Bhaskar Chakraborty is a poet who hears and writes silences. There is a ghostly ambience in his poems that reverberates with a strange depth, where the obscure is familiar and the familiar, obscure. Like almost all other poets from Calcutta, Bhaskar is a poet of the city, but unlike them, Bhaskar does not grapple with the sweat and toil, the hustle and bustle, of city life. He breathes and walks a different time, where the city is transported into memory. Calcutta is Bhaskar’s nostalgia and nightmare. The absence of sentimentality in the poems adds to the emotional maturity of the poet’s engagement with the city. Bhaskar is an imagist, and his poems constantly offer surprising and even shocking juxtapositions of imagery. It creates the strange ambience of his poems, where intimacy is often struck by unfamiliarity. His poems are also a constant conversation with death. It is crucial to read Bhaskar through the state of his illness, and the hallucinatory element it adds to his poetry.