Words convulse emotions digress, we are at loss, as how far to progress-- at times it feels like stopping here at times meandering ways, at times it's ponderous, at times idioms fail. A poem delves deep enough, the only medium I relate I never know its origin and where it escapes-- in a trance or in senses in real or in fiction, truth or the facade it takes me to realms of dreamlike imagination, a source of seamless digression. Into the recess, out of the closet it seems at times to play in the midst: a deliverance of emotions, a repertoire of memories, spilling in excess. has always been a Saviour in the weather of Life when all appear meaningless and dry... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

I often stare at the painting of the bull in my living room. Such intricate work, such finesse, and the amount of patience that went into making it amazes me every time I look at it. I have many such Madhubani paintings at my place, a few of them even superior in theme and execution. But I keep coming back to this bull named Nandi. Yes, He is none other than the ardent worshipper of Lord Shiva. The reason which drew me to this painting was His enchanting eye. Only one eye is visible since it is a two-dimensional painting. The more I look into it, it appears to reveal some truth...as if, they have words of their own...trying to speak a language I have long lost comprehension of. The other day, my yoga teacher, Mrs. Dixit dropped in at my place without any hint of doing so. I was totally abashed and unprepared. I was having my lunch and everything was lying helter-skelter. I didn't know what to say and how to react. Silently, she entered through the entrance door as if that was quite normal and expected of her. "Why didn't you come for your yoga class Kavya?" she asked me with a worried look in her eyes. I was puzzled. My half-finished biryani was staring at me. How could I say the truth that her yoga steps were driving me crazy! For three days I had been trying to ace dhanurasana and twisted my left leg badly. After much coaxing from her, I tried to stand on my head leaning against the wall. The world around me seemed to be revolving after I stood on my feet. Either my upright position was not correct or the headstand went wrong. I felt dizzy and quickly understood that yoga was not tailor-cut for me. "Actually, I don't think I can continue with my yoga classes anymore," I jabbered out my words. Nervously awaiting her reaction, my eyes guiltily pried towards my biryani. I wished that she didn't mind my unapologetic behavior. I gave a cursory look at her. To my utter surprise, she was not looking at me. I followed her gaze and found her examining the bull's painting. "Doesn't that eye seem mysterious to you?" she asked thoughtfully. "the mystery is in His eye or in the beholder, the bull seemed to have hit its target- appeared as my Saviour..." By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Yesterday, in the evening, I went for a pillion ride on a scooter with my friend. It's been a long time since I had been part of a trip on a two-wheeler. The scooter zoomed through the roads, slowed down while taking turns, and then screeched while it stopped near a street food outlet. We decided to gorge on some as we were famished. We savored pani puri and papri chaat , devouring them as if we had not eaten them ever. I must say they were delectably spicy and mouth-watering. After that, we went to one open ground nearby with intermittent grasses spread throughout. The vacant plot was waiting for the multi-storied to be built on it. No construction work had yet been started but a billboard bearing the name of the builder was shining through the darkness which just set in. The soil was yellowish and dusty at most of the places; it often took its course along with the wind. We sat near a small outgrowth and talked our hearts out, not having met since she had changed her neighborhood. It was already dark and our tete-a-tete was not yet over. "I think you should start talking to him. It's already been three days," I suggested. "But how could I? First, he should apologize," she grimaced. "Again you have started that same vicious cycle," I retorted as I passed an annoying look while adjusting the edges of my shirt tucked into my jeans. "Today you are going to talk to him and solve this silly matter altogether." Both of us stood to leave the place as we were getting late. "Well, I will try but..." her words trailing off into the air as she started her scooter, rumbling out of the dusty land. I was in two minds, thinking whether to sit putting my legs across or to one side. Every time I ride a bike or a scooter, this question crosses my mind. As the vehicle zipped through the air, I felt like flying my scarf into the air like a filmy heroine but then dropped the idea since that might irate my friend. She was on a mission- going to do something she had never done before. She had an altercation with her husband three days back. They have a pet dog. The dog fell ill due to food poisoning. First, her husband accused her of not giving a proper diet to the concerned pet. She immediately retaliated and the argument went on for hours. Only when they had come to a truce on this point, the second problem crept in-- who would take the dog to the vet? Eventually, my friend had to take it to the clinic and since then she had not been talking to her husband. I really don't know whether she would take in my suggestions but I was enjoying the ride to the full-- through the air, I fly humming a song of clouds and spring, and then I remember my pressure cooker is still on the oven unattended... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Last Friday, my friend and I went shopping at a renowned marketplace in Delhi. Well, this time not in her scooter. But by metro. The place is quite far off from our place, so we decided on public transport as it would keep both of us free from traffic hassles associated with road travel. We had embarked on this metro journey after a long time since Covid infiltrated into our lives and created havoc on it. As the rail pulled off at our destination, we got off onto the platform. We used the subway to reach the other side of the road. "I am sure my husband is either watching television or hooked up with his clients on the phone," said my friend while adjusting her dupatta. A weird-looking man in a brown rusted coat and shabby beard was staring at us with glittering eyes. An eerie feeling swept up my spine and we both hastened towards the stairway opening to the pavement outside. Nothing really happened as he kept doing his work and we ours. We encounter people at odd places and their behavior stuns us in inexplicable ways. Stunted bushes, neatly pruned, adorned the edges of the stoned pavement of the marketplace. Intermittent benches for taking rest in between sweep-of-your feet shopping have been meticulously set. Bargaining was of no use at this place, all fixed prices. Soon we had our hearts full with shopping. We were famished and could ravenously eat a plateful. We eyed for a modest eatery as we were running out of money. Excess shopping had made us penniless. We entered a small, dark, and airless restaurant. The air was redolent of spices and stew. The restaurant was a typical one, in the nascent stage perhaps. The cooking pots and utensils were set up in a makeshift kitchen at the right side of the entry door, put out of sight by a red muslin portiere. We were looking for the table when we found that there was no counter to receive orders. A young couple, in their twenties, were having coffee. However, we found a table and sat on the slim-legged chairs. A young chap happened to pass by us. "Can you please help us with placing orders? We are a bit confused about this place," I asked trying to fit my shopping bags under the table. "Sorry ma'am, I don't understand what are you saying," said the boy "We are hungry and so please bring the menu card quickly," my friend interrupted "But ma'am there is no menu card. We prepare meals according to the choice of the production unit and actors," the boy informed We gave each other a shattering look and then glanced at the place again. It was a set for a teleserial, put up on the open ground by the sideway. The shooting was on halt due to lunchtime and what we thought of as a makeshift kitchen was actually so. And as regards our longing for a plateful to satiate our ravenous souls, let's discuss it in the next episode... "When frogs jump in your vacant plot and cents don't suffice, you can play the flute to bring some respite" By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

The debacle we confronted last time taught my friend and me to make sure that we keep our debit and credit cards in place for our current sojourn. As winter was approaching the mountains, at the beginning of November, we planned for a short trip of three days to Mussoorie, famously known as the 'Queen of the Hills'. The place derives its name from the word Masur or Masuriya, a shrub fast disappearing from the landscape due to the encroachment of the human species in every nook and corner of nature's pristine beauty. The main purpose of this trip was to harvest some mental peace and quietude, away from our grinding routine life. We boarded the train from Old Delhi for Dehradun at night. The train pulled off the station on time and reached its destination the morning after. We hired a cab for Mussoorie. The journey in the four-wheeler was no less than a treat. The verdant mountains on one side and deep valleys on the other make for a memorable trip in itself. As we were approaching our resort, the solemn dark leaves of Deodar and Pine welcomed us in full mirth alongside Fir and Oak. The cobbled path leading to the reception desk, bordered by Orchids, Petunia, and Poppies seemed to narrate sweet little tales of their own. Two of us went to the receptionist who greeted us with a warm smile- a young boy in his early twenties, handsomely dressed with spikey hair and amicable countenance. He was overtly courteous in his behavior as he thought of showing some chivalry(my thought) when approached by two naive ladies(maybe he thought so). "The porter will show your room and here are the keys to your cottage," he handed the keys to me "and if you face any inconvenience please feel free to share with us," he bloated with a sense of pride. "We have booked for two days' meditation classes arranged at your resort. Can you please tell us the timings?" I implored in a rather haughty note "Well...take this leaflet. Everything is written here, ma'am," he said humbly, quick enough to understand my dislike for him. As we went to our cottage, my friend made a call at her home to enquire if her husband was taking meals on time. I somehow overheard their conversation since the range of her voice gave me no other option. Later she complained to me, "He is saying it's not even twenty-four hours and I have started my interrogation. Is this the way he should talk to me?" I was in a quandary since my views matched with her husband's. But still, I nodded in acquiescence. The perils of friendship! After having lunch we went for the ropeway ride to the Gunhill point to manage a better view of the mountains and surrounding areas. A number of colorful shops and restaurants adorned the place, selling a motley of colorful items, enticing to the eyes. We bought a few titbits and then went back to our cottage. We had to wake up early the next morning. The meditation class was starting at 6 am. It was boldly written on the leaflet that mobile phones should not be brought to the venue. The next morning we went for the meditation, leaving our mobiles back in the room. My friend was in a pesky mood, quite bothered about not being able to take a selfie with the spiritual master. We took our respective places on the rug stretched across the floor. The master entered the room with an air of dignity, though he appeared quite ordinary to us. He started the class with a small prayer. We all folded our palms with utmost reverence followed by several rounds of deep breathing. As all of us were focusing on our breath, a phone rang. And it kept ringing as we glanced around the room for that coveted object. And then did it come out of the bearer's pocket. The master passed a disconcerting look towards us as he silenced his mobile. But the caller was adamant enough and it rang again. He quickly left the room to attend to the call. Everyone looked at each other in utter dismay. After some time, a boy appeared in the room with the message that the class had been postponed for the evening. We all went outside in a thoroughly dejected mood. On being coerced by my friend, the young messenger told us: "Sir has gone home. He had a fight with his wife." "As elusive as peace is hard to seek without within lies all the secret the road to a blissful core a state of absolute joy" By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

It was the month of March, almost three years back. The pandemic had not yet created havoc in the otherwise placid life of the people. My dear friend called me up one morning while I was having my breakfast. She was utterly disappointed with her prosaic life and desperate for a much-needed break. We were on two minds, whether to go to beaches or mountains. The next day, while I was surfing through the internet, a pop-up became visible on the mobile screen. It was about a homestay in Kerala. The homestay was not what drew my attention but rather the destination. I decided upon going to the backwaters instead of hills or beaches. The tranquil panoramic view of the Kumarakom district felt the most befitting place to anchor for a short trip of four days. Soon, I called up my friend and we decided to book the flight to Cochin. In a fortnight we planned our trip. Soon, we packed our bags and were headed for the airport. We were sitting on the flight. And I prefer to read over talking during such journeys. I had hardly opened the first page of Reader's Digest when my friend nudged me. "The child behind my back is continuously kicking the back of my seat," told my friend as she raised her eyebrows, feeling quite irritated. I advised her to report the child's parents. She acted verbatim. The result was that the kid threw himself up and started shouting at the top of his voice. Unable to bear the noise, we recommended that the child be allowed to do whatever he wanted. After the fiasco in the flight, we somehow reached our resort. We had booked a cottage for ourselves nearby the backwaters of Vembanad lake. The ethereal view soothed our wretched souls after the troublesome experience. The sparkling lake, the sun playing with the water before it retired for the day, was a delight to a nature lover's eyes(it's me). A moment to behold forever. We were sitting at a table before the waterbody when my friend came up with an unexpected question. My wanderer's soul received a temporary shock. "Why do you think men marry? "Maybe for a life partner," I replied her, as I shifted my gaze from the drowning sun to her face. The approaching darkness accorded a sort of gravity to her plight. "Oh really?" she said, totally unsatisfied with my answer. Blindfolded, I didn't know how to react. I kept staring at her, expecting some more to come from her end. And the same happened. "You know, when I was dating my husband, I was the most beautiful woman on this earth. Even my reproaches were melodies to his ears. He would call me umpteenth times just to hear my voice and would proclaim promises of undying love for me," her voice gradually sinking as she kept talking. "So, that's great. You should be happy about it," I retorted. "What is there to be happy about? Now, after being married for five years my voice seems like a magpie to him. The songs on his mobile are more enticing to his ears. One day, as my phone's battery, was down, I took his mobile to call my mother. And you know what I saw? "What?" I asked her. Entirely hooked to her conversation by then, I forgot about the setting sun and the sparkling lake. Even their play seemed like a clash of swords to me. "He has a friends' group on Whatsapp. Only males. They share all kinds of awful jokes and most of them are about wives. And my husband steals the show every day," "Oh! Don't worry. They keep doing this every time," I said, trying to pacify her. The pakodas on the plate turned cold. I desperately wanted to have them. But I didn't. I thought this might infuriate my friend even more. Her question was obvious and I felt she was absolutely right. The grass always seems greener on the other side. The very person rides over the moon and planets before marriage and the girl becomes his muse. But as soon as the honeymoon gets over, the very girl resembles a sour grape. The next day, we went for a ride on the shikara. There was drizzling rain, dripping against the outer periphery of the boat's rooftop. I was thoroughly engrossed in capturing this work of nature when I heard a voice coming from my friend's direction. I had accidentally come across her private conversation with her husband. ".....but I miss you so much," "Marriage is like the setting sun and the rising moon, a tricky riddle and unsolicited boon; if you can dare solve do let me know soon..." By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

The day I took her in my folded arms, The moment I set my gaze on hers, The magical fairy took my breath away- Forever and ever and ever... Her twinkling eyes, her captivating smile, Kept me going all the while. Her bawling, sometimes, made me uneasy- For countless sleepless nights... Loving and forgiving have never been so easy, Unless her clamor throws you dizzy. Her doe eyes- alluring and innocent, Keep staring at you in awe and astonishment... Her lips, reminisce me of strawberries- Freshly plucked from the greeneries... On her nose, resides huge displeasure, Calmed with the warmth of embrace in full measure.. God has been ever kind and benevolent, When he laid his hands on me, I became a mother And she the Princess of my dreams... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

As I intend to write- I falter for the right words, Some pertinent phrases, Which might delineate her forthright. Longing for me to return, My appearance would dislodge her fear, And brighten up her eyes, I could discern. Her love is ever forgiving and dear. I feel her touch, hear her voice, Caressing me in pain and Calling me for lunch, Indelible memories to rejoice. Every tale has to be narrated- Not a drop to be left. Even her rebukes reflect the love In all its hues. Her smile emanates her inner strength- She is my loving mother Her love and warmth are Forever intense and pure. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

When I brought the potted plant home Only its hypnotic aroma was known. I never knew it blooms in dark When other flowers leave off their mark. For months several branches grew Now it's a climber, along with the crew. Through my glass door, I behold The white flowers, at night, unfold. Their unalloyed beauty if you glance Revives the old-world romance. Images of women adorning these flowers Surface my mind charming their lovers. Its destination is still unforeseen But the magical journey makes me keen. Their nectars make butterflies swoon They smile bright under the moon. As you keep the flowers on your palm Draw in their scent in a state of full calm, They cast a spell on your olfactory sense And transport you to a realm intense. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

One listless and long afternoon When eyelids refused to doze off, A crow cawed in a shrill voice, A black dog with white patches Stealing a respite on the lap of earth. The iron railings with straight spikes Is colored chalky; Few bricks by the roadside Waiting to be assigned For some tasks undisclosed. The newly leveled lane Stands empty and desolate; A biker with a mask on At once darts by Leaving a trail of smoke. A maid draped in a cotton saree Clipping clothes at a stretch As she wrings them for a while; A white fleecy cat creepily searches For food or maybe some mischief. Chunks of paints, peeling off Narrating worn-out tales; Drops of newly painted windows Still visible on sunsets Draws my attention, as I ruminate. Afternoons pass by in indolent ways I mostly manage to sleep through While sometimes wide awake I meditate upon the workings From my half-opened window. #This poem has been inspired by one afternoon spent in Kolkata while I lay awake in bed. As I stared through the window, I observed these activities as they went on... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

It's an oft-used term by poets and writers alike when they are in a dearth of ideas and creative impulses. I often find this in journals and videos where they discuss extensively on this topic and pass varied vantage points. I never knew about this until I actually took my writing on a daily basis. I wrote in bits and pieces, whenever I felt like it. Poetry came naturally to me, prose followed thereafter. I feel poetry as my very being--they encircle me like an aura, always guiding and enlivening me. Prose takes a bit of my patience and time. I feel our lives are borne out of poetry--if there's love, if there is rain, if there are flowers and leaves, where can poetry escape...songs spring out of them only, the whole nature rejoices in glorifying the rhythm that poetry brings with it. That block I was talking about, I feel crops out of our lack of imaginary ideas at a given point in time and even if they wait behind the door, they refuse to creep in. When our mind is so full, we are overwhelmed by our immediate circumstances and get flustered about where to take respite, this BLOCK appears like a genie who refuse to dodge and act against our command. When I read about Ruskin Bond, I found that he never went through such a crisis--always inundated with ideas and stories alike. He would maintain a small diary and note everything around him-every small detail. If I carry such a diary, it would even refuse to come out of my bag, let alone write down anything in it. Sometimes, when my mind is so full and clogged, I feel like pouring them down on paper...but then refute it altogether. I don't want people to read them, even if by accident...they would make me more vulnerable. There is enough chaos in their life already. Why should I inflate it? So, basically, blockages are of numerous types. And I actually don't know much about it...I prefer reading about freedom--freedom of thought, words, speech--freedom to write without being judged, freedom to write whatever we feel, freedom to fly where even our imagination gets finite---freedom to live as we have never lived before... "ITSY BITSY SPIDER ON THE CRAWL, IF I FOLLOW IT I MIGHT GET A PLOT" By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of life

While we often speak of the deadly virus and its demonic repercussions on the world level, we overlook its tertiary impact on children at large. As soon as the virus seeped in, schools were shut down keeping their safety in mind. It was obviously an imminent requisite per se. Initially, it was thought of as a temporary phase that will pass off after a finite period and life will bounce back to normal. But gradually reality became an apparition whose actual countenance was quite brutal and deadly. Children stopped going out and started having online classes, which became an absolutely life-changing experience for them. Parents got involved in the process as well. While knowledge about technical nitty-gritty was learned, but it turned out to be a daunting experience for both the child and the parent along the way. Sometimes there are electricity issues, whereas other times net is slow or not working at all. Some acclimatized themselves with this current set-up, but most of them showed psychological symptoms after a prolonged stay at home. Their inability to go out, real talks with friends, frolicking in green parks, touching the sky in swings were all missing. Their life got caged within the four boundaries of their house. The detrimental effect slowly surfaced with time. Their screen time escalated-- not only their online sessions at school; they now spend more time browsing the net, playing games on their mobiles and tabs. They are even spending unending periods in front of the television. Serious anger issues have cropped up, they have become restive and get agitated at a trifle. They hardly lend an ear to the bickering and monitoring of the elder members of the family and are lost in their own virtual world. This present scenario has not left any alternative to them. Their inability to interact in person has left them with little or no options. Long presence in front of the screen is amplifying eye-sight complications and headaches. Obesity is another botheration to take note of. Children are binge-watching with little or no exercise. There is hardly any real movement of the anatomy. They have become torpid. It might not be such a serious issue as compared to the global pandemic that has swept the world off its feet, but its underlying implications are far-reaching and worrisome. The missing link in the growing up years is there to stay for a long time in the future. The behavioral changes behind the mask might remain hidden temporarily, but the child within will always anchor for a normal life. Parents need to be more cooperative and understanding without being critical all the time. If it is a challenging situation for adults; it is far more miserable for children. They are missing out on a part of their childhood as they are growing... When shall I play in the green meadows? When shall I stretch my hands in the air? When shall I catch the butterfly as it sits on a flower? The muddy puddle is missing the naughty shoes, The drizzling rain is missing the colorful umbrella, Long chats among the friends are all but virtual, Holding hands has now become a tale of the distant future. Let's wait for a better tomorrow When we shall sit in the classroom and Stare at the blackboard with renewed Enthusiasm and dreams, as they unfold... @Nandini Sengupta