Dipanjan Chatterjee
​​​Monsoon 2016

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Heavy Heads Leaning

Here in Malabar, I had my head rested on the puffy clouds of your shoulder. I still remember how I greeted your frail body, like a cookie it crumbled on my imagined frame. There is a silence around you and in the misty mountains, I saw that your eyes looked through me and your nods were taking place in a place and time, quite different from mine. This much I knew and when I read some sombre erotica by Parthasarathy, instead of being cajoled into the lust cauldron, I, on the contrary, thought I would frolic with you for the kind of smiles that I knew, and the child that smiled through you, teeth without braces. Every time our roads cross, here in Malabar, in the misty mountains, I want to hold your frail body stiff with the bones of determination, hoping it would melt for seconds sparking in me that which is called paternal or masculine. In the annals of the marginal, neglected and the almost obscure historiography of romantic encounters while road-crossing, in the misty mountains of Malabar, in all its specificity and thinness, the discourse would have
a mention of us and far removed would be the worrying thoughts in our heads,
​and that we both were not basically there but were somewhere else.

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Dipanjan Chatterjee finished his M.A. in English from JNU and is currently keeping himself busy with card games, silly jokes and the Web.