Souradeep Roy \ Spring 2015
* Mother, at home, a few days before I leave After scolding my mother for not having read Mahasweta Devi I read the beginning of Hazar Churasir Maa and come to the line that says, jontronna hocchilo, bhoyanok jontronna – it was paining, a horrifying pain. Like the pain that was lost between the pain of pain and the pain of jontronna I could not completely relate to her when she too recounted her moments of this particular pain, pain which I had inflicted at that precise moment of birth and pain that I surprisingly, have no memory of. She seems to have forgiven me for this (indeed the idea of mother accusing son is absurd here) but she quickly buried her face into my bare hairless chest and accused me of another particular pain – the pain of desertion: you will leave the city once again, leave me alone once again, and her lips were against my skin with a little bit of her saliva as remnants of her pain. It is not pain I am scared of, it is the particularity of pain that scares me. * |
Souradeep is currently away from home in Delhi, trying to figure things out. He runs the Notice Board Collective and edits damn you. Home is in Calcutta, perhaps.
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