Two Curses

I once spat into the sea: no one saw me, no one knew— The froth of the impassioned waves swept away my spit. Yet sometimes I am embarrassed, after so many years I can hear the sea curse me. On the mail train's body I once chalked a woman's profile: no one saw me, no one knew— in fact even the stars in her eyes were not there. Before the train could cross a single station, impassioned rains came— perhaps my sketch was washed away. Yet sometimes I am embarrassed, after so many years I can hear the mail train curse me. When I walk the road every day, do I trample its heart? When I catch a woman's nipple with my teeth, am I brutalising her? Sipping wine on wintry mornings do I represent an exploitative class interest? Is it a sin to embrace Saraswati's idol in the first flush of adolescence? I am still not sure about such things. Yet I can distinctly hear the sea and the mail train curse me. Translated by Pritish Nandy.