The following poem by Trijita Mukherjee won the third prize of Twenty Five Thousand Rupees in Wingword Poetry Prize 2017.
Trijita writes of a quiet town in which she can hear the sound of the sleeping sadness. The sound of an axe skinning away at a piece of wood is heard and so is the sound of a bell on a cycle. The blacksmith’s hammer at regular intervals hits the drowsy town with its sound. Trijita writes about the town's details such as Taposh-da pulling the shutter of his grocery store and his wife draining rice starch from the earthen pot. Further down Biren-da brews tea and sells biscuits for the bank officials during their lunch hours. She writes about how a young boy at a furniture store would sprinkle water on the floor to settle down the dust which quietens the evening even more. Then there is Amal-dadu who smokes biri and invites the poet for tea but she politely declines and reaches home where the gates creak. The poet has been living alone in the house where the sound of her sadness is loud in the quiet town. The poem is about the loneliness of the poet despite knowing so many people of the town. She is observant of everybody’s activities and is friendly with everyone. Amal-dadu’s invitation for tea is a sign that the poet often spends the evening with Amal-dadu over tea. The poet has written about the loudness of her loneliness in the quiet town.
this is a quiet town.
a town so quiet that
you can hear the sound
of an axe skinning away
at a piece of wood.
the sound of a singular
bell on a hero cycle,
when the cyclist slowly trails
along an even slower road
that leads to the blacksmith's
shop at the end of the road.
the blacksmith's hammer's
clank-clank-clank,
punctuate
a drowsy town.
at 2 o'clock
on an ordinary afternoon
if you walk towards
Central Park,
taposh-da will be
pulling down the shutters
of his grocery store--
his wife
has just drained the starch
from an earthen pot
she has boiled rice in
for the last 25 years.
further down
biren-da would be brewing tea
and selling biscuits and other
such eats,
for the bank officials,
when they step out
for their hour-long
lunch break.
later on
maybe around 5 o'clock
when you are walking
back home,
the boy at kamal furniture store
will be sprinkling water
from an old pepsi bottle
on the floors
of the shop--
the afternoon dust will
then settle down,
giving
way
to a lesser quiet evening.
winding down
the lane
by the lake, which leads
up to the gates of your
home,
you see amal-dadu sitting
at his doorstep
smoking a biri. .
"kire? kamon achis?
kobe asli?”*
you smile at him
comment on the weather,
and refuse an invitation
to a cup of tea.
"nah.. aaj jai."
you will reach home
open the gates
that creak
with the sound of years
of coming and going--
solitary footsteps
and bags, lost.
you will sit in your room
switch on the fan and
hear the pages of your diary
flutter--
it is the sound of
the slumbering sadness
of a quiet town
you will know.
Trijita Mukherjee is the third prize winner of Wingword Poetry Prize 2017. She lives in Kalyani and is caught between the promises of a city and small town. She likes Simon and Garfunkel, poetry, and cooking.