I Heard the Other Day
This beautiful Bangla song, which has haunted lovers of music for years, is an absolute favourite. I have returned to it time and again. It is steeped in nostalgia, regret, hope, as the singer hears about her lover going to the seaside, and is overwhelmed as she muses about what was, and what could have been.
The other day, whilst listening to this song for the n-th time, I started writing - and seeped in the theme of the song, got a poem.
Here - the original song, my poem, and a tiny essay.
I heard the other day
that you'd visited the sea,
that you'd scooped the blue tip of the waves
and caught its laughter in your palms.
(I can so imagine you doing that.)
That you'd walked miles on the beach
talking to the salty winds.
.
I've never touched the sea, ever, my love.
Will you take me with you next time you go?
.
I heard that all of you'd sat on the beach
and discussed things,
often without saying a word.
And my heart filled, as I thought how
we can live usual lives
say the usual things,
even as we are aware things are not fine,
even as we see the sea retreat.
.
But then we have never swum (really swum)
in the depths of each other’s hearts.
Were we too afraid of the hurt? Didn't we know the truth
- love does hurt. That is its nature.
.
I see you still write poems and sing songs,
of things you want to forget,
of people you don't want to;
that you still worry about life and grief,
that a wailing sea matters,
and it matters that you sit beside it.
.
And that, my love, is an ache I carry.
As I stand bereft of all belief,
when my nights pass
without seeing a single dream.
.
May I come to you with both my hands open,
asking you to teach me how to dream again,
my love, to teach me to dream again.
So much of our time is spent in yearning.
A slow despair of knowing life is slipping by, and of somehow not being able to wrap our arms around its fullness. Of, time and again, sinking our fingers into something we see as compressible but finding mere nothingness.
Of having touched love, but having lost it before experiencing its infinite lushness or its prickly pleasures. Because through love, we know how we are given this limited-edition life but often lose the opportunity of making something worthwhile of it.
It's worse when we see the copiousness we have lost, being embraced instinctively by those who we've jettisoned in our myriad journeys - even as we live our sad life in a minuscule corner of the universe, with our bag of barrenness.
What is this depth of relationship, which is often close in definition to depth of life?
It could take on so many forms. But each has to do with immersion. What probably lasts in us at the cellular level is being fully with the person we love, when we are with them. In conversations, in silences, in disagreements, whilst grieving, when in joy. As close as possible physically, as much in soul when not. The importance is in the intermeshing.
Because relationships show us the way to life. Because in that lies the way to our sense of immortality. Which gives us the satisfaction that we've lived life to its very lees.
This could lead to infinite joy, or depthless grief. But, ultimately, it would be giving our infinite to the only thing we possess - the moment in which we breathe.
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A wonderfully evocative piece, as always. Listening to Jhimli's eternal masterpiece (we were classmates in JU) once again, and your nuanced poetic interpretation transported me back in time. Thank you, Mr. Bhandari, for this. The Uncuts pieces are precious, polished solitaires....
Thank you, Chief! This was a wonderfully nostalgic read. Your words perfectly captured the soul of the song and brought back so many fond memories. A truly moving piece.