A long time ago, elderly people asked me,
‘what ails you, my boy?’
I am looking for an apt-key
to that query till today, but in vain
I am depressed
the minute, i see old faces
the minute, they open their mouths,
telling this and that again and again
I am depressed
the minute, a forgotten friend calls
and asks for a specialist in health, business etc.
I am depressed
the moment, the burial news comes
from home and neighbourhoods
I am depressed
the minute, i see the faces of my students,
the minute, i go to bazaar to buy this and that
the minute, i make a call to a petty man who holds power
the minute, i see my colleagues chatting for hours,
or planning to visit a mall, a restaurant or a coffee house
I am depressed
the minute, i see daily wagers guarding our corridors
the minute, i watch the labourers huddled
at Neemtala in the wee hours of the day
the minute, i see the parade of maids marching
towards the babudom
the minute, the gatemen greet me in the morning
the minute, i read the headlines or watch a post from my close friends
I am depressed
the minute, my wife talks about this or that
my child asks why and how
my neigbours abuse their helpers
in their choicest lingoes
I am depressed
when my Muslim friends speak of Islamophobia, Hindu terror,
and Hindu friends of Islamic terror
I am depressed
when a bhadralok likes my post
when a bhadralok, sitting on the crest of a tall tower,
speaks of the agony of the impoverished, the slum dwellers,
minority, dalit or adivasi issues, socialism, communism,
And i am terribly depressed,
feel lonely in a vast intellectual desert if I happen to meet
or talk with Bengal academics, especially a few Muslim ones
it distorts my vision
it disorients and disowns me
