Muses magazine is publishing its supplementary, a collection of translated poems. Feel free to send in your version. Remember, it is a bilingual magazine. All translations will have to be in either English or Bengali. We are looking forward to translations of poetry in Indian languages. Last date of submission: 17th February, 2013. mail us at musesmischief@gmail.com. Hurry!
A MAGAZINE OF THE YOUTH, FOR THE YOUTH, BY THE YOUTH!
Saturday, 9 February 2013
Friday, 1 June 2012
ছেলে মানুষ
একটা ঝিনুক কুড়িয়ে পেলাম
হঠাত সাগর তীরে,
পড়ল মনে অমনি কেমন ছোট্টবেলার কথা !
দুধ-সাদা ঢেউ আড়াল করে ছোট্ট বালির ঘর
বানিয়েছিলাম মনের সুখে কেমন ধরে ধরে..
দেখিয়েছিলাম একে একে সব্বাইকে ডেকে..
বলেছিলাম বড় হযে থাকব সেথায়ে আমি
হেসেছিল সবাই তখন ছেলেমানুষ ভেবে!
এখনো তো ওমনি করেই বানাই বালির ঘর..
ওমনি করেই সাজাই ঝিনুক দিয়ে,
হযেছি বড়, দেখাইনা আর সব্বাইকে ডেকে
হাসি নিজেই, নিজেকে আজ ছেলেমানুষ ভেবে I
Chandrima Naskar
1st Year, Calcutta Medical College
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Hallowed
Rupsha Mukherjee
English,UG-1 ,Presidency University .
Being one
When the helpless being within you wants to scream out really loud and release those flood of emotions...those multitudinous complaints...those long lost minutes you wanted to be embraced by him...those hushed whispers you wanted him to hear.....that musical laughter you hear within every sound you pass by...that song you attach or want him to attach to you without really holding out any hand....and suddenly amidst that roar of your dreams,rushes out,a sea of monstrous complexities....which you do not want to look at...but impeccably they fit you like a second skin.....not wanting to leave you,admonishing every ounce of force you use to repel it and cast off it's shroud...but alas!it doesnt....it is unable to escape from your clutches....you don't know why?oh open that window....lift those curtains......they are within you...the implants of your egotistical eruptions,your numberless unproductive attempts at being a little bit more secure...judgmental attrocities stealthily forward marching towards your secret temptations.....
'helpless being'.........
what else when you can't 'help' knowing,fighting...yet...being what you are.........
Rashmita Roy, Presidency University,
UG-1, English
SIAMESE STRIKERS
“...So we grew together
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet an union in partition,
Two lovely berries moulded on one stem...”
~William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
29th July 1990: We were born conjoined at the hip, my sister Sandra and me, Sarah at 12:08 am on a rainy Sunday. For six months we were “stuck together”, as our Grandma puts it now.
Nineteen years later: The match was due to start in 40 minutes. As I was re-tying my shoes for the 26th time as I always do before a match, I found myself wondering what Sandra was doing in the dressing room across the football field. We were both the star strikers for our team…contending for the Golden Boot at 27 league goals apiece and now here we were…at the 2009 League Cup Finals (Under 19- Girls). I always find it easy to close my eyes and see what Sandra is doing, no matter where she is. I could see her now…tying her long black hair into a pony tail and hopping a little on spot- warming up. It was the first time ever we were facing each other in a final and I was scared. I knew my sister could beat me and I wanted her to win. And no prizes for guessing what Sandra’s thoughts were. Sometimes, especially at times like this, I think it’s a bit too much. Occasionally, it would do to be original!
Sandra and I had been playing football since we were six. It was also the one thing we disagreed upon. I swore by Manchester United, she loved Arsenal. We joined different county teams as well, as we both played in the same position- centre forward. Our teams were rivals and bitter ones at that. She signed for Varsity Belles- known as the “Silver Surfers” to all rivals for the team’s silver kit and a lethal attacking force. I joined the MIA Marauders aptly named as we won almost all the major trophies, minus the ones Sandra’s team managed to collect. (MIA of course after Mia Hamm, probably the best female soccer player EVER)
Today’s match was the talk of the town. It was the biggest match of the season. I could hear the tumultuous uproar of the crowds from the dressing room.
As we walked out into to field and warmed up, I kept passing by the spot where Sandra was stretching. I avoided eye contact, but I really wished I could just walk up to her and hug her. I wanted to win desperately and the only person who could wish me luck on that front was Sandra. Then again, I hoped that Sandra won as well. This was the problem with playing against Sandra… she was my life’s blood, she was my other half. I could never, ever win if she was on the other team- because I wouldn’t let her lose.
The teams shook hands, the referee placed the ball, she blew the whistle and the game began.
For the first two minutes, nothing happened; the ball was in the midfield, neither here nor there. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, the Surfers dashed forward and 3 minutes into the game, Sandra scored… a beautiful left footed curler into the top right corner. It was 1-0 to the Surfers. As the game restarted, my captain, and midfielder, Diane told me to move deeper midfield and get the ball. I did. And then I just dribbled for my life. And 5 minutes from the start of the match, the scores were level at 1-all. That’s how it remained in the first half. Both teams had the sense to pass the ball around idly, so the forwards could get geared up for an electric second half.
At half time, as my team walked past the press box, I could here reporters talking about the rivalry between Sandra and me. We were both on 28 goals apiece this season and we were twins. I let them talk. There was no rivalry between us. After playing against each other, we never discussed a match. In fact, we never discussed any of our matches. It was just better that way; there was no scope for jealousy. As I washed my face in the basin in the dressing room, I closed my eyes to see what Sandra was doing. I could see her re-taping her knee and drinking water. She looked impassive, like she always did during the course of her match. Her hair was coming undone, and she retied it impatiently. She loved her long, black hair and even though it came in her way while running, she never chopped it short, like I had. My captain’s voice calling out my name made me open my eyes. I t was time for the second half. I knew what we had to do. Offensive, not defensive, attack and crumble the defence.
The second half began.
The Surfers’ goalie was amazing and stopped me from scoring thrice in seven minutes. Suddenly, all hell broke lose in front of our goal. In 3 minutes Sandra scored twice. It was 3-1 Surfers. And the Surfers’ goalie kept denying me.
With 12 minutes to go, a miracle happened- A corner kick… the first of the match. My captain took it, a neat cross, aimed at my head… and in it went!!! 3-2! And there was hope.
Time was running out. With 3 minutes to go, it was still 3-2. I had the ball but there were three defenders in front of me. I passed to the striker on my right and ran forward. She was in a better position to pass the ball back to me. As she prepared to pass it back, one of the silver defenders tripped her, right in the penalty area… PENALTY!
I took it. It was 3-3. Just as I netted the ball, the referee blew her whistle. So now it would be extra time.
As is the norm, nothing happened in extra time. We spent 30 minutes on field, while our managers substituted all the defenders for our reserve strikers. The penalty shootout began with my team scoring first. Both Sandra and I were on target. Then, at 4-4, one of the Surfers missed the last penalty. It was my captain, Diane’s turn to shoot. It was like time had slowed down. Every sound in the arena seemed far away and muffled. All I could see was the ball and my captain’s right foot. In slow motion (to me anyway), she kicked the ball, it skidded across the turf and landed at the back of the net, while the goalie made her first mistake of the night by diving left instead of right.
It was over. MIA Marauders had won 5-4 on penalties. But my eyes sought my sister; my sister who had played so well, whose team deserved to win just as much as much as mine did, maybe more. She was standing there at the edge of the field looking down. Before any of my team mates reached me, I ran towards my sister. She looked up before I reached her, but she wasn’t even looking at me, she was looking at-nothing. As I drew closer, she turned right around and left the field, before I could say a word.
I was shattered. She had never acted in such a way before. I was going to run after her, but my team mates surrounded me.
The congratulating pats, the deafening cheer from the stands, the prize distribution- everything somehow passed by in a blur. How could she do this to me? I’m her sister! She’s supposed to be happy for me…I would never do this to HER!
I made the team bus stop in front of the park instead of my house. As I sat on my favourite bench, my head replayed the image of Sandra turning away from me. Suddenly I heard her voice say, “Aren’t you coming home?” I whipped around. She was standing there, that same cold look on her face, the one she reserved for matches. “Why are you here? Why don’t you just run away from me again, like you did after the match today?” She just stared at me for a long time and said, “If you don’t come home, you won’t understand,” and walked away.
I took the long way home, my winner’s medal held in my sweaty hand. Was I rude to Sandra? Was she hurt? How do I care, when she evidently doesn’t? Why am I going home anyway? As I walked home I wondered if, after 13 years of playing against each other, we were entering the domain of jealousy.
As the front door of my house loomed large in front of me, I had a feeling something was amiss. My parents weren’t the type who played 2009 Club Hits at full volume, no matter how many trophies their daughters won. As I pushed the front door open, I saw that all my school friends and some of my family members were standing around a table, littered by junk food. “SURPRISE!!” they yelled.
My parents were trying to relieve me of my sports kit. Confused, I turned around, “What’s up?” I asked.
“Oh, just after the match Sandy took off to locate all your friends and we called Grandma and Auntie Lou over to surprise you. Sandy wanted a surprise party for you, see?”
“Sandra? She did this? Where IS she?” I was almost incoherent. I hated myself. Of course that’s why she left like that. I would have done the same thing had her team won. I could vaguely hear my dad say that she was in her room, sleeping, exhausted from the match. I ran to her room and opened her door. She was fast asleep. I crawled into bed beside her and fell asleep as well.
Meghna Sengupta, class 12, Modern High School
Meghna Sengupta, class 12, Modern High School
Monday, 19 December 2011
STUPID, TEPID…..CUPID?
Love truly knows no bounds
When you take a meandering walk
By the pristine, hyacinth-filled lake,
Witnessing dusty, occupied seats
And amorous, gloating sighs
And stifled murmurs.
You blame yourself, curse yourself
For not having another connect to bliss
When you see those unending rows
Of sweet and salty nothings
Giving way to those unspoken words
Hanging in the air like suspended rain.
After bouts of irritation and envy,
You start seeing the heart’s captive power
To desire, be unloved and keep loving.
In a weird, unexpected way you reach
Those unfathomed depths of knowledge
That are busy stirred up with passion.
And then you come back to the world
Which has become unrecognizable now
Freshness fills the car-fumes
With a tinted, carbonated purity
That envelops your jaundiced being
And makes you want to cry out
“Je t'aime!”
-Rony Patra
Presidency University,
PG-1
Snow
Relentless,it snowed.Unperturbed.Choking sinuous brooks that babble sounds of silence.Snowed on rooftops which see overnight mist trickling down the tin shade in icy droplets of water.On the beggar whose milky eyes beguile his desires to pilfer the lustful folds of sedate sleep.On the one-legged harlot who pursues a liquid dream to chase her fears away.On the impassive weaver,who,unfazed by the vagaries of the world painstakingly weaves his finest masterpiece thread after thread.On the blind girl selling dew-drenched dahlias to the tramp who feeds them to the nefarious worms.On the listless boy crafting paper lanterns with his sister under the black wings of darkness.
On them and on the world they inhabit,the first snow settled.White.Serene.Pristine.
On this and more,it snowed overnight.Relentless.
-Bidisha Das
Presidency University
UG-1
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