Melody

On the 28th of June 2010 I went to the Tibetan Institute of Performing Arts or TIPA. A group of students were performing in an orchaestra .
They sang in an alien tongue. I'll never know if it was a song of mirth or grief. All I know is that my foot started tapping in a mellow introspective muse. What did I hear in that alien song? I did not hear, I listened, I listened to voices that sang of home in an alien land in a tongue alien to me.
I tried to delve into the melody of the tune that was thrilling the grove. But all I perceived were voices trying to create melody in remembrance of a distant unknown land called home.
The melody and the muse reminded me of sixteen when i would write at the drop of a hat, at the twist and turn of every emotion; not worrying about the quality of words or "Power Fame Money". It would be wrong to conclude that what I have become is a depreciation. Its a practical measure for circumstances. But it would not be too bad to feel deeply once again for a few short whiles.
One day at an English Drama Club practice we had to go up on stage and cry. I said," Play,'Ami paarer ashay boisha achi'" and I will cry effortlessly." To listen to the music of my native land, my boatmen, reeks of home and how I'll never go back. I too have been compelled out of my land. Its not that I cannot go back to Calcutta but going back would spell the end for someone seeking development...a better living. In independent India we are the hapless people born in Bengal and living in exile. Its not that we detest going out of Bengal in search of betterment, we are Indians.
Its the fact that we do not have the option of going back if we want to that makes us homeless.

I guess I listened to the chord of homelessness in their tune.