Poetry is one of the finest and effective tools of expression. You get all range, a gamut of emotions, reminisce, and sense of past memories. Recently I stumbled upon a poetry collection written by a travel writer cum national-level cricketer from Hyderabad.
I am talking about “they were my heroes” by Mohul Bhowmick. An intense brilliant book of poems where subtle anguish churns beneath its skin! But why? The book discusses the semi-autobiographical reminisces of the poet, ranging from traveling to heartbreaks to remembering people close to him and a few intriguing musings about life. An exhaustive book of 100 poems, around 240 pages…but I never thought of leaving it, there was something that kept me glued. It has some charming element, I could not figure out exactly but I felt it strongly.
Mohul classifies his work in 5 segments. Among all the sections, my favourite one was “Demons”, I could relate some of the poems to my situation and events of life. The nuisances and idiosyncrasies of an innocent heart are well-captured through lucid usage of words. I loved this book all the more for its simplicity. The poet is a young guy and I could decipher from the words that he must have seen life from close angles. He is full of gratitude for his parents, friends, and coach – to them he filled one entire section.
Beautiful memories give us pain when we remember them and heartbreaks and rejections bring anguish in our heart upon recalling them. And this aspect is captured perfectly by Mohul in his poetry. Except Travel Capers and Tribute, I could feel the slight anguish of the poet towards the circumstances of life that nudged him, drove him, and shaped him. Are we all not products of our circumstances?
From the first section, I loved that touristic coverage on Nepal. I wish I could go there. The Heart of Life, Rainbow, Old Flame, Old Scrapbooks, Without Me, Supposed to Fail – are prominent poems with intense message and pain for the readers, these poems are my favorite, I will be reading and learning them over and again.
Penning down such a lengthy collection without creating dilemma of words and thoughts must have been a gigantic task for the poet. He tried to escape the banality of the mundane life…and I believe he succeeded to an optimum length.
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