Subhorup Dasgupta
Subhorup Dasgupta is a Hyderabad based writer, fine artist and musician. A student of Literatures from Jadavpur University, his pursuits have been diverse and include Eastern mysticism, interfaith studies, photography, linguistics, artificial intelligence, alternative medicine, healing sciences, and food. Having spent his early working years with the terminally ill and their families after training with global thought leaders in the healing arts, he moved on to become one of the country’s most respected domain experts in healthcare documentation. After spending “a third of my life” pursuing a corporate career, he recently chose to give up his job to return to his first love, the creative arts. He presently describes himself as a self-employed tea drinker.
The slow trickle of poetry that he has published in the past, though critically well-received, is often dark and cynical, and all his work, including those self published by him, are tagged as unpublished, “a joke lost to all but myself.” It takes a while to realize that the more lighthearted writings of his are those that, at the end of the day, speak of his deepest anguish.
A self declared atheist, his prose (which is more forthcoming in the various blogs that he posts on) delves deep into the common well of spirituality and brings forth the universality of the human condition in the context of present day culture and civility, or as he puts it, “lack of it.”
The slow trickle of poetry that he has published in the past, though critically well-received, is often dark and cynical, and all his work, including those self published by him, are tagged as unpublished, “a joke lost to all but myself.” It takes a while to realize that the more lighthearted writings of his are those that, at the end of the day, speak of his deepest anguish.
A self declared atheist, his prose (which is more forthcoming in the various blogs that he posts on) delves deep into the common well of spirituality and brings forth the universality of the human condition in the context of present day culture and civility, or as he puts it, “lack of it.”
Angel in blue
Angel in blue
Aflicker amid a thousand
Heads and faces, nuns and priests
You did not see me then, I saw you
And our worlds drew us apart
Thieves were at work
Angel in blue.
Now the drive is deserted night
The music has died the people are gone
I saw you swallowed into the belly
Of a scarlet converted van
You never knew but it was I
Who kissed you goodbye
Angel in blue
I know where you sleep
Who you keep in your weariness
The restless dream in your gentle steps
I know your skin, your smell, your tears,
Angel in blue.
Angel when you rise a sudden
Sensing someone in the room
Or in a crowded tram hear
Somebody call your name
When skies of music wrap your soul
Know its me and no one else
Angel in blue.
Angel in blue
Aflicker amid a thousand
Heads and faces, nuns and priests
You did not see me then, I saw you
And our worlds drew us apart
Thieves were at work
Angel in blue.
Now the drive is deserted night
The music has died the people are gone
I saw you swallowed into the belly
Of a scarlet converted van
You never knew but it was I
Who kissed you goodbye
Angel in blue
I know where you sleep
Who you keep in your weariness
The restless dream in your gentle steps
I know your skin, your smell, your tears,
Angel in blue.
Angel when you rise a sudden
Sensing someone in the room
Or in a crowded tram hear
Somebody call your name
When skies of music wrap your soul
Know its me and no one else
Angel in blue.
Chance meeting
Occasionally armed
With groceries
A tick At
Tacking my way
Through collonades
Of stalled cars,
A split
second dent in an
Otherwise undisturbed life.
Occasionally, hunched
Over a second draft
I stop, stop.
Unpeeled labels,
The rot we sweep under
Carpets of names.
Occasionally armed
With groceries
A tick At
Tacking my way
Through collonades
Of stalled cars,
A split
second dent in an
Otherwise undisturbed life.
Occasionally, hunched
Over a second draft
I stop, stop.
Unpeeled labels,
The rot we sweep under
Carpets of names.
For my little one
Mother me your swansdown touch
Plastic, pacific, a rested breath
On edge, patient to a boil
Let your passion wait, serene yet.
When the curtains fall, downed hair
Fragrant and wet, an uncooked dinner calls
Let turned tumblers dry their spill
Mother me minute hand around.
Mother me your infant hungry lips
Ceaseless pulling away pulling away
Insisting till me I hurt till me till I
Voiceless cry absolve me love me absolve.
Mother me your swansdown touch
Plastic, pacific, a rested breath
On edge, patient to a boil
Let your passion wait, serene yet.
When the curtains fall, downed hair
Fragrant and wet, an uncooked dinner calls
Let turned tumblers dry their spill
Mother me minute hand around.
Mother me your infant hungry lips
Ceaseless pulling away pulling away
Insisting till me I hurt till me till I
Voiceless cry absolve me love me absolve.
For my mother
From the garden the acacia
Spoke to her with the voice
Of still winters and their
Restless thaw, bearing across
Summer skies swallow streak (ed)
Lulling her prehistoric bones
To sleep when love turned stone.
From the garden the breeze,
Chiselled, persuaded till yellow
Lets flutter through the window
Unordered phosphorescent night.
A nearly waning moon seeks, kisses
The harried almost acacia clouds
To be left alone, glowing, pregnant
And from the garden the Acacia spoke
spoke to her when love turned stone.
From the garden the acacia
Spoke to her with the voice
Of still winters and their
Restless thaw, bearing across
Summer skies swallow streak (ed)
Lulling her prehistoric bones
To sleep when love turned stone.
From the garden the breeze,
Chiselled, persuaded till yellow
Lets flutter through the window
Unordered phosphorescent night.
A nearly waning moon seeks, kisses
The harried almost acacia clouds
To be left alone, glowing, pregnant
And from the garden the Acacia spoke
spoke to her when love turned stone.
For Pratyush
This morning feel like life
Has just begun, now
The sunder fireworks
Are all a finished and lie
Debits and credits, worlds won
(By counting) people gained
Year long shreds on the dew for dawn;
This morning as the guests depart
As the
Kids pull
The last cr
Acker apart
feels like life has just begun.
This morning feel like life
Has just begun, now
The sunder fireworks
Are all a finished and lie
Debits and credits, worlds won
(By counting) people gained
Year long shreds on the dew for dawn;
This morning as the guests depart
As the
Kids pull
The last cr
Acker apart
feels like life has just begun.
From a hospital window
Tense the grey sky waits
Silent sombre ponderous
Upon drained eyelids bringing back
Laughter drunk hours of another time.
Another day, another grey
Sky, the voices i knew then
are all dying or have died.
The strong wet gusty wind
Rushed all morning, the laundry
Billowed, remained undried;
Drunk, the women and toddlers
The bare murmur of palm leaves
Drowned in their catharsis.
Past the present; Tense
This is yours, that mine,
Concentration, made futile
By the restlessness deep inside,
Mine, yours, yours, mine,
And ours What is left behind.
Tense the grey sky waits
Silent sombre ponderous
Upon drained eyelids bringing back
Laughter drunk hours of another time.
Another day, another grey
Sky, the voices i knew then
are all dying or have died.
The strong wet gusty wind
Rushed all morning, the laundry
Billowed, remained undried;
Drunk, the women and toddlers
The bare murmur of palm leaves
Drowned in their catharsis.
Past the present; Tense
This is yours, that mine,
Concentration, made futile
By the restlessness deep inside,
Mine, yours, yours, mine,
And ours What is left behind.
Hurricane
(to be read to the beat of dhaki's at the puja pandal)
A faustian pendulum a birthday gift to help us keep the prices down
Overjoyed oily housewives, oily party cadres, possessed dispossessed
Damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn
Who's mother bribing this year? Is the mother joking?
A wring of prophets spin the rape of minds the depths dark
Orphaned marshlands orphaned again faith skin party colors
Damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn
What is madam wearing, yaar? What madam says is final.
The people a buffalo august smog a broad indistinct line
Sunlit large orange swathes the beach the boulevard
Damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn
What's the mother driving this year? What's the mother smoking?
(to be read to the beat of dhaki's at the puja pandal)
A faustian pendulum a birthday gift to help us keep the prices down
Overjoyed oily housewives, oily party cadres, possessed dispossessed
Damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn
Who's mother bribing this year? Is the mother joking?
A wring of prophets spin the rape of minds the depths dark
Orphaned marshlands orphaned again faith skin party colors
Damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn
What is madam wearing, yaar? What madam says is final.
The people a buffalo august smog a broad indistinct line
Sunlit large orange swathes the beach the boulevard
Damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn the goddamn damn
What's the mother driving this year? What's the mother smoking?
NO HORSES. NO EXCHANGE. NO RETURN.
Consecrations buried firm faithed
This is not to be, this should never be,
Wrapped and loc’ed against everyday paranoia.
Was it true? Was I lying? Did I know?
Was I blind?
Endless turning warming water
The water calm, the breeze
A pleased woman trying to pretend
And underneath, restless stirrings
Don’t shake, don’t rattle. I am lying.
I am trying.
Boisterous indifference, what lies
On the other side of this wall
Of course I care,
For all that I want to care for, for all that I want
A caring man am I.
In the dark you kick, you turn,
The grass greener even before you are
Whose fingers will you grasp
When you know it all, everything.
Vain, imperfect, happy fool,
Tear in my eye.
written June 2006
Consecrations buried firm faithed
This is not to be, this should never be,
Wrapped and loc’ed against everyday paranoia.
Was it true? Was I lying? Did I know?
Was I blind?
Endless turning warming water
The water calm, the breeze
A pleased woman trying to pretend
And underneath, restless stirrings
Don’t shake, don’t rattle. I am lying.
I am trying.
Boisterous indifference, what lies
On the other side of this wall
Of course I care,
For all that I want to care for, for all that I want
A caring man am I.
In the dark you kick, you turn,
The grass greener even before you are
Whose fingers will you grasp
When you know it all, everything.
Vain, imperfect, happy fool,
Tear in my eye.
written June 2006
Struck Thursday
I struck work on Thursday, early since I was always the first to reach
The kids were setting up wickets on the asphalt, I tipped my hat and
Walked on down the hall, my allegiances firm and centered all right.
Nations are made of the people. Nations win if the people do.
I hold fast my sobriety like a baby as I watch the tires burn high and black
I hold fast my newborn conviction that thy kingdom will come to those who
Pray to dissent and resistance. That the way sold as the way is but
Phoenician bauble at the gates of dawn. I slash. I burn.
Friday night, they told me I was free to go, free to protest, free to speak my mind.
Together we stepped into the night, the cold air like a sword at our throats,
Dreaming of daughters and wives and hot dinners and weeping mothers
Ahead of us, the night waited with her bullets and her justly red blood.
I reached early to work on the weekend. The Directors lots were full by then.
The trolleys were heavier than ever, the canteen was more silent.
What was wrong was what we said, how we said it, and why we did.
In our tongues lay our being. Sold out, the news channels lead you..
I don’t have time, not this Sunday, no, not even the next. Next month is good though.
By then tears would have dried, all anger dissipated compensation commemorated
By then our north would have realigned with the convenience stores of tomorrow
Where our souls sell without our knowing, and language is only media.
I struck work on Thursday, early since I was always the first to reach
The kids were setting up wickets on the asphalt, I tipped my hat and
Walked on down the hall, my allegiances firm and centered all right.
Nations are made of the people. Nations win if the people do.
I hold fast my sobriety like a baby as I watch the tires burn high and black
I hold fast my newborn conviction that thy kingdom will come to those who
Pray to dissent and resistance. That the way sold as the way is but
Phoenician bauble at the gates of dawn. I slash. I burn.
Friday night, they told me I was free to go, free to protest, free to speak my mind.
Together we stepped into the night, the cold air like a sword at our throats,
Dreaming of daughters and wives and hot dinners and weeping mothers
Ahead of us, the night waited with her bullets and her justly red blood.
I reached early to work on the weekend. The Directors lots were full by then.
The trolleys were heavier than ever, the canteen was more silent.
What was wrong was what we said, how we said it, and why we did.
In our tongues lay our being. Sold out, the news channels lead you..
I don’t have time, not this Sunday, no, not even the next. Next month is good though.
By then tears would have dried, all anger dissipated compensation commemorated
By then our north would have realigned with the convenience stores of tomorrow
Where our souls sell without our knowing, and language is only media.
The breeze like a
The breeze like a snake
Weaving its inviolate way
Through darkening leaves, branches
Cools caresses my moist forehead
As i start homeward a cloak of guilt
Draped over my shoulders
The breeze like a cogent hand
In this the dark of your smile
Rubbing Out the lines
That hold me in place
Cools caresses my moist forehead
As i stand cold, drained
And forlorn.
The breeze like a snake
Weaving its inviolate way
Through darkening leaves, branches
Cools caresses my moist forehead
As i start homeward a cloak of guilt
Draped over my shoulders
The breeze like a cogent hand
In this the dark of your smile
Rubbing Out the lines
That hold me in place
Cools caresses my moist forehead
As i stand cold, drained
And forlorn.
The piper's pay
Claim none
Can claim none
The one lone
Drop in the ocean
Claims none
Can claim none
every dawn, every
Presupposed dusk, each
Crumb, each redacted rusk,
The wine the
Fatted calves
claim none
Can claim none.
Claim none
Can claim none
The one lone
Drop in the ocean
Claims none
Can claim none
every dawn, every
Presupposed dusk, each
Crumb, each redacted rusk,
The wine the
Fatted calves
claim none
Can claim none.
The promise
He said I would find him
Near the merry go round
He promised he would not comb
His matted long hair
He said he would wear
The sweet smell of his sweat
He said he would be mine
And every evening he would wait,
He said he would find a way
Long as the town kept the fair.
Every evening through the festive crowd
I swam to near the merry go round
Watching levers clutch and shriek
I looked into every eye
At every dark skinned face
Every evening hurt in tow...
His promise burning like a hymn
The days flew, the fair packed up and moved
To a distant town, with it me
For he had said i would find him.
He said I would find him
Near the merry go round
He promised he would not comb
His matted long hair
He said he would wear
The sweet smell of his sweat
He said he would be mine
And every evening he would wait,
He said he would find a way
Long as the town kept the fair.
Every evening through the festive crowd
I swam to near the merry go round
Watching levers clutch and shriek
I looked into every eye
At every dark skinned face
Every evening hurt in tow...
His promise burning like a hymn
The days flew, the fair packed up and moved
To a distant town, with it me
For he had said i would find him.
The Sailor's Regret
Glance, gauntlet thrown
At the fluoroscent
Wake, virgin, yawning
Into a distant infancy.
Sloughing, a sense of
Loss, grief, love and clucked tongues,
Anodynes, (even mine), a tumble
Of a snuffed out star.
And then the unicorn,
Like rabbit warren and creeping vine,
I shall build anew, shall build anew
The circles, the twinkle in the eyes.
Returning the smiles that i have wiped
Gracious wist beneath releasing sky.
Fata Morgana
Glance, gauntlet thrown
At the fluoroscent
Wake, virgin, yawning
Into a distant infancy.
Sloughing, a sense of
Loss, grief, love and clucked tongues,
Anodynes, (even mine), a tumble
Of a snuffed out star.
And then the unicorn,
Like rabbit warren and creeping vine,
I shall build anew, shall build anew
The circles, the twinkle in the eyes.
Returning the smiles that i have wiped
Gracious wist beneath releasing sky.
Fata Morgana
Thy neighbor's wife
Midday, like butter on
A slice of morning spent
melts into bored
silence.
Housewife,
bathed and tired,
hanging out her worries
on a clothesline of resignation
Midday, like butter on
A slice of morning spent
melts into bored
silence.
Housewife,
bathed and tired,
hanging out her worries
on a clothesline of resignation
Uddalak's aphorism
If you grow up
And make children
Make them nice
And round.
They're not apples
To be thrown around.
This world
Their lives, flowers
This sky this ground
All you'll leave behind
Dont ball it.
If you grow up
Dont let them down.
If you grow up
And make children
Make them nice
And round.
They're not apples
To be thrown around.
This world
Their lives, flowers
This sky this ground
All you'll leave behind
Dont ball it.
If you grow up
Dont let them down.
(un)swerve
stuff i wrote just after the BJP led NDA was voted out of government in the summer of 2004 took on a new perspective as 2009 drew to a close and 2010 began in Hyderabad.
Sunday silent not yet hot afternoon, the shining drug of near-affluence you want to think
Ripening, juices running down dripping fingers wrist forearm elbow,
Longitudinal curiosity laying bare new districts at every turn,
Banishing the nights of sloth, stirring daylight alive, riding February she comes
Stirrings in the warming deep waters, it is time, it is time,
The primal calling serpents maize jackdaws jasmine,
In the yard, the whiteness, a million turning fans, rock throwing powdered sun
Into air, somewhere someone plays or (likely) listens to stride.
Fathers cross and uncross (exceedingly) media mannered, legs and numbers,
Keep the heat away, proclaim selfless servitude, and then some
The river broadens and dries to a halt, no longer coursing through its veins
Fish seeking higher ground, things shall be stilled for some time, for some time to come,
Ferocious nights under moonlit skies, ferocious, the contrapuntal battle
Of the master and his discovery remains consigned to memory, wait,
The searing winds, like a curse seeking its victim, must first flood
Our unwillingness with longing and our indifference with thirst.
Sound of children in playful war, the mothers sit at the back of the lot,
Their whisperings like the sloshing of water tankers taking a tight turn,
One must strain, or know their lives well, to know if it is their lives
Or those of soap opera families that they slice up, taste and screw their faces at,
Behind the bushes, the horrors carried over into the future,
Under the gleaming serene clean green the corpselike cracked earth,
The clouds gather, wash our sins away, wash our sins away,
Wash our sins away, wash our sins away.
The people have spoken, it is time, it is time, the people have.
That done with, it is time for fete and fair and food and wine, come
Stuff your pockets, stuff your mouths, think winter, the people have.
But now it is time. The people can wait, we were away too long…
Like a cold dog, the earth turns, where did we go wrong, (just) where did we
Shed it all? Are we the people? Are we the right? Or left? Or middle, safe and warm?
Oh come, don’t fret, our superheros are at work, the kids all right, now it is time
To fat our calves, sun our backs, and to hell with if the world is mine.
stuff i wrote just after the BJP led NDA was voted out of government in the summer of 2004 took on a new perspective as 2009 drew to a close and 2010 began in Hyderabad.
Sunday silent not yet hot afternoon, the shining drug of near-affluence you want to think
Ripening, juices running down dripping fingers wrist forearm elbow,
Longitudinal curiosity laying bare new districts at every turn,
Banishing the nights of sloth, stirring daylight alive, riding February she comes
Stirrings in the warming deep waters, it is time, it is time,
The primal calling serpents maize jackdaws jasmine,
In the yard, the whiteness, a million turning fans, rock throwing powdered sun
Into air, somewhere someone plays or (likely) listens to stride.
Fathers cross and uncross (exceedingly) media mannered, legs and numbers,
Keep the heat away, proclaim selfless servitude, and then some
The river broadens and dries to a halt, no longer coursing through its veins
Fish seeking higher ground, things shall be stilled for some time, for some time to come,
Ferocious nights under moonlit skies, ferocious, the contrapuntal battle
Of the master and his discovery remains consigned to memory, wait,
The searing winds, like a curse seeking its victim, must first flood
Our unwillingness with longing and our indifference with thirst.
Sound of children in playful war, the mothers sit at the back of the lot,
Their whisperings like the sloshing of water tankers taking a tight turn,
One must strain, or know their lives well, to know if it is their lives
Or those of soap opera families that they slice up, taste and screw their faces at,
Behind the bushes, the horrors carried over into the future,
Under the gleaming serene clean green the corpselike cracked earth,
The clouds gather, wash our sins away, wash our sins away,
Wash our sins away, wash our sins away.
The people have spoken, it is time, it is time, the people have.
That done with, it is time for fete and fair and food and wine, come
Stuff your pockets, stuff your mouths, think winter, the people have.
But now it is time. The people can wait, we were away too long…
Like a cold dog, the earth turns, where did we go wrong, (just) where did we
Shed it all? Are we the people? Are we the right? Or left? Or middle, safe and warm?
Oh come, don’t fret, our superheros are at work, the kids all right, now it is time
To fat our calves, sun our backs, and to hell with if the world is mine.
V 2.0
April 11, 2007
(Coincidentally written the day Kurt died.)
She was tired. So was he, but the work had to get done.
The rocks of central India still stood, still ringing out the songs
The sandal dripping with sweat in the warm afternoon sun.
These hills are sacred, one doesn’t be common when in them.
All evening, you looked me in the eye and drew me up
Drew, erased, drew again, rearranged, decimated, redacted
Beyond reward or reprise, this is what was promised, now I learn
Now I am learning.
What revolution meant, and still means, echoing
Off the walls of the stifling desk and bed at Shivajinagar with its
Newspaper tablecloth and drunken beatings.
Are you going to marry that Bengali fellow?
The one with snakes and who smells of liquor at all hours?
Is that why you are home late every night and smelling of cigarettes?
He was tired. So was she, but the work had to get done.
Our lion cub will be called Parth or Pathik or why not
Persecution or Precocity if a daughter. We dreamt of a statesman
For the potholed and ill lit roads of Bangalore, Kolkata, the world.
Vallabh, Nichiren, Socrates, Rama, Mohammed, Jishu, each promised.
We live that promise, sharpened by the times, brandishing our swords
Through the urban overgrowth of work, commute, finances, the arts.
Now I am learning.
Watercolors, easycare wash runs, names of masalas in the local tongue
The rot that is food corporation of India, the unsustainability of fab city
Land prices at the suburbs, I think we should stop for a cup of tea at a tea shop.
Come.
Soon summer will melt into the grey clouds and wet mango leaves under which birds will shelter from the storm. We will have a cup of tea. Come.
April 11, 2007
(Coincidentally written the day Kurt died.)
She was tired. So was he, but the work had to get done.
The rocks of central India still stood, still ringing out the songs
The sandal dripping with sweat in the warm afternoon sun.
These hills are sacred, one doesn’t be common when in them.
All evening, you looked me in the eye and drew me up
Drew, erased, drew again, rearranged, decimated, redacted
Beyond reward or reprise, this is what was promised, now I learn
Now I am learning.
What revolution meant, and still means, echoing
Off the walls of the stifling desk and bed at Shivajinagar with its
Newspaper tablecloth and drunken beatings.
Are you going to marry that Bengali fellow?
The one with snakes and who smells of liquor at all hours?
Is that why you are home late every night and smelling of cigarettes?
He was tired. So was she, but the work had to get done.
Our lion cub will be called Parth or Pathik or why not
Persecution or Precocity if a daughter. We dreamt of a statesman
For the potholed and ill lit roads of Bangalore, Kolkata, the world.
Vallabh, Nichiren, Socrates, Rama, Mohammed, Jishu, each promised.
We live that promise, sharpened by the times, brandishing our swords
Through the urban overgrowth of work, commute, finances, the arts.
Now I am learning.
Watercolors, easycare wash runs, names of masalas in the local tongue
The rot that is food corporation of India, the unsustainability of fab city
Land prices at the suburbs, I think we should stop for a cup of tea at a tea shop.
Come.
Soon summer will melt into the grey clouds and wet mango leaves under which birds will shelter from the storm. We will have a cup of tea. Come.
Virga
March 4, 2007
Hyderabad
(this was written as an exercise in writing around a word, and when it was redrafted it became something entirely different. however, i thought i would record this version too. i will, of course, not spoil the fun of the reader discovering what the rewrite became.)
since you cannot be there
since you want to face it
since all are watching the awards shows
since he is drinking more than he should
since venkat kept his word
since you think there is a stranger in your backyard
since you cannot tell anyone
the alphabets that are yours alone
you turn in your sleep
virga, i will leave now.
March 4, 2007
Hyderabad
(this was written as an exercise in writing around a word, and when it was redrafted it became something entirely different. however, i thought i would record this version too. i will, of course, not spoil the fun of the reader discovering what the rewrite became.)
since you cannot be there
since you want to face it
since all are watching the awards shows
since he is drinking more than he should
since venkat kept his word
since you think there is a stranger in your backyard
since you cannot tell anyone
the alphabets that are yours alone
you turn in your sleep
virga, i will leave now.
