“Ah baby, let’s get married,
we’ve been alone too long.
Let’s be alone together.
Let’s see if we’re that strong.
Yeah let’s do something crazy,
something absolutely wrong
while we’re waiting
for the miracle, for the miracle to come…” Leonard Cohen

Dear Reader, I am closing down this blog. Hoping to start another someday, sometime…

To our voices nobody’s listening, we shiver in the rain by the touchline

Whisper…try it once more. No need to be ashamed, no one is watching you. No one is reading you. Write…for yourself, try it… The last few posts were shams: screenshots of few posts featuring Bengali poems you could write once. You could do it…once…you knew how to write. Then, out of boredom, out of unwanted surveillance (which you craved for), because of those sheer overpowering thing called life you turned dumb. Words borne out of something resembling pain ceased to provide pleasure…to you and select few…

Recall…a year has passed…you rediscovered your personal god when the world was discovering him again too. Leonard Cohen whispered in your ears each night. You developed this habit of plugging your earphone and turn on a playlist and he sang, almost always ending in ‘Light as the Breeze’.

Nothing was light…she was always a storm.

You travelled distances each evening in a bus…you managed to find your seat by the window often, and you plugged in again. Pet Shop Boys it was – inevitably – each time in the roads. Either the song from which the title of this post is culled, or the one about homeless people in the streets. Or others.

That’s how it was – the Boys on the roads, the Man at home. They are different, I don’t how a single pair of ear bordering a single brain might like both, but I do. Probably because they write great sad songs. Sadness: it sticks to my skin like a burning molten rubber would. But I am at home with it the way I am at home in a city which I will never manage to map ever ever…

Words vanished within me like shit well-flushed down that gaping hole that’s my soul. Words. Music. Joan Baez: Dark Chords; Ennio Morricone. Zamfir: The Lonely Shepherd. Nothing came out.

Did murder roll beneath our sleeves? We forgave them all, they will kill themselves better anyhow. Everyone who thought we will be losers forever: we never noticed you were winning. You who are disgusted because I don’t behave like achievers you wish me to pretend: this ain’t a farthing of things we could have. Is her love the end of it all?

I always thought it will begin the ball.

Write…never pare your fingernails for the best lines, for applause. Testament of a burning life never waits for it. Deaf, it speaks…we have learned to read your lips when they are not moving. Show the marks where her nails scratched your shoulders, show your tongue which is still dry because every kiss is the first one which leaves no memories. Crave…for more; tell…you just need a bit than more. Say…you can never keep promises the way it should have been…but who said such successes are indices of love? I can never face the truth of myself but I always stare at the truth that is you.

Hunger. Burns. Words are ashes and the unspoken, unwritten, evaporated ones…smoke. You…my fellow-citizens who sleep well because we are still not armed…who hardly notice that we are burning with our dreams, deliriums, desires and droughts…sleep well, because that’s not a life when you wake up…your bills, your deadlines, your credit-cards, aphrodisiacs, pills…sleep well, sounds will be rumbling in, images will surface from depths you forgot had ever been. We…the hungry burning few, we who will be losers we assure you…will spare your flesh when we will devour.

Bangla Poem 1

Dev D: reflections part 2: Chanda

Continuing from reflections part 1

…at this moment, the most satisfying of the 18 songs in the film (probably because the moment where it is placed; no visuals, only the song, play it and read…


I am having a gala time discussing DevD with my closest friends. Probably have talked for a cumulative 24 hours at least. Yesterday saw it again in probably the widest screen in Kolkata; then we were there few of us friends, dazed and trippy like Rajeev Ravi’s visuals in the film. Appreciation of DevD is a good test of who exactly like-minded friends are.

And then got irritated reading reviews again. Convinced: add up even the 20 best reviews and you don’t get the film (I have linked the best two in the previous post). People are getting it utterly wrong, or latching to the least of the film’s achievements. Continue reading

Dev D: reflections part I

2009 Hindi film directed by Anurag Kashyap

— Dev. D (2009)at IMDB,

— Dev. D – in Wikipedia,

— Dev D – Official Movie website

Couple of notable movie reviews from many:

— Dope and Glory

— The Tale of Two Different Halves

And all those articles tagged Dev.D at Passion for Cinema, which is almost unabashedly an Anurag Kasyap fansite, so you might take things with a pinch of salt.

First a disclaimer: this is not a review of the film. Dev.D is turning out to be a film which is triggering numerous reviews where the feel of the film is reproduced again and again through effusive words. This is a rare phenomenon in contemporary movie criticism, where a critical review almost turns out to be reliving of the viewing experience (and I have read almost 50 of them; Dev.D is triggering the best among writers). This can only rarely happen when a work of art manages to put forward something rare too: a zeitgeist. I am sure Anurag Kashyap’s next one, Gulaal (released this week) will intensify the high. Personally, I fear watching Gulaal (I deferred Dev.D for long), I might be overwhelmed. The effect is, in short, reeling: one cannot stay…normal.

I have another ill-maintained blog on films. A piece on Dev.D was supposed to be posted there. But those few of my kind readers who have followed this blog from its inception couple of years ago know that this article deserves a place here, in Love’s Ragpicker. To put it humbly, my posts and poems probably was putting forward something which finds such a happy echo in Kashyap’s film. Continue reading