Evergreen Leaves ....

I, Motherland

Ritwik Banerjee — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 03:43:32 +0000

Born a few thousand years old. Aged by fate and heritage, maturing in subjectivities of history. Thus I stand amidst others, who, like myself, stand testimony to distances of time. Separated from the contemporary by extraordinary dimensions: I behold Arjuna unleash the weapon of suicidal madness. Divinity smeared the dust of that ancient war on my soul. With maternal pride and anxiety I watch the fiery saint on [...]

Ritualistic Animal Sacrifice in Ancient India

Ritwik Banerjee — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 15:22:37 +0000

To the common Hindu, the very idea of killing a cow – an animal considered to be holy in their religious tradition – is capable of sending a chill down the spine. To regard a cow as a holy animal is a very deep-rooted belief and an unquestionable convention among the Indian Hindu. It comes [...]

The India outside India – I

Ritwik Banerjee — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 22:18:40 +0000

The Vedas and the vedic knowledge were born in India. As time has flown by, many natural calamities and socio-political upheavals have modified the picture of this landmass to a large extent. But, in spite of this external transformation, there continues to flow in the heart of this land a thin yet strong current of rich collective heritage. One particular distributary of that current is the ancient Iranian (Zoroastrian) text Zend Avesta. The religion propagated by Zarathustra in ancient Iran was a branch of Vedic knowledge. Only the language differs: Iranian (sometimes called Avestan or Old Iranian) instead of Sanskrit. A search into the religious foundations of ancient Iran will lead us to believe that their ancestors were the very same people who propagated Vedic knowledge. In other words, ancient Iranians were from ancient India.

Staring into the night

Ritwik Banerjee — Sun, 17 May 2009 00:15:38 +0000

At the limits of the visible world abilities stand dismayed. Amidst the dark vegetation, perhaps from the fringes of opacity, blinks the inebriated firefly. In her own swirls is lost the graceful danseuse — my drunken blood. Staring into the night by Ritwik Banerjee is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

River Saraswati

Ritwik Banerjee — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 14:49:02 +0000

Prologue: Myths, if our schoolbooks are to be believed, are all the foundation ancient India stands on. If our eminent historians have it entirely their way, soon our children shall believe that ancient India was a concept born out of jingoism, opium and/or bed-time stories. Let us take one myth at a time, and search for [...]

The Premio Dardos Award

Ritwik Banerjee — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 06:45:31 +0000

The Premio Dardos Award? The Dardos Award is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web. To begin with, [...]

Home for the Buried

Ritwik Banerjee — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 12:26:09 +0000

That place, which I had even called home at times. That place where, in the end, only your absence lingers on and a strand of your hair on the pillow carves out tears, is suddenly full of only memories. Everything familiar was so rapidly devoured by the past – today remains only a ghost of her herself. Leaving only my stench in her vanishing act. How [...]

Still My Paradise

Ritwik Banerjee — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 11:56:06 +0000

I see some faces floating in the froth, in the clandestine clots of street-water. One looks like our prime minister, another like a boiled egg, or turnip. The only human features I relate to, turn out to be you; everything else vegetates. Even me. There are layers of melancholy that protect you from my thirst. Some of them, like forgotten music, carry an ambiance unknown, [...]

Approved

Ritwik Banerjee — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 11:21:18 +0000

Cold can be a pint of lager. Cold can be a solid wall of glass. Cold can be the air-conditioner aimed at my cubicle from 9 to 5. But neither your breath or sweat, nor your exhaustion or stink. Those are mine by right and by chauvinism. By my egocentricity, I own their warmth. My soul and the warmth of that air, they are [...]

The Last Request

Ritwik Banerjee — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 11:10:47 +0000

Your absence becomes a ghost and haunts the emptiness of my heart. Perhaps even my mind, who knows? You have been granted the power of what I am not. Whenever I, as I know myself, cease to be, I manifest your soul. When my sensibilities follow you into a highly personal oblivion, my only request to you, amidst my weaknesses, is to grant me the [...]