Retribution I stabbed God in the neck. A combative tear with all my wrist, lodging deep, heel end to the tip, a stainless steel, lifeless dagger.
The echoes in…
Rajib Chowdhury, Blossoms in the Ruin I, 2019
वडापवाला
मी हातावरचं पोट असलेला वडाप ड्रायव्हर असतो गुटखा चघळत पोरीबायांना डोळ्यांनी चाचपडणारा वासनांध बुवा असतो रास्ता रोको करणारा शेतकरी असतो पानटपरीवाल्याला मारणारा…
family and part-time adversary- you’ve deciphered my source code, pressing all the right buttons at all the wrong times
do you know how conflicting it is to hate aspects of…
प्रवाहात
कागदी होडी पाण्यात सोडतो आहे उलगडून वाचू नको; फक्त निर्विकार पहा काळी शाई फुटली, तरी जाणिवा संपत नाहीत प्रतिध्वनी विस्तारतील - अंतहीन; डोहात खोल माझे शब्द पुन:…
Light
If we could possess the present seize its significance we wouldn’t saunter towards chthonian streams. Hobnobbing with hate emerging within oneself is to provide nod to negativism. Happiness: absence…
Rajib Chowdhury, In the land of Roses, Apple trees and Corpses – I, 2016
१.
तू मिश्या पांढऱ्या करतोस यातच सगळं काही आलं
२.
तुला अख्खंच्या अख्खं शेत हवं आहे पिकलेल्या…
When I was a child there was an old wood-framed rectangular mirror in my home that had found its way here from the native place. It was small and light…
The Anatomy of Solitude
A broken mirror shrouds its bare murdered body hesitantly the seventh season’s bridal makeup lurks in the drawing room your feminine silhouette…
If I had my way, I will request everyone to perform Jyotiba Phule’s play, Tritiya Ratna (1865). The play breaks with the past and challenges caste conservatism. Phule was the…
'Valvacha paus', my Aji calls it. Midsummer rain. Rain that stands with one foot planted in the middle of monsoon, the other in breezy spring. Stuck, forever, between arrival and…