Entering dreams. Whispering words. Infusing courage. Distilling anger. Assuaging pain.
There can be no continuity in a narration like this. At best, it can be what it is - disjointed, floating, malleable...
The songs are still fresh in the memory. 15th August, each year, beer, mangsho and songs. Laughter and quarrels, making and un-making, belief and dis-belief, conversations, dialogues, monologues, reflection, bonding, the coming together of three not-so-different worlds. So different, so unique, yet in so many ways similar to every other nucleus that sticks together.
One wonders if time is God's way of making us realise that we are, after all, all of us, caught in an ever-changing protean existence. Now here, now there, slipping, holding on, and now, nowhere to be found! Gone! Magic.
Rabindrasangeet. Folk songs. Dijendra geeti. All making way for an extended brunch!
There is something permanent about such endings. The guarantee of finality. The inevitability of incompleteness. The coming of the end. The beginning of another story, another life, lives intertwined with other lives, criss-crossing each other, stepping upon, stepping over, unwantedly, lost in the maddening chase. The chase to succeed, the chase to chase all that will never be.
Inured.
Halted. There is so much to pick up and see. So many fragments to put together. So many tears to lick. And there is God.
The God of all things. Omniscient. Omnipresent. Watching over. Silently. Entering dreams. Whispering words. Infusing courage. Distilling anger. Assuaging pain.
There can be no continuity in a narration like this. At best, it can be what it is - disjointed, floating, malleable...
10 Comments:
Really Beautiful ... ur best i have read so far. khub bhaalo laaglo :)
Except for "! Gone! Magic." and some other scattered exclamation marks.maajhe maajhe ket na maarle hoye na? :D
wasnt well. tai officer mail gulo pai ni. ek shopta office jetei paari ni! better now, but not ok puro. plus busy running around with some paper work. will mail / txt asap
Good to know you are back. I thought you went on some exile or such thing...Thanks for the comment. I do realise that those scattered exclamations weren't needed...hmmm...but having said that, from when did YOU start paying attention to punctuation?! ;)
I have really enjoyed reading this writing. Something fluid and Joycean about it all. Wonderful stuff.
That's easily the BIGGEST compliment I ever received. I am truly FLATTERED. Thank you!
p.s. Curious as to why you call yourself Molly Bloom? :-) Ardent Joyce fan?
Yes...big Joyce fan...and strangely Molly like in lots of things that I do. I really like your writing...something soft and ethereal...and yes, Joycean. I love the subtle references to Joyce as well. And the evocative phrases too. There is intelligence, softness and beautiful imagery here. I shall be coming back...have linked youxxx
I also like your take on the Molly Bloom you describe. I like the tinge of anger in it. I always have fondness for her...and well..it is intriguing to hear a kind of marvellous, almost sensual attack on her. There is a friction between what we want from her...we could criticise her...but we can love her too. I suppose I feel that dichotomy in my own character and that is why I relate to her. And of course...Joyce...ah!
Thank you for your kind words. You intrigue me when you say that you are Molly like in things you do. Interesting.
Yes, I completely agree with you on Molly - criticise or love OR perhaps both! She does not necessarily have to be the good virgin or the evil whore that contemporaries of Joyce were so keen to categorize; if that makes any sense...I personally think that's what makes Joyce so different from the rest. And I have not even started talking about his stream of consciousness. :-) I better get back to work now...But hope to hear from you more. xxxx
And I like what you say about Milton's Satan. I wrote a piece about that years ago. You should do a post about that. I'd be intrigued to hear more.
Hmm...Good plan Molly. Milton's Satan...I'll have to dig up old notes. But hey I'd want to read your piece. Will you please share? If so, then feel free to mail me at peleroy@gmail.com Ok? Cheers. xxx
I'm not sure if I still have that piece Pele...I'll have a look...but I think it might have been sucked into the abyss along the way. I have so many pieces of paper and letters...it might be one of the things I didn't save in favour of something more interesting. I will have a look though. Go on...do a post on it...and some more creative pieces.
Post a Comment
<< Home