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It's weird. He apparently died about three weeks ago. I wasn't that close to him- he was my lab partner sophomore year, and we hung out a few times, but when I spent a year away from UD and saw him again last semester, it wasn't some tight bond, you know? Still, this is the first time I've directly known a contemporary who has died, and it's weird. I mean, the dude was only 21. My friend Alex was much closer to him, and I'll definitely keep a look out for her and try talking to her when classes start tommorrow. He was a sweet guy, though- a total nerd who was completely comfortable with being himself, and never tried changing himself to fit in. There was a lot of genunity about him. I'll never forget his attempt to do a stand-up comedy rountine about proverbs. It was awful, but he was a real trouper about it. Nice reminder that we shouldn't take life for grantred- because you never know...

He sleeps beneath the blossoming bows of jasmine in this breezy summer night. The call of the flowers fills the hearts of lonely travelers afar. Flowing from vale to vale, its fragrance beckon to the weary legs, Like the sirens who had once enticed the returning Greeks. And as they arrive what do they behold! A solitary bed, Nestled under the Jasmine and Elder grooves, Requiem for a love long lost. Angels sigh in the wind As sweet petals descend upon the grave of my beloved. The silver of the moon cradle my sweet in blissful repose. ©asamvav111

Colours of Love Paint the whole city blue and red, In Colours they come and in Colours they fade. My Colourman comes in a haunting snow, Pristine white when everything glow. He comes silently by my broken window, Softly sauntering like a sad old shadow. Glimpses by my broken window pane And lo what he sees, the old me again. Stuck in my bed in perpetual illness, Waiting in line for my turn with patience, Bereft of all but skin and bones, Sadist as always I am a sight to behold. Yet unlike most that come by my death-bed, I’ve failed so far to scare him to dread. He waits unerringly through the frozen night, And flees just as swiftly as the sun comes in sight. Yet he never utters a single word, Yet his eyes ever speak nothing but love. He colours the leaves and the petals and the pool, He colours distant meadows sheltered and cool, He colours my soul just as he colours the nature, As if I, too am an important creature. But, I know in spring when he’ll come by my window, The bed will be empty and I, one of those shadows. Then shall I be finally one with my love? Together we’ll colour the Heavens above. So here I ask you to do this small favour. Consider this as an affectionate endeavour. Please colour the city Blue and Red, So swiftly my lover finds my desolate bed. And we’ll bring colour to your life in dark shade, For in Colours they come and in Colours they fade! 18/01/2013 ©asamvav111

My last post here said how happy I am to go home. Ironically, last night I recieved a call from my mom telling me, my childhood best friends dad has died. He was suffering from Parkinsonism for a long time, had a mass compressing his spinal cord, which was found to be thankfully benign and he was bed-ridden since early last year. But, he was recovering well. The physiotherapy was paying and the last when I saw him about six months ago, he was able to walk on a surface but couldn't take stairs yet. He was mentally sound and we talked for long hours just like old times. Now out of the blue, this news hits us that, he died four days ago due to renal failure and must have been hospitalized for a period before that. My mom is in a total shock. My friend's parents and mine were close. My mom had met his mom a couple of months ago, and she did not mention anything then. We live in the same neighbourhood. Their house is 6 houses away from ours. We did not have a clue this was going on there all this while. The whole incident makes me sad. I liked that man. He was a good teacher, a good human being, had very good taste in music and arts, was religious and definitely a good father. Being a math teacher, he was good with numbers and could communicate well with any age group. He had a congenital deformity, so always walked with a small limp and yet used to walk miles over miles. He was a humble man. He was a right wing Hindu fundamentalist and we used to have political discussions, yet never once he tried to indoctrinate me. Above all, he had a good sense of humour. I will surly miss him. May God grant him peace. I will never truly understand, why my friend had contacted me and my family so late. He could have done that earlier. We could have visited him while he was still alive. But, he didn't. May be he didn't think that I could help him carry the burden. And this enrages me. This is not the person I know. Not the jovial athletic musician math-wiz who was always there for me since grade two. Yes, we went to the same school too. We have grown apart since I came to Bangladesh to study medicine and he went to another part of India to study engineering. Could it be that the fundamental difference in our trade that has come to divide us? He is a working engineer now. Has his own peer group. And must be just as popular with them as he was in the old days. May be he moved on with life, while i am still stuck on mine. May be, he found a place for himself in the world and does not wanna continue with his old self. I don't know. May be I am just reading too much into this. There is a reason why this whole thing hurts me so much. And it's October. You must be wondering what that has to do with anything! You see, October is a cursed month for us Majumdars, especially around Puja. Someone always ends up dying. Last year my paternal grandfather died after a prolonged illness on 29th. My maternal grandmother, with whom I was exceedingly attached with since birth, died on an October day, on a Puja day, Ashtami. That has soured that day for me for the rest of my life. Now, this happens. So, does this mean I am gonna loose a loved one every October? Who is it gonna be next? My dad? My mom? Someone else? Why? I know death is a natural process of renewal. I believe in rebirths as well. But, that does not stop the pain of estrangement, of losing someone you cherish dearly. You will not be able to experience that person in the corporeal plane ever again; Not in the same way. And it hurts to see that. This is one dreaded aspect of Durga Puja for my family. We just don't want to hear the phone ring in the wee hours of the morning, telling us we have lost another member; that there will be one less elder to visit during the coming Bijaya Visitations. I just wish this would stop once and for all. But, as they say, Death and Taxes... P.S. I still don't know how to tell my dad. He was close with the man. And he is on the wrong side of sixty-five now. [This post is dedicated to Late Ashim Kumar Ganguly. May his soul rest in peace and may his family members recieve closure.]

Good Day, I will be posting updates with regards to this novel and some queries that my friends have asked me in relation to my story. This will give you, as a reader, insights to the process of how I started to write this novel. I will be providing the link as well to the story in this site. http://www.gayauthor...ybook1breathing NOTE: I will be posting the next chapter next week Monday or this Sunday. Although it's done up to chapter 7, I'm too lazy to press the spacebar five times just so I could copy the format it had when I wrote it on MS-Word. I'm a nutcase with these things. So please bear with me.