Profists

Profists

By Dambar SahEducationSelf-Improvement
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Profists episodes

  • Nani's nostalgia
    • Her miles of loneliness •
    "Chanda hai tu sooraj hai tu,
    O meri aankhon ka taara hai tu",
    her favourite song from 1960's,
    that she playfully sang for me,
    my Nani, in her batik print saree,
    during those humid days,"when
    the heatwaves last all summer"
    and she sliced the yellow, ripe
    mangoes with her monochrome
    beauty and meandering curls,
    and a stain of sweat on her creased
    forehead, of ages, ancient and revered.
    Her wooden almirah, carries reminiscences
    of Nana, letters, photographs and memories.
    She remembers and narrates her "working
    with men to challenge patriarchy", in the
    outskirts of Bihar, in a school, as a teacher.
    Her threads of memories rewind of her
    mellowed days, her eyes bulge with saltwater,
    she recalls her "Students' spirit held high",
    during the break of summer or Puja days.
    She sits by the window, awaiting, she rejoiced
    of the passage of nostalgia that took her to
    Nepal, her ancestral home, she smells the
    petrichor and the hilsa fish with mustard
    on the rainy days, her nerves thriving to
    get back and revisit her home, her homeland.
    The pensive loneliness rummaging her tears,
    I remember her face, watching daily soaps,
    yet a hollow that was set like an alarm.
    She was "seperated by geography,
    yet united by melody", her songs of
    India, her retro days, that has
    crossed borders and dared to seek
    a sanctuary in the corners of her heart.
    Her deserted life resembled cacophony
    of silence, her Gods visited her morn and
    eve and she prayed, selflessly for her
    children, grandchildren and wished an
    afterlife with Nana in a safer abode.
    I remember her joint pain, her constant
    companion that shrieked time and again.
    She retires to bed sulking into the pain,
    I remember to ease her with myolaxin,
    she always gave a smile with her newly
    braced teeth. Years passed by, in void,
    in looking for her grandchildren with her
    blurred cornea. Her anguished lament
    reverberated in her four walled room,
    eagerly waiting for her guest, me.
    Her mandir wih deities and the tulsi plant
    that Nana gifted still stands tall like Nana.
    But there is a void that she equates to and
    all the frolic of her marriage she boasts off
    in pride has an unfathomable emptiness now.
    Her soft voice remembering her love, weighs
    time and again. I remember how she narrated
    Nana's poetries to us and told tales and laughed
    around, camouflaging her long lost love and life.
    Love indeed, not 'a midsummer night's tale',
    but awaiting for a reunion, a unison amidst stars.
    My eyes scanned her tears, invisible, yet
    invincible, her memories spoke of times
    and she chose prosaic verses to store her
    loneliness, yet she was alive through her
    soft skin, a porcelain one. Her insomnia
    gave her enough thoughts, her own, a
    vacancy where she resides all alone,
    yet with living numbers. Now, she resides
    in the air I breathe, I sink, and her smell
    still lingers around my nose ~ lonely
    5 min
  • Dad
    And I can't give it a name because I can't describe my dad in a single word. और मैं इस नज्म का कोई नाम रख नहीं पाया कि मैं बाप को एक लफ्ज़ में बता नहीं पाया।
    6 min
  • Tougher Than Life
    Its all about not to give up on your dream to prevail your real potential. Life is tough but believe me you can be tougher than life.
    4 min

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