Jibanananda again…

On a drowsy evening in my wearied city,

I found him wandering

Along the Maidan.

No, not towering street-lights

He was admiring the valleys of darkness

Between halogen lamps

 

He, as always,

Was exploring our city.

‘Jibanananda – is that you?’

He smiles, emerging from his silhouette

‘What do you think of Mahanagar today?’

I continue, ‘Does it still allure you?’

 

He looks up

A bright moon peeps out

Of a ragged veil of clouds,

Somewhere, a cuckoo

Begins to sing

Despite the city’s eternal white noise

 

This noisy, vitiated sky

What did he make of it?

He smiles,

‘The city is always attractive,

If you look at her eyes.

For we are all aging with wrinkles.’

 

‘And despite all the din,

The gulmohurs continue to grow,

The barbets continue to trill;

And for the keen souls,

Barhut, Sarnath and Gaya

Are all here in our Vidisha.’

 

He turned quiet,

But his eyes continued

Abar ashibo phire…

He had already decided to find beauty

In a single blade of grass

A lonely kingfisher by a quiet wetland

 

He was staring now

At the floodlights of Eden – another match;

‘And Bonolata?’ I couldn’t help asking

‘Does she still ask

What took you so long

Do you still go back to her?’

 

He smiled,

‘Just like you keep coming back

To this aged city, even when you have gone so far….’

I get distracted by the cuckoo

But by then, Jibonananda had disappeared

Into the silhouettes of the city…

16th August 2026

Jibanananda Das (1899–1954) was born in Barisal and first came to Calcutta as a young student, studying at Presidency College and later teaching in the city. His career took him away from Calcutta several times—to teaching posts in different parts of Bengal and India—but Calcutta repeatedly drew him back. After Partition in 1947, he left Barisal permanently and returned to Calcutta with his family, making the city his home for the final years of his life. He lived somewhat quietly and precariously, teaching and writing, often wandering the streets and observing the changing city. Calcutta was both his refuge and his restless subject: an ageing, noisy modern city in which he continued to discover ancient Bengal, nature and memory. He died there in 1954 after being struck by a tram.