In search of love, in search of beauty
Do I wander from place to place
(Though where to go I do not know)
From where I can get such pity
That leads to love thats leads us face to face.
When face to face we'll stand upon a lonely land
Over the river, flows the breeze on bridge
What will you whisper in my waiting ear
So eager to hear I that you tell me please.
All the drops of dew seems so few
When compared to the drops of Love
That comes from heaven in form of rain
To touch the heart straight, not in curve.
O what lovely scene just you imagine
My joys ache; and in such a situation
When everything is so perfect and pure
Can you say it a mere infatuation ?
What matters if my fate comes so late
What matters even if my chance never comes ?
And still my searching goes for thee
Not who feels for me but feels like me.
Mithun Dutta
M.A.[Previous]
Banaras Hindu University
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
BLUE WHALE

Blue Whale
Right in the deep blue sea
I sail with my spreaded wings
Like an authoritative Monopolist
The small ones maintain a distance
Of fear from my way
For I have all right to stay
God created me hugest to swim ocean stream
No one even dares to mess with me
For I am the Blue Whale
Of the deep blue sea.
Tuhin Majumdar
M.A. (Final)
Department of English
Banaras Hindu University
A Metaphysical Sonnet
Leaving fairy tales far behind
Today only you ,me and Freud ,
Instinct becomes our forte
And does't want any shade .
Our singularity has seasoned an intense love
And it alarms plurality and panoply of time ,
Now desire is running rocket
And instant fleshly fireworks are devoid of crime.
Trying to quench the thirst
Of love-syrup to the lees
We,the lovers have broken
The hands of watches and time flees.
Heart beats ,nerve strikes and flesh shrieks
But (we know ) we, the predatory birds are nothing but freaks.
Gourab Singha
M.A. [Previous]
Banaras Hindu University
Today only you ,me and Freud ,
Instinct becomes our forte
And does't want any shade .
Our singularity has seasoned an intense love
And it alarms plurality and panoply of time ,
Now desire is running rocket
And instant fleshly fireworks are devoid of crime.
Trying to quench the thirst
Of love-syrup to the lees
We,the lovers have broken
The hands of watches and time flees.
Heart beats ,nerve strikes and flesh shrieks
But (we know ) we, the predatory birds are nothing but freaks.
Gourab Singha
M.A. [Previous]
Banaras Hindu University
Saturday, December 5, 2009
History and Culture in 'Train To Pakistan'
A novel is considered to be the most social of the literary forms,as it explores the human conditions through the use of narrative fiction and records mankinds struggle with itself in a social context. The great novels are deeply rooted in socio-cultural tradition which is a sum total of actions,habits,customs,and believes of an organic community.
Train to Pakistan is one of the classics of modern Indo-Anglian Fiction.It mirrors a picture of the bestial horrors inacted on the Indo-Pakistan border during the terror haunted days of August 1947. The "leaders" has sown the seeds of communial suspicion and the partition was the result.Like the whirlwind, the mad act of partition was uprooting masses of humanity,mingling them,and throwing them across the border in heap after heap.
Mano Majra a border village on the bank of the Satluj,with a railway bridge spaning the river was known for peaceful co-existence and communal harmony. But 1947 was not like other times.Suspicion and viloence has griped the year and an ill-wind carried them even to little oases of communal harmony like Mano Majra .
Mano Majra is an example of Indian culture par excellence. It is inhabited by a Hindu family of Lala Ramlal, Sikhs, and Muslims.They live peacefully without any malice towards one another. Khushwant Singh has very beautifully described Mano Majra which has three brick buildings--one is the home of Lala Ramlal,the other two are the Sikh Temple and the Muslim Mosque. These three buildings enclosed a triangular shape with a large Peepul Tree in the middle. Mano Majra thus represents India transcending the regional boundaries.
The bridge mentioned in the novel bridges the gap between the Sikhs and the Muslims. The final act occurs on the bridge where everything is set to kill the Muslims going to Pakistan by train. It is triumph of Love and Sacrifice. Jugga who is 'Badmash' is surprisingly surcharged with fine emotions and tries his best to save the Muslims from being killed. The Train to Pakistan does not carry the dead bodies of the muslims, it carries rather a message for people living on the other side of the border. Mr. Singh attempts through exposition of a very many problems of Indian Society has been confronted with for age together. A man who laughs and makes all laugh for the sake of life......and love.
" let the dead have the immortality of fame
but the living the immortality of laugh and love."

By Amar Pratap Singh
Department of Linguistics
Banaras Hindu University
Friday, December 4, 2009
From Dusk Of Hopelessness To Dawn Of Hope!

Life has become a starless night,there are no stars and hence no ray of hope. Everyone has left him and drowned in the sea of sorrow,all the time he only weeps and contemplates--"What is my fault? When and where I committed the sin? I was always helpful to others,always holding them in times fo trouble and now why nobody is there to hold me in the test of time.My loved ones left me in the dark,so that I can never come out. Pessimism has become the definition of my life. Everyday when I sleep I hope the next morning can bring a ray of positivity for me but every morning is as dark as the starless night. At times, I feel I should commit suicide but I don't know from where some force holds me and I stop myself. May be somewhere in the starless night, there is a moon which is not visible now but I think when clouds of sorrow will disperse and moon will be visible, I will definitely come out of this dark room and I know the dawn of hope will either engulf me or I will merge in my Almighty."
Manjari Shukla
M.A. (Previous)
Department of English
Banaras Hindu University
The Chamber Of Secrets

It was the chamber of secrets
It was the Gas Chamber, where
The number of deaths remained a secret
He was the omnipotent
The chamber was his battleground
He was the legislative, executive and judiciary
He was the all-in-one of his pandemonium
One day the things turned around
The executive was himself executed in the chamber
The chamber turned out to be a boomerang
A labyrinth indeed
The creation turned out a destroyer of his creator
It was the chamber of secrets
It was the gas chamber.
Tuhin Majumdar
M.A. (Final)
Department of English
Banaras Hindu University
So Shy Am I ?
When I summon all my courage
To march ahead and ask
The plan is superflop,
But what to do if enraged you
To gain your tender sympathy
I can from the Airtel tower
Still my feeling is still for you
What is your name I realise
Thats not a simple task.
I know you name,you know it well
The plan is superflop,
The prologue of my talk will be
The climax of my hope.
I found a plan so wonderful
I gonna as you time
But then alas! my damn wrist
I have a watch of mine.
I have a thirst unquenchable
Your bottle I may seek
But with no former acquaintance
I know not what you'll think.
If directly I would proceed
And with you shake my hands
Before my intensions you read
I'll say now we are friends,
But what to do if enraged you
Will slap me on my face
The pain in Hell I may endure
But never such disgrace.
To gain your tender sympathy
I had a plan so weird
Appreared with my hair uncombed
And uprgown moustache beard.
When that plan failed, I took the blade
And brushed through all my chin,
My gender was in danger when
They calld me androgyne.
If for some strange coincidence,
I sometimes could you see
To talk or not to talk that is
The question posed to me.
Before I could answer to that
Question positively
Beholding me as if a ghost
You with your friends do flee.
I can from the Airtel tower
For your sake jump and die
But how come vis-a-vis dear
Express my feelings I?
I am no handsome macho-man
Nor am i so well built
For losers like me dreaming such
Is also called a guilt.
Still my feeling is still for you
It will not diminish
You may not come, but I will wait
I have that only wish.

By Umesh Patra
M.A. (Previous)
Department of English
Banaras Hindu University
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