Few Yesterdays 

Yesterday, 

I met a friend.

We had conversations about stuff,

Like the usual one. 
Yesterday I met a friend

Who in between all the talks asked me

How do i keep my calm.
And i said I am always calm.
Many yesterdays ago,

I had you, 

When i was sad,

The whole world lightened up

The whole sadness turned to happiness

When we sat together, without words.
Many yesterdays ago you were gone.

So gone that never came back home.
I wrote some poem about it,

Sometimes drew some pictures

Picture of us sitting together like we used to.

Sometimes i believed you don’t exist anymore.

And try hard to be alone.
Few yesterdays ago i found you again.

You were there in The silence. 
And that’s how I keep my calm.

You are my calm. 

How will i ever leave you? 

How will i ever lose you?

sick day

Is there a fever song?
A shiver song?
A song to make it right
When everything goes wrong?

Is there a morbid tea
And a transparent bee
And a flower which feeds it
The colours all we see?

Is there a perfect mate?
Under my cold blanket
And the alarm never rings
And we don’t ever get late.

Arthur

They said he will rise again.
They said he will fight again.
In our greatest needs,
Not when one Kingdom bleeds

Was he the light?
Or he the darkness now?
Our eternal need,
Saving us somehow?

Paperless books, before we permanently go blind,
Is it him, switched off the lights
Greatest king and kind.

Markets, not anymore exist now,
Nor the smell of meats and dirt
Darkness? What else that is,
Evolution or witchcraft?

Sometimes, all go down.
We step out for sunlight.
Sometimes, I sense him
Return of the greatest knight.

Personal

This is my nakedness, this is a little bit of me, my inside, my actual shapes and sizes.

This is me underneath, not all, and not for all, not for everyone to understand, not everything for everyone. Or may be, It is for me, the only person keep this alive. til ashes and dust.

miss you Bhai. x

Day Five

The very last day I went to work. And the very first day, I understood, people are nasty, nasty by their thought, And that thought does not come from social class, or religious view, or gender. It is just some people, they are so rotten and shallow, that we hardly imagine.

The designer of the workshop I was working at, I saw her for the first time after joining. And the first thing she asked from me, is show what did you do in this four days.

and the last thing she said was, if you want to sit here (the designer’s room) I am going to kick you out of the workshop.

And then she left.

I asked the manager, for the 5th and last time, what do I have to do? and he said, “do you not know? have you never worked anywhere before?” the very same man who introduced me with the company and said, seat, and observe how does it work. that same man asked me, to an Intern, have I never worked anywhere!

that night, when I was returning, from that narrow, unhealthy Muslim populated road, I felt safest. this people, look at me, and then I knew, they look at me with care and respect, this road talks about me, but never touched a tiny bit of me. this little street light is warmer than big bright CFLs. and the smell of that dirty locality is not the smell of the people, its the smell of our stinking thoughts, which we throw towards them, and they live with it, without objection, without hesitation, with a big warm smile.

Living Dream

image

Moneyed people, the buy dreams. And people like them are living in it. This girl, whom I met at a local train compartment, was travelling with her mother. One anonymous girl who preferred looking at my camera curiously than looking at the window from her beloved window seat.

And after few minutes, when she finally dared to ask For the camera, I can bet on this 7 or 8 years old girl, she was better than millions of DSLR owners. Better than me. This five minutes photographer could have achieved so many things, but the train reached its destination.

Day one

I was determined to do the job. I needed to do the job. I was determined when I said yes without asking my overprotective, manipulative family. I had to start it from Monday, so I did.

10am, I looked out through their office window. Passersby, cars, dogs, homeless, and I had to leave my camera home. But surprisingly, I wasn’t worried about my camera that much, much I was worrying about my first day of work.
The came at almost 11 o’clock, I tried to concentrate on Brida as much as possible. And the much I was trying, more I was reading the same line repeatedly.
“Just send the girl home.” I didn’t mean to but my ears didn’t listen to me. And I kept listening.
“it’s not her fault, she didn’t know that ma’am wouldn’t be here now.” said another woman, her assistant, Banani.

After few minutes, I saw the man. His name, I don’t quite remember. He came and ask for my certificates. And gave me an address of their factory. And I knew for the moment, no I am not going back home. I got the job.
12pm, I place I didn’t like that much. I quite hated, Park circus. Reserved muslims all over the place, a place for a girl like me, and a family like me, so overprotective was pretty nasty. I waited anyway for a man who was supposed to receive me. And he came.

“hello, I am Shahbaz, I am also a designer here” I saw a guy whom I assumed about 25 year old came to welcome me to the workshop.
“you can’t keep your bag with you, you will get a locker, and you have to remove your shoe.” thank goodness I wasn’t wearing my ankle boots. I would hate to remove it for anything.
I enjoyed the quick tour of the workshop, pattern masters, embroiders, tailors. I never seen a factory before. Thought some lads I didn’t like, looking at me like I am a Christmas present. But the tour was over, and I got my own office, table computer, Internet, and freedom of work ” you have to research, the theme, colour trends, inspirations, and you have to design garments, and at the end of the day, you have to mail it to Ma’am. Oh another thing, ma’am wanted to do some collections on digital prints.”
My day one, almost jobless job started with fast heart beats, excitement and fear, and loneliness. One big designer’s office with no colleague. Whom I can talk, or ask what to do. That was my day one.

“where is the train station?” asked Shahbaz and the manager of the factory, Dehari.
“Five minutes from here, but that street is not safe for women.” they said. And my already racing heart started beating faster. And for a moment, I was almost a racist, afraid of one poor, trying to survive everyday who happens to be believers of one particular religious community. For a moment, when I was crossing the street, I felt they are bad, until I saw the day five. The last day of my job.

This article doesn’t criticise or abuse any religious community, I am truly sorry for any misconceptions, please be patience til my next article where I will clarify everything I posted

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introduction

Hello, I am Brotipriya, a jobless fashion designer and hobbyist photographer.

I sometimes write something, but too impatient to complete anything. So, decided to create a blog, so I can continue writing. So, whoever reading this, wish me luck.