My annual exam is over

Winter, autumn or spring
I don’t know
Who cares! I see flowers and fruits all around
vegetables flood on the ground
I have reaped them all
a comforting weather - quiet, pristine
leaves moving; golden, green, or silver
falling or rising why bother
times
now, no more
my annual exam is over
peeling oranges in the sun
listening to birds and brooks
liberated from those
lazy letters in books
vibrant, in peace, at ease with me
nothing to prove; failed and fared many times
with flying, fading colors
now, out of the past,
I am always seasonal, to live and learn
moments of being have begun.

Sources seldom stress

Dictionaries are unaware
of what literature
in volumes of letters
have done with them
adhering to, skipping norms.

Scriptures are unfamiliar
with what religions
in numerous ways
have done with them
with or without forms.

Stars are not all there
their lights ignite,
spread the spark
but at times
left in the dark.

Conception

My lips, drunk

when it touches yours,

with words of incessant praise

my hands, drowned

in the oceans and mountains

mellow with touching organs

jaw-dropping moments

immeasurable bliss
treasures teem in travelling tongues

​​​​​​​writing many stories of love

stealing time, from time
I have become so big

my body consumes the stars

in your eyes

by leaps and bounds

I behold millions of sparks.

Only my kisses can conceive
the boon

what a glorious child

will be born of your womb.


You might as well enjoy the music by clicking here

nomads

For some
beginning of a year
awesome
full of hope, happiness, cheer
for few
it’s nothing new
resolutions lost
in framing images
promises, words

Innocuous years
come and go
writing travelogues
in time trapped
fast, slow
through travelled tracks
of titter and tears.

Changing garden

My green garden

sordid

all of a sudden

free from stony intelligence

no worries, no headaches

bound with bounties

without bonds

surrounded by stars

like currents

flowing incessant, flawless.

I am suddenly in paraspuri*

with parasnath**

in a moment

I have become parasbudhhi***

currently feelings fill the urn

fillers of lights burn

the waters of loving

most affectionate of sins

throwing up forthwith

troubling scenes

even brownie leaves fall

until there’s nothing at all

the pot that was upside down

now in a minute

changes sides of its crown

becomes full

with powerful currents

that which was filled with stones

thrown out

troubling words, definitions

possessions, positions

losing significance

meanings like healings

falling in place

my green garden

​​​​​​​golden, splendid

now full with blooming

flowers, brimming

with fruits

birds in charming trees

I am suddenly in paraspuri

with parasnath

in a moment

I have become parasbudhhi

Note:

Paraspuri* - There are two worlds but we are aware of only one world.  One world is PARASPURI and the other is KANSPURI. In other terms we can say one is Ram Rajya and the other is Raavan Rajya. Sri Krishna is the first Prince to rule the Paraspuri (Golden Age) which is of 1250 years. Kanspuri is the present age that we live in which is popularly known as Kaliyug (Kalah-Kalesh ka yug).  There is a mystery as to why it is known as PARASPURI and why today's world is known as KANSPURI.  Paraspuri means all the human beings who live in Paraspuri are as pure as Gold like Paras. Paras is known for its purity.  Therefore, all those souls who live in Satyug including Sri Krishna and Sri Radha are pure souls. Now, another mystery is that who creates this PARASPURI.  It is the Godfather SHIV who creates this paraspuri. Sri Krishna and Sri Radha are the first Prince and Princess respectively who get to rule PARASPURI.  When Sri Krishna and Sri Radha are small, they are popularly known as Sri Krishna and Sri Radha but when they grow up and their coronation (Taajposhi) takes place, their names change.
(Source: Wikipedia and the Dictionary of the Brahmakumaris)
Parasnath** – Shiv (the only one God who never comes in human form)
Parasbudhhi*** – intelligence with the bliss of Parasnath

Golden touch

I take your girdle in my hand
make a hammock and kiss the sky
the seat with the silky sand
talks to me, of dreams
lived, left
with my hands I hold the band
swing helplessly
songs play and you float
on me, with me your support
time for my golden death
has arrived, opens the gate
I can smell you, witness your gait.

I have come to a place
I didn’t know
the magical rope
freed me from my blue
without trace
tied my silence
beyond balance,
by the sea
waves hold me high
I kiss the sky
sense a golden touch with you.

Out of tune

It is spring now

even though

the long mourns

I hear

from instruments

flute, violin, guitar, piano

playing autumn, inside

memories I’d know

as green, at least remember

them as one

now changing color

full of dust,

suffocating and dull.

The winds outside

awash with bird-songs

sunrays, chirping brooks

do not notice the tired wings

of the overcast leaf;

it goes away, far away

as outcast.

Paradise

Wishy-washy buildings
almost kissing the sky
granite, marbles, tiles
spic and span décor
bank papers pile
insane asylums house
restless inmates and lovers.

Comfort at hands
spotless roads and gardens
to choose
hollows cost inside
blank loneliness, quiet chews.

In chains of files, goes on life
unfulfilled dreams lie
under the azure blue
cries from inside
a thousand wishes die
imprisoned, in plastic paradise.

Once upon a time

English has left England

since long,

reluctantly it went

with oppressors,

tradesmen, missionaries

to unite kingdoms, challenge boundaries

of distant lands,

through cants

forced their tongue

into every foreign thoughts

for easing their stance

looted, plundered, murdered

until English, went out of leash

completely out of hands

pronto to who does it belong.

Now the evolved language appears strange

when even the natives speak or write

errors beyond imaginable range

abound; sound far from right.

Writers weep in their graves

their tongue demised for greed

emancipated English strikingly behaves

but England pays no heed;

how can they,

today the patois has betrayed;

the voice alas, on a fateful day,

went unwillingly for trade.

Sad that matching natives of today

write or speak gibberish

that once upon a time,

was also called English.

Written in good humour for those who are very compassionate towards writers of non-English origin

The space

With a rainbow ink

in my pen

I touch the horizon,

with a brush in it

I paint a picture

of possibilities,

crossing the limits

that lied with the mind

a glasshouse

condemned to think

within the boundaries

of repainted canvasses

overwritten pages.

With a rainbow ink

I become a visitor

of the encompassing surface

and then a writer

a painter

of the murky border

flooded with stories

of douleur,

unspeakable pain

but it’s only here

where the sky falls in love

day and night;

The ink ties me

with the given up place

a lighthouse

unwritten in its midst

forbidden, abandoned;

frequented though

by lovers

stars

who wanted

to write and paint

about the purview

being in the space.

Fearless

failure
my friend
yet no fear
I cannot walk anymore
through life
I move with my clutches
one day, the other night
I am unable to see
my two eyes tired
catch the light of the stars
in my news-less ears
sounds of the waters
do vibrate
what I say
makes little sense
in the world
for my words do not
rise or fall
yet there
in one corner
unafraid
I chat with my pal

being in between

beginning and end

of existence

heard, unseen

lie in the mind

moments in between

sensing memories

come and go

echo, out of nowhere

travails of the stars

days and nights

leaves of stories

changing colours

afresh

living the consciousness

of how their tales began

how they would end

sensing happens 

-perhaps-

being in between

Birth of a new dialogue

In the woods by mistake

or simply by accident

the two appeared again

Dharma* to give Yudhisthira*, another go

for a question whose response

did none, until then, know.

- No Baka*

birth is the only truth

death a momentous lie

that leads us to birth

- But death also does the same?

- No, death is immobile I plead

it doesn't move and hence cannot lead

death is false, but it's not its fault

it is birth that takes us to births

through a momentary halt;

until the Self frees from them

to have births no more again

- So then don't you die?

- No O wise Dharma, you have birth again

that frees us for good,

in stillness we call heaven!

Birth it is O Dharma, it is birth again!

- (Dharma smiles) after ages

O Dharmaraja*, you appear to be light

you behold your world

right in the middle of the earth

- Birth of life, of virtues and evils

even that of deaths and devils

in it the Universe lies

- I know, I know

you seem to have wings

in your hands now

your feet appear to be light

blind and dead no more,

your words now have eyes!

Have as much water from this lake now

As you have quenched my thirst

Let all your dead brothers

come back to consciousness first

Then O King, take your brothers,

you saved them with grace

With them, all men and women

you saved the human race.

To change the earlier response

to Yaksha* did Yudhisthira urge

he does so, both smile and

in the leaves of stories,
does birth, as the only truth

newly emerge.

Note:

Dharma - Dharma is the one who questions Yudhisthira; Dharma, Yaksha, Baka are one and the same

Yudhisthira- In the Hindu epic Mahabharata, Yudhishthira* was the eldest son of King Pandu and Queen Kunti and the king of Indraprastha and later of Hastinapura (Kuru). He was the leader of the successful Pandava side in the Kurukshetra War. At the end of the epic, he ascended to heaven.

Baka - Baka appears as the crane; Dharma, Yaksha, Baka are one and the same

Dharmaraja - Yudhishthira was also known as Dharmaraja

Yaksha - Dharma, Yaksha, Baka are one and the same.

The story

At the end of their 12 years of exile in the forests, time had come for the pandavas to live in Agyat Vasa (living Incognito). As they were discussing their course of action the Pandava Princes came across a Brahmin who complained that a deer has taken on its antlers his Arani – a pair of wooden blocks to generate fire by friction – and therefore he was not able to light the fire for the performance of Vedic rituals. The valorous Pandava Princes set out to retrieve the Brahmin's Arani and followed the hoof-marks of the deer.

In the quest of the mysterious deer, Yudhishthira, became exhausted and thirsty. His brother Nakula thus ventured out to fetch water and found a beautiful lake. The lake was devoid of any living creature except a crane (Baka)*. When he attempted to take water from the lake, the crane spoke, "O Nakula! The water of this lake will turn into poison if you take it without satisfactorily answering my questions." Nakula, in arrogance, did not pay heed and hurriedly took water from the lake. Upon drinking the crystal clear water, Nakula instantly died of poisoning. Nakula's twin Sahadeva, coming in search of his brother, also found the same lake, saw Nakula dead, and was warned by the crane. But Sahadeva too ignored the crane and died after drinking the water. In the same manner, both valiant Arjuna, and powerful Bhima met the same fate.

Since none of the brothers returned with water, Yudhishthira engaged in search of them. Upon following the same path, Yudhishthira came across the lake and found his brothers lying dead. Before searching for the killer of his brothers, Yudhishthira decided to drink some water from the lake. But when the crane warned him, Yudhishthira realised that the crane held the answer to the turn of events. The virtuous Yudhishthira proceeded to answer the questions put forth by the crane.

Before putting the questions to Yudhishthira, the crane revealed itself as a Yaksha. The Yaksha asked 18 questions with philosophical and metaphysical ramifications. This dialogue between the Yaksha and Yudhishthira is embodied in the Madhya Parva of the Mahabharata, and is also known as the Dharma-Baka* Upakhyan (Legend of the Virtuous Crane).

Source: Wikipedia

photopoems

Oddball

Waves eaten by the sea
the shore is hungry
back in the room
doors are permanently shut
through the meadows
dry and thirsty banks of the river
gazing at the flowing waters
ways playing lost-and-found games
no room to bank on the beach
they are confused
for them doors stand
waters flow
but everything is failing
falling apart
a collage of broken images
blames the blue mirror above
where stars blink and shine,
the hollow space known as the sky.

Somehow the caterpillar
still struggles to be the butterfly
and the crabs still eat
their grub, from the starving sands
dig holes, their homes.


French translation

Inouï

Ondes mangées par la mer

la rive a faim

dans la pièce

les portes sont fermées en permanence

à travers les prairies

les rivages de la rivière secs et assoiffes

regardent les eaux qui coule…

les chemins jouent aux jeux perdus et trouvés

pas de zones pour ranger sur la plage

ils sont tous confus

pour eux, les portes se lèvent

les eaux coulent

désormais tout échoue

s'effondre

un collage d'images brisées

blâme le miroir bleu ci-dessus

d’où les étoiles clignotent et brillent,

l'espace creux connu comme le ciel.

D'une certaine manière, la chenille

a encore du mal à être le papillon

et les tourteaux mangent toujours

leur bouffe, des sables affamés

creusent des trous, leurs séjours.

কানাই, কানাই, কানাই, কানাই

নিত্য নতুন জগাই-মাধাই
মনের মাঝে সকাল সাঁঝে
নিচ্ছিল যে ঠাঁই
নিতাই এসে ভালবেসে
আত্মহারা করল যে সে...
ক্ষমার সমুদ্দুরের ঢেউ এর ভিতর
উঠল জেগে পবিত্র স্বর
কানায় কানায় বাজিয়ে সুর
কানাই, কানাই, কানাই, কানাই*
হেসে ব’লে মিষ্টি মধুর
গুনগুনিয়ে অষ্টপ্রহর
ভরিয়ে দিল ভুবনটা মোর

ভালবাসার আগুনেতে
কতকালের জগাই-মাধাই
ভস্ম্য হল এক নিমেষে
আমার ভুবন আনন্দেতে
উঠল ভ’রে তাই
কানা কালা চোখে কানে
ভরল কাজল কানাই গানে
এখন শুধুই মনের ভিতর
নিত্য নিতাই নৃত্য মুখর
সারা শরীর জুড়ে যে ভাই
সুরে তালে করছে বিভর
চৈতন্য গৌর নিতাই এর স্বর
কানাই, কানাই, কানাই, কানাই

English translation

Kanai, Kanai, Kanai, Kanai

Jagai-Madhai every time, anew
peeking in the mind, from morning to sundown
lived inside me, as always in my crown
until with love, came Nitai
the bhakti*-bard with his crew
with the touch, lifted me high
made me ego-less
in the ocean of forgiveness
with countless waves
my body was full to the brim
with the tune of Nitai
smiling and singing sweetly
kanai, kanai, kanai, kanai
my world was full
with meaningful pray
in every minute of the day

In the fire of love
the age-old Jagai Madhai
turned to ashes in a moment
my world is therefore
replete with joy
the deaf ears, the blind eyes
full with kanai songs now realise
serving and kind
I could find
Nitai is dancing
all the time, all the while
in my whole body
and every cell, singing
to the tune of
the consciousness of Chaitanya Nitai
Enchanting only
Kanai, Kanai, Kanai, Kanai.

Notes:
Jagai and Madhai are the two sinful rulers of Nadiya whom Sri Chaitanya (fondly referred to as Nitai) and his main disciple Nityananda won with love, by encouraging them to chant the name of Krishna. In the poem the two characters have been used as two dark sides of the Self, eventually delivered.
Kanai - is the name of Krishna, fondly referred to as Kanai
bhakti - the art and the skill to submit, to worship, thus bhakta becomes the one who worships

  

The unknown paradise

Let me now sit inside you

and pray for a cure

I am yours afresh, anew

I know you are pure.

Every speck of your dust

we can blindly trust,

every grain of your food

can help us grow for good

every drop of rain

every inch of your terrain

stable, sound, secure

the healing stars

the lights they shower

the big and small creatures

all of them

yours.

Then for which firmament

do they ignore

you, resting in your nest

do they plunder you with zest

but everything you endure;

with all my innocence

let me wake up inside you

and pray for a cure

for their actions without sense

their intelligent ignorance
deadly and blind

destructive, unkind

placing life behind
every now and then

for an unknown heaven?

My earth

mother of my thousand births

in my deaths

in my breaths

I am close to you

more and more

let me remain with you

and pray for a cure.

In time for sure

we will all be yours

all killings will cease

the troubles, ill at ease

let me be inside you

and pray for a cure.

With a splash of love and light

through the days and the nights

our stars will rise

when all of a sudden

we would recognize

how we were in search of this bliss
that escaped us, went amiss
for eons of lives

until we realize
we are the children

of your paradise.

Warmth

Everybody is a buddy
no enemy around
your world, peaceful and sound
journey to discover this
realize there’s nothing amiss
offer a smiling hand
to everyone you can
be prepared and ready.

In my world, there is no enemy
none at all in me
my world, formed with words
calm, clear, seen and heard
a thousand times
foes have ceased to chime
my eyes and my ears
tired, tempted for years
now day and night without ends
catch the warmth of friends.

Amaravati Poetic Prism 2017

Amaravati Poetic Prism 2017

With their characteristic enthusiasm, passion, indefatigable efforts, the Cultural Centre of Vijayawada and Amaravati (CCVA), under the priceless leadership of Nara Chandrababu Naidu, Chief Minister, Andhra Pradesh and his teeming members Mandali Buddha Prasad, Deputy Speaker, Bhuma Akhila Priya, Minister for Tourism, Mukesh Kumar Meena I.A.S Secretary to Government (Tourism and Culture), Dr D. Vizai Bhaskar, CEO, AP State Creativity and Culture Commission, Y. Harish Chandra Prasad, Founder and Chief Mentor, Chairman, Malaxmi Group, his amicable life partner Dr Y. Tejaswini, Founder CCVA, Dr E. Sivanagi Reddy, CEO, CCVA, and Padmaja Iyengar, Curator and Honorary Literary Advisor, CCVA has successfully organized its third International Multilingual Poets’ meet on 11^th and 12^th November 2017 hosting International poet delegates from 14 countries and from nearly all the states of India.

Numbers speak a thousand words



The APP (Amaravati Poetic Prism) 2017 anthology comprises 987 poems in 85 languages coming from 67 countries, an unimaginable feat bringing in almost one third of the world under the same book; it is a victory for Literature, a festival for poetry, writing and above all a collective effort reinforcing the importance of team work. It is little wonder that this phenomenal growth of CCVA’s brainchild APP 2017 is recognized by the India Book of Records as a Unique Record of Excellence. The two day enthralling reading of poems of all languages, from Estonian to Mandarin, from Maithili, Urdu, French, Danish, Hindi, English to rare languages like Kaithi, Esperanto had also seen spectacular performance by Anjali Patil and her troupe who came all the way from Canada to coalesce with the CCVA’s message of love and peace as they were dancing on themes of Sufi and Shiva; they literally transported us into another world and naturally had a standing ovation from the mesmerized audience; a beautiful Mohiniyattam, the unique form of dance from Kerala by Seema S. also had the audience, national and international, in awe and wonder.

International presence

This year's Poetic Prism meet witnessed the presence of fourteen countries making the event truly international. The countries were Sri Lanka, Austria, Croatia, Poland, Denmark, Albania, Estonia, Israel, China, Iran, Jordon, Saudi Arabia and the USA.

A memorable boat-ride

At the end of the session, poet delegates were taken for a long boat ride in the Krishna river and was shown the confluence of two rivers, Krishna and Godavari, a yet another humongous initiative by the Chief Minister, Chandrababu Naidu to make the lives of  people of Andhra Pradesh happier and more prosperous. Some were also taken to Amaravati. It was heartening to see Y. Harish Chandra Prasad, Chairman Malaxmi Group personally accompanying us and explaining the mythological background of the importance of Krishna river and the adjacent Durga temple. His humorous and effective communication makes him clearly a fantastic orator.

Raison d’être of CCVA

The message of love and peace, of brotherhood and acceptance of diversity reinforced through reading and listening of various languages has made the two-day fulfilling for all who were a part of the programme. It ended with a touching message from the leaders, including the discourse of the Krishna ZJilla Parishad Chairperson Ms Gadde Anuradha who upheld so beautifully our traditional and age-old camaraderie of looking at guests as Gods (Atithi Devo Bhava) and on the same breath urged us to look at Vijayawada as ‘our’ Vijayawada in the same way we look at the world as our own – this was the underlying intent of the poetic programme held at the A Plus convention centre that made Vijayawada truly victorious thus justifying its very name, its raison d’être.

The relentless team of volunteers from FORBES giving a selfless round-the-clock service
It was heartening to see the volunteers from FORBES college, a fresh willing-to-work-round-the-clock team of youngsters who were literally on their toes, and without whose effort the event wouldn't have been as successful as it was. Their willingness to work and serve for this great cause was instantaneously felt by all the delegates who took part in the memorable event. Hats off to the team. Love you all.

The message

All the visionary leaders behind this great effort envisioned even more support from the Government to take this event forward, reaching out to the entire world in the days to come, with the sole purpose of making Literature and Poetry as the forerunner of thoughts to rebuild the mindset in order to foster peace and prosperity not for the region alone, but for the world at large.

The Anthology
The Amaravati Poetic Prism anthology stands as a witness of a sincere effort that speaks volumes, in terms of effort put up by all the stakeholders; by the poets around the world, by those who worked day and night in the background correcting the form and the content, by the leaders who made this impossible task possible taking care of the intricate logistics and other aspects of the project. While the anthology goes down into history, it will carry with it an incomparable and the most magnanimous gesture of sensitizing the world that despite diverse cultures, languages, castes, creed, beliefs and faiths, we are all united when it comes to poetry. It stands as a proof that we can win, as one.

photopoems

Signing off

You were waving at me

arm straight
right palm moving
a standing tree
leaves shading my agony
appeared like a thousand welcome
tuning at the shore of my heart,

but you were parting
singing a song, humming a bye
telling me that the same hand
will sign me off
scrap the rented tie
hired for some time.

We wrote stories
our dreams
with your gifted pen
we met on the same streets
same town
same honks travelled
rode
sounded like belly laugh
now
the beeps
howling,

but I don’t see the same storm
on the other side of the road
where you stand
when you laughed
thousand poems were born
I see the same yellow glow
on your face
written everywhere
from the college gate
to the cemetery
our meeting place.

Wait.
Before you,
let me go.
Yes.
I promise.
I will come back.
Sign us off.
At the court,
before the black and white
men, women,
with a borrowed pen. 

Tears

With little sorrows
tears never deceive
they come in rows;
when the giant throe arrives
the drops do not sweep
from the salty archives
in wonder, dolor, fear
they dry, disappear.

Larmes

Avec de petites peines

les larmes ne trompent jamais

elles viennent à la pelle;

quand arrive tristesse outrée  

les gouttes viennent à peine

des archives salées

en émerveillement, deuil, peur

elles sèchent, disparaissent.

photopoems

Image credit: Google images

The couple

Google images

moving

in every moment

nursing life
making love,

light,

watery,

airy,

filling the space

the two outstanding players

warm, attractive

in colorful foreplay

giving hands

simple sounds,

soft smells,

tender touches,

never ever feeling lost

the forever forgiving couple

the overlooking sky

the supportive earth

parenting, and raising humans

notwithstanding horrors and errors

of creation and recreations

for ages

in every moment

moving

Reversible style - Poems written in this style can also be read upwards. The idea behind the style is to let the poem rise above (a leap in existential term), even in its physical form.

What is (not) in a name?

O my name!

What is it? Shoe what? Could you please come again Mr Shoe…

No problem sir, you can call me Super Tech

Hey …that sounds so cool…So you are Super Tech for us here in XYZ.

In the professional world, that was my first attempt in twisting my name for the benefit of my clients. I became Super Tech for my American and English speaking European clients; much later, when I came back from France and was given charge for France and Francophone countries, I became Sous Pratique for them. Never mind that it meant someone who was kind of deranged? Jesus do I even disagree; the other day I saw myself kissing my plate because I could have my meal on it! Even now, I sometimes kiss my pair of sneakers after coming from long walks! But that's how I am!

And those childhood scribbles on the walls? Did they ever show any sign of being ‘normal’; my mom, while cleaning the walls had just one word as a refrain, obnoxious! And she was creative enough to stress her syllables that could mean as someone who is perpetually or incorrigibly obnoxious! These premonitions were stark and vivid in me since childhood, and I am quite composed with my state of insanity; so coming back to the main stroy of Super Tech or Sous Pratique now - that was how I was known to ‘them’; the names became so popular that I even heard discussions on whether the two were one and the same; I was flattered, but deep inside, somewhere I was also reminded of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde too. But in my case it would be Dr Jekyll and Dr Jekyll, wouldn’t it? Enough! Enough of basking in self glory!

Worst moments

Let me now bring out one of the most embarrassing moments concerning my name; I went to Delhi to deliver a training on 'cultural sensitisation', and had two juniors with me. As was the norm, one was not supposed to talk too much with the juniors, maintain a distance, have different rooms; I never gave a damn to all these, never, ever, and I had one room booked for three, with one extra bed. One of the juniors brought me the first bill from the reception and was laughing his lungs out. Now laughing being infectious, we two also started laughing without knowing what the reason was; sometimes it does happen, doesn’t it? But when he pointed out the typo in my name I was shocked; instead of a ‘t’, it became a ‘d’; and because those juniors were so close to me, they were asking me, is it?

I was furious, and thought, for the first time, of my mistake; maybe I should have booked a different room, and maybe what they say about maintaining hierarchical difference was true; I hated them at the moment. I took the bill and went straight to the reception, was about to storm at the receptionist but couldn’t say a word because there was a lady sitting there. When I went back into the room, I saw the disobedient grins on their faces. How irreverent I thought, they never call me sir, they hug me instead of showing respect. Wait I will see them at their next appraisal I thought! Next morning, when I saw a different receptionist; I explained, and we three left for our first day. The second day’s bill was even more shocking; supra became super; luckily the bill was with me this time; I sat with a different receptionist and saw to it that my name was correctly spelt once and for all, but will I ever forget this worst moment ever in my life I wonder! Never mind, I became my ordinary self with my juniors again, as it were.

Names at different places

In Hyderabad, I was referred to as Supratika; however much I tried to make them stop at the /k/ sound, it became /ka/ changing my gender; later on I thought of it as a compliment; didn’t resist anymore because it was pointless. In Kerala, I was called Suprakrishna, I still fail to understand the logic, but when someone called me as Muthukrishna there, I thought I have to accept anything that came with my name, it’s good as long as they are calling me something.

The origin of the sin

My mom first named me as Pratik, then she added the ‘Su’ to mean a good symbol; later she was happy to discover that Supratik is also one of the elephants of Indra, the God of rain; she always wanted me to be fat, don’t know why; much later, when I shared with her different versions of my name, she thought she could have called me Pratik, or Gaurav (that was the first option, to rhyme with my elder bother’s name, Sourav). But what is done cannot be undone, besides, having your name changed is quite an ordeal and could land you up in even more trouble. I have grown up being in soup with my name; literally, because for most of my friends, I was soup; I was also called tick by many of my colleagues; one of my bosses would call me tic tic tic thrice. My non-bong friends would make fun of me by making the ‘su’ sound like a ‘shoe’ and pronounce it as ‘shoeproteeek’! They knew very well that for Bongs, it is pedestrian to pronounce /s/, so for all /s/, it is cultured to say /sh/!

Pet name

When I hug my friends now, I distinctly remember how I hated them during our cricket-football days. Most of our friends remember those frustrating days of hatred and animosity, which mostly centered around distorting names, with love and affection. Those who still do not know, Bongs have two names, one exclusively for the families and relatives and the other for the outside or for the professional world. And in Bengali, it is called ‘daaknaam’ which loosely translates into pet name, pet meaning ‘daak’ or ‘posha’, hence pet. I was named as Anto, as a short form of Antony; again it was my mom’s imaginative mind that tried to trap the glory of a film, a super hit one called Antony Firangi where our all time favourite Uttam Kumar played the role of Antony. Just as my bhalonaam (or good name, you get to hear this literally translated into English quite often, like what is your good name sir?!), my daaknaam (pet name) too went through many versions, of agony and discomposure; Tanto, Santo, Langto (in Bengali it means naked), Sando banyan, Aunty (this seemed like Supratika or Supreeti, much to my chagrin as a child) and a whole range of them; until much later I decided to give a meaning to it; I changed the spelling of my name as Unto, which means a preposition ‘next to’ or ‘toward’; I like the way it is enunciated in English by also maintaining the same momentum in Bengali too! I perhaps meant I could be next to or toward most anything? Nah!! But chalo thik hai.

What is (not) in a name

With time, with all the versions of my name I have come to realize the flexibility my name has; therefore, despite the vexations and mild irritations at times, I have come to terms with it; I have started loving it since a long time; from food to mood, my name, what does it not have in it I wonder! But I am what I am.