Voices Within: Nishi Pulugurtha

Dr. Nishi Pulugurtha is Head and Associate Professor in the department of English, Brahmananda Keshab Chandra College and has taught courses at West Bengal State University and Rabindra Bharati University. She writes on travel and her travel essays have been published in The Statesman, Kolkata, and online - Café Dissensus and Coldnoon. She guest edited the June 2018 Issue of Café Dissensus on Travel. Dr. Pulugurtha writes on Alzheimer’s Disease and Film. She has published short stories in The Statesman, Cafe Dissensus and Queen Mob's Teahouse. Dr. Pulugurtha dabbles in poetry and has published in Cafe Dissensus, Poetry at the Heart of the Nation (Journal of IPPL, Kolkata) and in the anthology Tranquil Muse. . 

MA

It has made her quiet, completely silent

The smile is still there, at times ebullient, at times muted

It still brightens up a dull mood, it tells of the unspoken

She nods her head, she makes motions with her head and hand

The responses are muted, I see them, I know them

They are there, in spite of the tangled nerves with the plagues wrecking it all.

The wrecking is so much obvious now.

When talking goes on around her, she listens

When the music plays, she listens

When she sees a familiar face, she smiles

There are no words, a small gesture tells me a little

At times she makes a noise, a noise that carries a lot unsaid

Ma is telling me something, what is it that she says?

I listen, smile and keep talking to her

She likes to hear my voice, she likes all the voices around her that she hears

She smiles at some, she looks around

Then looks away, at times in thought, at times distracted

At times awaiting a response, a gesture, a call

Life goes on for all of us.

THE PIGEONS AT DAKSHINESWAR

As I enter I see them there

Lots of them, cooing, noisy, flapping wings

Moving about, a look here and a look there

A peck at the food, a sip at the water

Most of them on the ground, a few on the raised plinth

Lined up on the cables high up

They are up on the temple too

Black against a light background

A couple of white ones too amid the black and grey

I pause to look as I enter

A two year old, still wobbly, looks at them, smiles

Looks at his mother, she smiles back

Holding her hand he walks towards them

They are used to humans around, a few just move away

The child walks in, this time alone

Laughing, making noises, he ventures forth, hands outstretched

Happiness writ on his face, as he moves here and there

They move too, further away, a couple fly to perch high up

He looks at them in flight, mumbles and goes ahead

I sit on the steps a little further away

I was there too, amid the pigeons

I remember the whole lot flying away as I surged towards them,

Only at a different time.

REVISITING

It is a huge structure that stands out against the skyline

Nestled beside a river, a holy river that travels miles

The steps at the ghat are muddy and wet, slippery

People climb down to have a dip in the holy waters

Faith that prods them, the water is muddy

In the distance straw floats by

An empty bottle, no message in it drifts

It is distorted in shape, used and thrown off

Some used flowers dance about in the waters

Mud banks clearly revealed as the tide gets low

It also reveals debris and garbage thrown in

The river takes it all, the moving waters carrying it all

Waste, cast off, anything that lands up in its folds

A lady sells empty bottles, that have been cast away

Bottles to fill with the holy water, to be taken home

As it surges ahead to meet the ocean, the river becomes the waste bearer

No, we are not bothered about what goes into it

It is holy, we believe a dip will wash our sins away.

UNCARED

Sprawled over a large area, huge red structures

Red bricked, on both sides of the road

Interspersed with iron and cement

Beautiful trees lined down to balance

Machines working, people moving in and out

As the bus moved ahead, a familiar sight

Now, a poor shadow

Overgrown with foliage all over

No human soul enters there

Huge creepers, leaves and trees all over

Uncared and forlorn, a reminder of bygone days

Green in the huge chimney too

Lives had been built around it

A rail track that splits it, now worn out

A stark reminder of what had been

The green looks alarming almost

Strange isn’t it?

The only sign of life too amidst all that desolation and ruin.

Voices Within - Complete List of Poets :: Setu, January 2019