Times have changed

Or the change is supposed to blow

In the wind-like once Dylan said,

With his customary nonchalance.

He was a rather hopeful bloke.

Times can also get frozen.

Only the grass grows green

For the old man to bring out the time worn sickle.

Wow- it is still the story of the Sickle,

Beaten hard by the Hammer!

So, it is again the story of the sickle and the hammer.

Sounds communist?

Nothing to do – I have no political views!

But this is life around Santiniketan-yours truly!


Well, fun days never cease to sprout just from no-where

Life does represent an iota of paradise,

The paradise of fools?

Oh no, lets forget all the hyper-thoughts,

And enjoy the plunges into time immemorial,

Listen to the water giggling all around.

It is rejuvenating at times to shed all inhibitions.


Times passes or perhaps stand still as well.

The old man irked me a lot,

Sitting all by himself among a sea of weeds,

What was he contemplating?

Perhaps he needs to philosophize his links with life,

Among all these unwanted weeds spread all over life,

Again and again, in every age.


I never knew our Kopai was navigable!

In waist deep water, I cross to the other bank

To observe the boat-certainly a decorative landscape!

Perhaps an artist have planted it,

To complete his canvass.

Allowing the unreal to merge into a realistic fantasy?

What a juxtaposition of phrases!


Wonderfully this fan maker is wiping the sweat drops from his forehead!

Miles of walking to sale these hand held fans

To some tribal beauties, needs a lot of enterprise

In the heat and dust of summer.

Does these hand held fans exist today?

Should they exist?

But never the less they do.


The bitumen road slices through this near picture perfection.

It is like time slicing through the serene mood.

Somewhere along the line time does exist here.

But to convey what I could not fathom.

In any case this was a picturesque respite,

From what?


Time is more conventional here in it’s dusty and windy ways.

Bob Dylan again muses back…

‘The Changes Are Blowing In The Wind’

To some Dylan was realistic.

To me in India, around Santiniketan, his lyrics appear to be right from church gospels

To be heard and respected, but not to be taken seriously.

All his words, from the revered lyricist,

Seems to be emerging from that elusive paradise, unreal and surrealistic.

Where does this dusty road lead to?


People however are always on the move.

I have lost the courage to ask them where they are moving to?

And what for?

Perhaps it is just this seasonal cycles,

The ‘Rituraj Basanta’ indulging in fanciful dances around ‘Palash’ flowers?

Time here moves into oblivion.

A travelogue smeared with plenty of dust- the ultimate destiny.


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  1. Anonymous says:


  2. Anonymous says:

    Excellent … pictute-perfect slices of India… Life thy name…

  3. Ratna says:

    sotti sundor! ..tulona hoyna….

  4. Tapas Basu says:

    I enjoyed the writing & Images as well , specially the man is walking probably to his village , the juxtaposition the colour of his upper Garment , umbrella with the road by red colour of the Pity Soil. (“Raangaa Maati’r Poth” ).

    I am lost in my Imagination & Dream……

  5. Anonymous says:

    what a poetic artistic presentation…ki kore tui eto sundor likhis bolto?

  6. Anonymous says:

    ki kore tui eto beatiful likhis?

  7. Anonymous says:

    absolutely artistic…

  8. Shubhashis says:

    This is genuinely the story of 66 years of independence of India, from a certain angle, but a very relevant and prevalent angle. I know the story will be repeated in every state, and in every district of India. This aimless drift of life can be painful to realize. There is little future for this folks….

  9. Anonymous says:

    It’s quite amazing to realize how little we care and prefer to stay blinded

  10. Anonymous says:

    Somehow I think passivity is in our blood and that makes us go around in the same dusty path over many centuries. No I do not mean to object the dusty red path, that is beautiful, I object the lack of awareness, the deep passivity that preserves our unbroken slumber. Where is Upanishads’s advice ” Uttiisthoto jagroto prapypo boran nibodhoto” ? It feels like our spirit has died!

  11. Sushanta Ghose says:

    Blend Of India

  12. Shubhashis says:

    The Blend needs to change, but keeping the inherent spirit and beauty alive. Photographically the narration about our Independence may look interesting, but underneath is always the story of hard struggle and ruthlessness of life day in and day out. Life in India at the villages is pretty unforgiving to be true, but relatively peaceful….

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