Mild winter breeze. Grey skies.
Traffic snarls. The eight minute wait at a traffic light.
The bells of cycle rickshaws. And the horns.
The CNG autos. The low floored buses.
The mouth watering rasogolla at the neighbourhood sweet shop.
The familiar smell of warm toast in the morning. The tinkle of a spoon against a tea cup. “You still prefer black?”
The endless fish curries. The waiting for biriyani. The mutton rolls.
The plans changed. Times not kept.
The doorbell ringing in the morning. “Didi, aajkey oi baari tey ki hoyechhey jano? ” (“Do you know what happened in the other house this morning?”)
The news bulletins on Jyoti Basu. The heated discussions on politics, ideals and beliefs.
The new literature festival. The book fair missed.
The walks around a park. The life that seems a little troubled. A friend’s shoulder. A patient hearing.
Evenings spent with relatives. Neighbor’s lives. Gossip. Smirks. Laughters again.
Shawls and sarees. Kashmir emporium. New Market.
Sitting by the side of a mighty river. Staring out into the open.
Dreams had. Deams lost.
Peace. Home. Hope.
Heartache. Soulmate. Best friend.
Filed under: mother, Nostalgia, Opinion and facts, The everyday stuff | Tagged: afternoon, Calcutta, conversation, food, freedom, friends, home, Kolkata, love, mother, vacation, winter | 15 Comments »