I didn’t go to work today. Partly because I was sick, partly because I didn’t give a damn. Anyway, I am alone at home in skimpy clothes listening to Bhindeshi Tara and Ferari Mon and Mon Re in loop.
This has been a bluesy Pujo. I don’t really miss anything, feel anything. Maybe I miss being a kid, but that’s about it. I know being in Calcutta wouldn’t change anything. If anything, it would make me sadder, because I’d think of how wonderful it all used to be. I also have a horrible cold which doesn’t allow me to taste anything or smoke anything. What a complete waste.
I miss the language. When I listen to Anindyo Chattapadhya’s lyrics, I remember the language and it’s comforting and also depressing.
Amar raat jaga tara
(My star, who lies awake at night)
Tomar akaash chhoya bari
(Your home touches the skies)
Aami payi na chhute tomaye
(I cannot reach up to you)
Amar akla lage bhari
(And I feel very lonely)
Okay that was a horrible translation. So much is lost. Sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment