Search Results

As my lips rest on thine, I forget for a moment it's your or mine. When our frames coalesce, our earthly forms transcend from matter to spirit in unison- in a deep eternal passion of love, a blessed state of pure oblivion. Words get flawed while I utter them to love you. Our rendezvous, after a long pause-- stirs a warmth of deja vu. Holding your palm, as we strolled the gardens of Eden, your hypnotic eyes disseminate somatic essence. A reflection of self I find in thine orb, Oh, my Love! never abandon me EVER- even beyond this earthly attire. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

She Cradled and cuddled in the arms of her doting mother, she grew up listening to stories of far-off lands from her grandmother. As her tiny feet danced their way through the fields of murmuring kashful, her fun-filled laughter echoed in the air. Her dreams carried the memories of ballroom dances and eternal love, adventures and picnics with friends and loved ones- these figments made their way through reading of Austen, Blyton, and Alcott. With time, as she grew, her roots spread wider and deeper into the essence of her homeland. Then one fateful day, when the soul opened to the light of becoming, without her consent, deaf to her denials, she was tied to the sacred vows of matrimony. In an untrodden land, among unknown faces, a new tongue, and queer people, lost and disoriented, uprooted and misplaced, like a fig tree, she felt utterly helpless. The rigour of customs and rituals, the bizarreness of must-dos severed her carefree wings, which once circled her lush green musings. Slowly but firmly, she learned to heal, to tend her wounds, bandage her wings. Like the seagull, she must fly, the soil shouldn't matter, the roots must thrive. Then with the wand in her hand and sprinkling of words, she inundated her pages with poetic metaphors. Her inner magic got revealed, which had been silenced for years. Yes, the words gave her might and shield to her fears; She then knew- She, herself, bore the roots, and thus gave wings to her prayers. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

"That speck of dust will remain there forever But don't dare open your mouth, ever... Words blurted out will lead to misery So please never be in a hurry. An engaging storyteller, A harbinger of delectable news, Of course, in all its colorful hues. Her attire will mock you Her latest fashion will stun you." Yes, she is none other than your maid, specially tailor-made for you, in heaven. She will knock on your door in the utmost haste, much against your taste. You'll catch a glimpse of the newest smartphone model in her hand, always perched against her ear, keeping her seamlessly connected to the world around her. You dial her up, and you will get to hear the latest Bollywood number as her ringtone. Holding onto the phone, she sweeps the floor, God forbid, where goes the dust, you really don't know. Mopping the floor is even faster, which I need to master. She would often engage in amorous conversations with her paramour, much against the knowledge of her other half. Obviously, she is the better half, in considerable demand. I often tried to eavesdrop on their babble, resulting in utter failure. One day, she entered my house in quite a distraught state as she had a fallout with her not-so-better half. She complained of fever and headache as well. That was her latest excuse for running late. Her lipstick was primly positioned in its esteemed place. Implacable demands will inundate your otherwise tranquil mind.''I need a pressure cooker on Diwali", "the suit must cost at least twelve hundred rupees. I don't accept petty stuff,'' "please give me the old refrigerator, you already have a new one''. Once, a maid even asked for my doormat. Clothes you gift her should match her taste, otherwise... They confidently hold exclusive authority over the number of holidays they will enjoy each month, ensuring a well-deserved break when needed. She will be resolute in her decision and will never waver for anything in the world--let alone we poor, pitiable employers. She is the empowered woman of our society in the real sense of the term. You overpower her, she will overthrow you. Meals you offer her should be palatable, or they will see the face of the dustbin. They are hard to appease and impossible to ignore. They have their share of fabricated tales about their co-employees, whom I pity, as they are part of the same consortium(club) where I own a seat too. They have their super-hygienic sense, which is inexplicable in many different ways. Once she served me boiled eggs, with those very precious hands she had used for cleaning the washroom. You will inculcate special immunity after eating that egg, I believe. Points to remember:1) Never ask her-''Why are you late?''(Obviously, she was busy) 2) Never break the news that your loved ones are coming over. 3) Never request her not to take a day off. (She will invariably do so) 4)Never ask -'' Why were you absent for the last two days?''---(You will get multiple contradicting answers) At the end--take a deep breath and practise pranayama for your inner peace and well-being. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

That gifted book That gifted book: the one that I gifted you on that fateful day- the day we met for the first time, when you stood by the bus stop waiting for me, one last time. In an indigo kurta and white pyjamas, decked with a captivating smile, your sombre eyes spoke of matters kept in exile. As years went by since we met and seasons ran forth- I remembered one fine day the words I couldn't utter that May: that book was written with care, with silent prayers of love; in time, you have touched those pages which I held for long. If it ever reminds you of me, remember my dear- You will meet me in my verses which I wrote without fear. As your fingers linger on those pages, if you notice, I reside in their creases. If you ever desire to inhale my presence, bring the book close by I will be there in the aroma of its pages. The book might turn old, its pages turning yellow and loose, I will still meet you in pieces if not in whole. You might forget and keep the book in a dark corner of your cupboard,  and still find me while you search in the dust adorning its fold. If you ever want to part with it the words, the memories, it is saddled with, do sell it at the old shop at the corner of your street, If ever it is sold and resold and lands in my abode, I will again keep it with love, just the way I gifted it to you. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

My loving Baba, As I write this letter, I know you are somewhere near me, reading my words...It's been over two months, and I am still processing your loss... You are not here to answer my call, Baba! Now, I talk about you in the past tense, a reality I have not come to terms with...and perhaps, I don't want to, at least for now...at least for now, I still want to believe you are somewhere near and you will call me...and I will run to you, thinking what happened?? I feel I could never really tell you how much I love you, how much I want to hear your voice, and how I miss your scolding and love... I meet you often in my dreams, we talk, discuss, and travel. I see myself going back to those childhood days when the four of us would go travelling. Yesterday, you came to my dreams, the day before yesterday as well, and many more days I have lost count of...We were on a boat- Ma, bhai, you and me. I think it was Nainital. Remember, we all went there with Jethu, how we enjoyed among the hills, how I held your hand while I was about to slip from a small hill. I know, you were in a lot of pain for the last few years- your illness - you couldn't even express what you were going through... And I was not able to look into your eyes...they wanted to say so much, yet were so helpless. I have come to know how volatile life is, how ephemeral, how transient... I couldn't write about you on Facebook, nor could I share your photo on my status to tell the world about my loss. I wanted to grieve myself- it was too personal, too intimate. But now, with the passing of days, I realize I need to keep you in my writings so that you stay forever with me. Baba, I miss you... @metaphors_of_life (My father passed away on 16th March, 2025. This letter is dedicated to Him, and written for Him.)

Cusped arch window Nestled within the gentle embrace of the Aravalli hills, where the air is infused with the enchanting fragrance of jasmine and the distant calls of peacocks resonate, Udaipur stands as a testament to resilience, vision, and understated elegance—a city waiting to be explored and appreciated. In 1559, in the aftermath of the Mughal destruction of Chittorgarh, Maharana Udai Singh II envisioned a brighter future for his people. Inspired by a hermit’s prophecy at the banks of Lake Pichola, he established a city that would embody the spirit of Mewar. Udaipur emerged not merely as a sanctuary, but as a powerful symbol of endurance. This city was designed not to erase the scars of conquest, but to thrive beyond them. "In the hills of Aravalli, rose a city from the cindering ashes of the battle of Chittorgarh, by a king who wandered in pain and built this city from battle's stain-named it Udaipur, which time cannot replace..." As you land in Udaipur and maneuver yourself through the streets, you can at once feel an idyllic character defining the city's current mood and anatomy. It still seems to hold on to the ancient courtly gestures that deftly describe any princely state(earlier). You don't need to specifically go by my words, but choose to see the city through my lens. The first thing that caught my attention was their architecture- the patterns of doors and windows of forts and old-fashioned houses, traces still discernible in certain city locales. The cusped arch(pic 1)- a hallmark of Rajput architecture- is prevalent in Udaipur's palaces, temples, and forts, enhancing their aesthetic merit. As my eyes fell on exquisite, royal, and latticed Jharokhas(ornamental overhanging balconies or windows), my imaginative prowess unleashed into the marvellous world of kingly courtrooms and celebrations...I wish I could stand in one such jharokha, all decked up and veiled, looking stealthily at the regal processions on elephants and accompanied by beating drums and blaring brass trumpets. Our hotel was a fabulous experience altogether. The view from our room was just "wow"- we could enjoy the hills, the lakes, and even saw a peahen in the garden. The garden was a breathtaking tapestry of vibrant colors, adorned with exquisite and rare plants and flowers that elevated its beauty to new heights. It truly was a scene that captured the imagination. The windows were designed keeping in mind the typical Rajasthani style of architecture. I felt nothing short of regal. The stay(3 days) was memorable in every sense. Window view from the hotel room We started with Saheliyon ki Bari, or the Garden of the Maidens, an enchanting oasis filled with vibrant greenery and soothing fountains. Created by the visionary Maharana Sangram Singh II, this exquisite retreat served as a serene escape for the women of his palace, allowing them to relax and revel in the peaceful embrace of nature's beauty. The white and pink bougainvillea overhanging the white walls took me to a whole realm of deja vu, of time immemorial, when time stops and you only inhale and seep into the beauty of the moment. Saheliyon ki Bari Cascading bougainvillea When you step into the premises of the Sajjangarh fort , you find yourself lost in the grandeur of a bygone era- a fort which served as a monsoon retreat and hunting lodge for the royals of Udaipur. To get to the palace at the top, you need to rent a cab that plies to and fro to take the visitors to the fort. The ascent to the summit is nothing short of exhilarating, much like savoring a thrilling ride through the mountains. Once you reach your destination, you get a panoramic view of the entire city- lakes, vegetation, hills, the clear blue sky, clouds, and houses. A soft, serene wind blows as you capture a beautiful photo, with your hair sweeping across your face while you try to push it away. Imagine a world where old staircases beckon you to explore stunning gardens, charming verandahs, and expansive rooms filled with light. Each step invites you to uncover the beauty that lies just beyond. After the heat, you can get a respite by having some cold drinks or coffee available at a cafe located on the premises of the fort. You can stay till dusk to get a mesmerising view of sunset from such a height( a very popular place for enjoying sunsets). View from Sajjangarh fort City Palace showcases a breathtaking architectural masterpiece, perched on a hill and overlooking the serene Pichola Lake. But we missed the opportunity to explore this beauty since the Maharaja Arvind Singh Mewar had passed away that day, and the palace was closed as a mark of respect. Another fascinating, not-to-miss spots are the lakes -scintillating, ethereal, magnanimous, and meditative- quite a romantic spot for couples who wish to search each other in the realm of golden sunsets bathing the silvery lakes. We went to Fateh Sagar Lake to soak in the calming view of the sunset. Standing under a small dome-shaped shed like those found in the palaces, a faint, cool breeze swayed my tresses over my tired face- I felt rejuvenated (a quick photo session was a must). We stayed there for quite a long time, enjoying chana bhel and masala chai - uff, what a flavour and what a taste- a moment that goes past in a jiffy!! Fateh Sagar Lake And then the next day we went for a boat ride at Lake Pichola . The experience was nothing less a magic. I felt like going back to the ages of rajas and maharajas - a majestic view of the City Palace transports you to a time which can be felt but not lived. I recorded a video trying to capture the experience, but couldn't...I've come to understand that some forms of beauty can only be truly appreciated by the naked eye; they elude the grasp of camera lenses and demand to be seen in their purest form. Boating at Lake Pichola We also sought blessings at Jagdish Temple- a quiet place where you can pray and sit for a while- a relaxing experience, a pause from otherwise hectic life. As you gear yourself for a shopping spree, you will not be disheartened...Instead, the city has a lot to offer, not only in terms of variety but also in its artistic sensibility. As I went around different shops, I got to know how talented the artisans over there are- their art is a testament to their rich glory and resilience. I can vouch for their miniature painting if you ever think of buying any singular object to carry with you as a semblance of this place. Painted on cloth and then framed, they take days to complete a piece. A connoisseur of art , I bought quite a few pieces- they encompass religious themes, animals, birds, and a royal past which includes kings, queens, and princesses, which tells a tale of wars, processions, coronations, and courtly gestures. I am still in awe of their artistic finesse and craftsmanship. If you're looking for a budget-friendly option, fridge magnets are a wonderful choice. They eloquently express the sentiment of "atithi devo bhava" and add a touch of charm to your space. Another particularly charming option for women is the bangle. The designs are appealing, detailed, colourful, and add a touch of elegance to any outfit. You must buy to know that!! At the end, I can say that Udaipur transcends its palaces, lakes, and sunsets. It speaks of a legacy shaped by hardship, softened by time, and immortalized in stone and water. A city that remembers and endures. And don't forget me while you relive these experiences in person... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life * A cusped arch is a type of arch that has small rounded points or curves(called cusps) along the inside edge.

The Valentine's Letter- Chapter 1 His eyes were looking around for someone until he spotted her at one corner of the room. She was buried inside a book as usual, unlike others who were either busy blabbering over a glass of wine or hurriedly scrolling through their phones. Upon learning she would be attending the party, he couldn't resist coming over. It's been a year since the last Valentine. At first, he thought of approaching her, hesitated, and then kept to himself. He thought he shouldn't disturb her. He stepped onto the balcony, lit a cigarette, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a folded paper. After much thought, he put it back into his pocket. The sky was dark, only a few stars shone through. He could even name a few. He had often observed them through his telescope. "Are you still studying the stars, Ashwin?" a familiar voice spoke to him. He turned back, sighed deeply as he saw Ira staring at him. A wave of emotions, tied carefully until then, deluged his memory. He didn't know what to say. As the cinders burnt his finger, he came to his senses. He surreptitiously threw the butt outside. 'So, you have again started smoking. And on the top of it, you threw it into the garden.' Ashwin forced an awkward smile, but he still struggled to find the right words. A strikingly handsome man, Ashwin effortlessly drew the attention of pretty and not-so-pretty girls; something he enjoyed unabashedly. Last year when Ira saw Ashwin for the first time, he was busy talking to someone over his phone. It was a Valentine's Day party just like today. What caught her attention was his calm demeanor; his eyes wide and unguarded, accompanied by a smile that reflected more of sadness—a stark contrast to his otherwise casual behavior. She had heard of him from their common friends. And Ira being always the righteous one, avoided him and went to the other side of the living room. She had never enjoyed parties- always found them absurd and empty. She would efficiently find a quiet corner and read a book. Others found her strange, but she couldn't care less. She agreed to attend the event at the insistence of her friend Nitu, who wanted to introduce her to her fiancé. 'Hi, I'm Ashwin. May I ask which book you are reading?' Startled from her reverie, she looked up to answer. 'Umm...The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak,' she struggled to remember the name. Ira was unable to look away as Ashwin stared intently into her eyes. "In the eyes lie the art to steal your heart, In them lies the art to break them apart: Excuse their audacity if your good sense starts to depart..." ********* By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Diary Entry My adorable D, Meeting you after a long pause...was caught up with life and much more. Didn't have the time to sit and reflect. But today as I am down with a nagging headache and a runny nose, I started to miss you after a long time. So much has happened in between and a lot is buried within... But life must move on in all its shades of beauty. As I sit still, I often stare at the void for long and then I get lost into nothingness. And I love to be in this state. I know people might find this crazy. But it's normal for me. Many of my works of poetry are borne out of this state of trance- somewhere between real and unreal- a no man's land one treads into. It's easy and at the same time difficult to transcribe into words...you sort of feel liberated and yet cling to your reality--- a two-faceted state of existence...There have been times I didn't realize I was lost, and then suddenly a familiar voice woke me up from my stupor-quite embarrassing at times I must say. Lately, in one of my Spanish classes I had been caught off guard by my teacher who asked me what was I thinking of. And I had no answer because I don't have... I don't know why I am writing this today. Maybe I don't have anything worthwhile to write or maybe I wanted to write about this experience...some answers are found in between-just the way we read in between the lines of poetry, a person's words which speak of something else but mean otherwise...Life is all about this NO MAN'S LAND...We all are somewhere stuck between our words and their meanings. "words dance onto my page create a symphony with my orchestra of thoughts just the way a kind face is brought to life by the eerie darkness of charcoal..." Will return to you soon this time, with a new train of ideas and novelty of understanding. Till then I bid adieu as you miss me. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

'Sweetheart' A name you would often call me by... Today I celebrate our love. In the aroma of flowers, you gifted me that day, I still seek your fragrance. They are dried now but are still resting on my window sill. I couldn't throw them away. They too are waiting to be touched by your warm hands. I surmise they are shying away in silence lest you read their thoughts. They are their secrets. I had a dream last night. I embraced thee in my arms, my love, held thou tight to never let you go. In my dreams, you are with me and I am yours. Through my poetry, you are remembered every day. In my lines, you are loved and cared for. The clouds shall be my messenger; the wind touching your wisps of hair shall be my friend in disguise, whispering my words of love into your steel ears. They don't mind man-made barriers. My ardour was borne of you and yours of me. The hands that touched your essence were none but of me. The drops of tears that fell on those flowers while I was bringing them home are dried now. They don't mourn anymore. "with gratitude I end this letter with dignity I set myself free" {She keeps this letter in her box along with other numerous ones...} By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

By the seaside I was there, waiting for you lost in the turbid water of the animated sea as it made its way through those triangular rocks in the early hours of a busy morning, I was still there while the evening ushered in with a longing to return to the obscurity of night I turned back many a time in case you haven't noticed me in the golden tint of the sinking sun as it put the sea to a slumber with its lullaby Then I got up, shook the dirt off my sleeves and placed the rose on the rock in case you arrive by mistake after I have left... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Laura was doing her laundry. It was a Sunday afternoon and she was finishing up all her pending work from the week before. She worked as an assistant in the office of a wedding planner. Her work barely gave her time to tidy up her house or to finish up her cooking. For the last four months, she had been surviving on noodles, cereals, and sandwiches. Her high cheekbones became more promiscuous. Today was the day she decided to cook a full meal for herself. The vegetables were all chopped and washed. The tofu was diced and marinated. The kitchen looked alive after months. The utensils were splayed across the countertop, waiting to be heated and sauteed. Their wait was getting to be over. It was just a matter of a few minutes. As Laura collected her clothes from the floor, her honey-colored hair partially hid her curious eyes around the edges of her face. She noticed a square purple stone falling from her shirt's pocket. The stone was tiny, square-shaped, and shining. Laura picked up the stone and looked at it intently, trying to remember how it arrived in her pocket. She had joined the company in Texas to work as a trainee. She had plans to start her enterprise after a year or two of hands-on experience. The doorbell rang. She left her laundry and scurried to the main door. She peeped through the door eye. She couldn't see anyone. "Maybe someone has rung the bell by mistake," she thought and went back to her work. She started the washing machine and went to her kitchen. The bell rang again. She waited for a moment and went towards the door. She again peeped through the eye but couldn't find anyone. Just when she turned her back to return to her work, she heard a voice. "It's me, Leo." The voice was faint yet distinct. It was familiar too. Laura quickly opened the door and looked down. Six years old little Leo was staring at her with blue eyes. He looked worried. "What happened dear?" "My magic stone is with you." "Ah, yes. I found a stone today in my shirt's pocket." "It's mine." "But I am surprised. How did it come into my pocket?" "I had put it when I came to your house yesterday with Mom." "But why?" "So that Mia doesn't take it." Laura laughed and didn't say anything. Mia was Leo's younger sister. They lived in her neighborhood. She gave him the stone. He took it with a huge relieving smile and went away. She too went to the kitchen, surveyed the mess, smiled, and resumed working. A sumptuous meal was served on the small white table which also served as her workstation. And thus she treated herself to her first real meal after four months... (Slow music played in the background) "Little things, little joys little smiles and playful toys; A child brings memories of our lost days spent unalloyed." By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life *(It's a story of childhood innocence pitted against adult realism.)

the crazy me went on to weave an unrealistic dream spun out of the void that very day crossed my mind today the day i waited for you near those blue houses by the narrow lanes and then you would come out of nowhere we would hold hands the warmth that lingered even when i went to sleep dreaming of you in my dreams too the steep steps of the jhalra would scare me off you held me tight close by your side felt our oneness in that moment today it rained again like that very day we had no umbrella waiting under a drooping tree for the rain to stop silly me, didn't understand that was our last day together i still dream of you still weaving dreams of you in my dream the blue houses still stand there many of them have lost their colors people aspired to new hues that blue has turned old silly me, still pass a glance whenever I cross by those lanes of diminishing blue houses lest you stand there waiting for me incase i lose taking note of... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life