Gwalior Again

a river
cajoled clouds and
sinewy banks
creep in cohort
crowds
gwalior
grows
the old mussalman graveyard
in dormant belief
catches impervious thoughts
measuring the road to it
next to the durgah
would be hearing the tar
melt in summer
crackles
of a wheezy chest
an old man sprinkled water
from a leather hide bag
not so far away
under a sky hemmed in
zari and black threads
resplendent in regal
red
dawns
didn’t stretch long
birds swept
in a chardonnay
of forgotten
fragrance


Acrylic on Canvas by Amitabh Mitra

Jiwaji Club, Gwalior

Jiwaji Club, Gwalior is situated close to the Palace and the Medical College. The area is called as Katora Tal I believe it should be one of the numerous mansions and palaces gifted to the community by the royal family of Gwalior. I was not a member of the club but I did happen to visit as a guest a number of times. This club reminds me of the Saturday Club in Kolkata and the Planters Club in Darjeeling, all having the same colonial architecture.

According to the club web site, it was named as the Elgin Club and was established by the former British Regent in 1898. The Late Jiwaji Rao Scindia gave the club to the people of Gwalior in 1936. Since then it has been known as Jiwaji Club.

Watercolor and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Back home

i never answered...
even when words cast
unequivocal borders
street lights
many years after
held sodium lamp halo
the overhead railway bridge
its shadows ever so busy
in such undulating nights
i had often thought of
you
a flicker smile persisted
resisting to
overgrown stars
it’s a sky
i remembered
unwashed
unheard
wrapped
i had taken home
communion
of an eyelash
dropped
in a rigid
second
of
our small talk.


Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Designer Madiba Shirts and Gwalior Ties

Designer Madiba Shirts, Mdantsane Breathing T Shirts and Gwalior Ties are now available. Shipping worldwide

sudden trees

so sudden were the trees
they too searched the sky bend
in groups of solitary living
i who have nothing left
stood within them
and thought of the dried river
and its soil brittle amongst
stars at night
did i disappoint u
did i fail to answer
did the sparrows wait long
did i touch your hair
yes
and yes again
and that was just not loving
years after the trees
grew wild and so did
a blatant sky
sunset
a far window to
your once home
still remains closed.

Poem and Ink Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

buried sea

west bank
east london
the sea closes in
departure
sun froth swings in
long lost tales creep back
moist grass makes up
for the lost time
a sky shifts back
to old alleys
my face wet
i can almost hear
a call of
muzzein from
the dargah of
khwaja khanoon
at home

and
the old and buried
remains the
sea.


Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

forest

words and feelings grew rampantly
in a forest of distant thunder
in sleep
in corrosion
only the eye flickered
catching a ray
sometimes
strange is this time
stranger is you
strange is unresolved
mindful
of
tomorrow

dawn
the fort banks off
at another
angle.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Hiranvan Kothi, Tales of Gwalior

chotu angre was murdered
in a swarm of swallows
in a red rain
his laughter
shattered
myths of unsteady walls
hiranvan kothi
remains trapped in the present
a clutter of hens and houses
seem to be catching up with a
forest on concrete cacophony
a rusted royal insignia
was hanged without
judgement
decay remains fresh
embroiled
in
memories

loving you
seems to have
happened
only
yesterday.


Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

when everybody had left

when everybody had left
you
me
and even the despot ruler
of
our fate
the fort one night came down
and touched us
it hid us
in its wrinkles
from an unruly horizon

nobody dies, it declared
the lust of this tree
our porcelain past
the breakaway season
conspiracy unhinged at nightfall
your names etched in the first drop
of a gwalior rain

nobody
really dies
here

nobody.....


Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

old fort

the blistered road to the old fort
goes on and on
like all tired summers here
scrappy greens try to hold on
to its last outpost
an uneven sun tries to breakthrough
the northern walls
invasion has always been the rule of
a mortal day at gwalior

only
you
remain
unknown


Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

July Afternoon

july afternoon
an unbridled river rushed
down the fort
on to the chironji trees
a battle cry rose
eyes and steel
glinted in forsaken
shadows
a cloud burst galloped
in many a steed
on the dead and dying
the green turbaned man who lives
with bats in the cave
came out again
touched the rain
his eyes swirled
birds screamed
imprisoned
in stronger silence
we had held on to
stones
your hair closed me in
your hands held my thumb
palms caught the language
of rage
a maratha rain
a tale as old as this fort
you said
is a slaughter of rumination
you and me
would still grow
in this broken sun
in a fallacy
of such a gwalior noon.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

Rain

Steady patter of summer that swung into your
windows
eyes that begged me to keep quiet
and wait for a promised
rain
again.

Silk Screen Print and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra
From my book, A Slow Train to Gwalior