Antique Optique

As another weekend commenced,

one fine July evening,

while clearing stuff away, my eyes lit up,

and I let my heart sway.

In a corner, they quietly stay,

my Dad’s binoculars, back from faraway,

reaching out, gripping it’s worn but firm chassis,

just seemed to make my day.

As I bring them hurriedly to where Dad sits,

the nostalgia hits,

"Ah, the Super Zenith 20 X 50.." he says,

as the long forgotten moments replay.

Dusting the lens with care,

Dad’s binocular, now pretty rare, 35 years old, a legacy to bear,

with it’s heft and sturdy build,

it sure didn’t lose it’s flair.

Talking about Dad’s good old days with Zenith’s sight,

together, we step into the early night,

the binoculars ready, our hearts alight,

for the first time in many long years, it finally comes alive.

Droning over the night sky,

we gaze up high,

out there in the vast cosmos we pursue,

trying to spot a star or two, across the sky's dark hue.

Going round or round, like a stranded satellite
fiddling with the dials, no respite,
darkness everywhere, not a light source in sight,
as minutes pass, doubt begins to bite.

Just then, my jaws dropped, eyes glued, a smile crept,

the golden Moon now in range so bright, contours so sharp that my heart leapt,

cameras may click, but they’re just inept,

next to the sheer clarity the bino so easily kept.

This euphoric feeling, that can't be caught,

only lived, experienced and sought,

the best gift I could think of,

and, as if by magic, a new hobby unlocked.

Another attempt at writing a poem, this one's pretty raw and random..

Please do share your thoughts in the comments, I love to understand how these little scribblings make an impact on you lovely folks!!

Bridging Stories

Spring is almost round the corner. It’s a Sunday morning, so I get up early to head off to my favorite store that sells old books at cheap prices. Unbelievably cheap.

That’s why I like the place even more. My rundown single room apartment is already so stuffed with tons of books, and I’m certain I will be kicked out from here if I keep a few more. Yet I throw caution to the wind, my mind yelling -"Let’s go get some books, hell yeah!"

The hills to the east are illuminated by the rays of the rising sun. The sound of birds chirping in chorus joins that of the water gurgling down the brook and the gentle wind rustling the leaves. The store is 7-8 miles away, so I grab my bicycle and get going - I want to make the most of this beautiful morning.

I leisurely pass by the quiet streets of the suburb, enjoying the soothing air blowing past me. After 2 hours, the landscape’s changed - the roads are wider and filled with vehicles navigating their way through the traffic, there’s way less greenery and tall buildings surround the area. Taking the side lanes to avoid the traffic, I soon reach the town square.

I park my bicycle, grab a sandwich and walk towards the store that’s at the other end of the bicycle stand. The old man there notices me approaching the store and greets me with a warm smile and gestures at me to take the empty bench. I sit, and gladly accept the tea he humbly offers. We talk about how life's been these days, about the change of seasons and stuff. Like old pals with no worry about time, catching up with things.

I go through the long columns of books he's neatly organized, and he smokes a cigarette and reads a newspaper.

I've already picked a handful of books, but my eyes fall upon an old diary of sorts, it's edges strained with yellow.

It strangely piques my curiosity and I can't help but flip through the pages.

Oh shit. It's one of those oh shit moments that take you by surprise.

Mr. Ashford…It's his diary, no doubt and this is his typical writing style I’ve grown up being fond of. I had been following his works for quite some time, and it was strange how he wasn’t so popular, given his profound ability to write heart-wrenching novels that radiated sincerity and a whole wide spectrum of emotions. He had passed away about 8 months ago, and was survived by his daughter and few close relatives in Willowbrook village.

Intrigued by the prospect of discovering more about the man whose words had resonated so deeply with me, I eagerly purchased the diary. Little did I know that this chance encounter would turn out to be an important chapter of my life.

The bookkeeper was perplexed when he saw me already leaving on my bicycle, so I promised to explain him everything another day. With Mr. Ashford’s diary, I set out on a journey to Willowbrook village, determined to return his diary to his close ones.

It was quite the distance on my old bicycle, but the lovely spring air and the jolly people of Willowbrook more than made up for it. That’s when I was caught off-guard as I did not notice the jeep coming from the left near the intersection, and the next moment I remember was the world going round in circles, and my vision going out slowly, and then into complete darkness.

I woke up in a nursing home bed, with the smell of antiseptic all around and I could see the white sheets drying out in the sun from across the window. My eyes shift focus to a woman of about my age, looking seemingly concerned. That’s when I recollect what had happened - I was hit by a jeep and had lost my consciousness then.

The woman introduced herself as Emily Ashford, and she was none other than Mr. Ashford’s daughter herself!! I was so surprised that I tried to get up from the bed almost immediately; but that’s when I was struck with agonizing pain on my right hand - I had fractured my right hand, and there were some minor injuries on my forehead as well.

Emily asked me to settle down until I adjusted to the pain, and we spent the next hour or so introducing ourselves, and why I had come here. Handing her the diary that was on the table beside my bed, I asked her to keep it as she was the rightful keeper of it, and she smiled kindly and accepted it.

Later in the evening, I was discharged from the nursing home. Emily had come too, and insisted me to stay at their family run inn for some time till I got better. Seeing the state I was in, I thought it was a good idea to rest for some days before heading back.

During the days that followed, as I recuperated in Willowbrook village, Emily and I formed an unlikely bond. Having almost no common interests, the diary and her father’s work was the principal point of our conversations.

Through the pages of Mr. Ashford’s diary, we found a man whose words painted landscapes of joy, sorrow, and undying hope. The little-known writer, nestled in the quiet village of Willowbrook, and his splendid ability to capture the nuances of life and the little things that we, living in a chaotic and busy world, often ignore. Apart from his literary prowess, we also got to know about Mr. Ashford was driven by a deep sense of purpose, and his undying belief that stories could heal, inspire and connect generations. Despite his modest success, he never sought the spotlight; instead, he was content that his words could reach and strike a chord in the hearts of a select few.

Emily, who loved her father deeply, was unfamiliar with the extent of her father's literary endeavors, and was simply awestruck by this revelation. Little did I know then that Emily already had made up her mind to do something special.

After a week, I decided to take my leave. Emily asked me to stay for a few days more, but I told her that wouldn’t be possible as my job necessitated my return. I thanked her for taking care of me all this time, and promised to return to this beautiful village and meet her again soon. I left my cycle, which was in a pretty bad shape, at the inn and returned by train.

With the normal life kicking in, days passed into weeks, and weeks into months. I thought of going back to Willowbrook village and meeting Emily, but man, there’s almost always work, even on weekends :(

It was not until Mr. Ashford’s death anniversary that I finally set for Willowbrook. Once there, I headed straight for the inn, but Emily wasn’t there. For a moment, my heart sank at the thought of her possibly leaving the village for good and that I might never meet her again.

As I had already come this far, I decided to go to the village cemetery, perched at the top of the hill on the west and pay Mr. Ashford my respect. It was a tiring trek uphill, but I made it finally. There was that silence and quietness you only get to feel in places like these.

Treading slowly ahead, I suddenly found a woman laying flowers beside a gravestone. And noticing carefully, it was Mr. Ashford’s grave. When our eyes meet, I recognize them - Emily. It’s Emily.

She gives me a weak smile.

“I knew you’d be here.”

“How did you know?” - I asked.

“Just one of those things.” - she said.

We pay our respects and for some minutes, everything’s so quiet, so peaceful, only after we hear a distant sound of a bird does the silence break.

As we head back towards the village, she steps forward and blocks the path.

“I’ve something to give you.”

“What is it?” - I ask, clueless.

She takes out a book from her book and gives it to me, saying nothing, letting me do the talking after I figure it out. I notice the tears well up in her eyes, in hope and expectation.

As I briefly go through the first few pages, I’m taken aback. I reread the same pages, and a few more, until it all makes sense. Gosh. Over the course of a few months, Emily had gone through many of her father’s masterpieces, and using the diary as a guiding compass, channeled her father’s ideals and storytelling, into the form of a novel.

”Emily, this is incredible!! From what I can tell, you’ve captured the very essence of your father’s ideals here!! I..I..I am just at a loss for words… You are great, Emily, you really are.”

Emily smiles weakly again.

“This book would not have seen the light of day if not for you. And that’s why you deserve to have the first copy.

After you left, I gave it my all, scouring through pages, transcripts, Father’s finished and unfinished works and of course, his diary. And I tried bridging them into one single book, keeping in mind his ideals and the soul of his writing. And it all started when I found you injured near the intersection, and we got to talk about Father.

And that diary, and how someone’s words can reach, affect and inspire people just amazed me, to the point that this book exists. It’s a shared creation between us.”

We spend the afternoon at her inn, reading her book and marveling at the effort she had put in, for her beloved father, for Mr. Ashford, whose work I admired so much.

Later that evening, as the book comes to an end, and it’s time to return, we bid goodbye, with an unspoken promise to meet again.

Heading back to my suburb, the old man at the bookstore greets me.

“Long time no see…What have you been upto all these days, after purchasing that diary? You never returned to tell me…”

I grab 2 cups of coffee from the nearby shop, and sitting besides the old man, Emily’s book in hand, I say -

"It’s going to be one long story, you know…”

The First Rains

Ah! So here we go again…It’s that time of the year when the entire City of Joy yearns for something. It’s so special, so refreshing, so fulfilling, so welcoming – yes, it’s the first rains. (Not the heavy downpours associated with the monsoon season, they do add even more woes)

Around this time in Kolkata, the humidity is high and the soaring temperatures make life miserable for most of us. The sweltering heat and perspiration makes it difficult to do just about anything really. And that’s when we are blessed with the rains from above.

With their arrival, life becomes so much more …

And as the rains descend, the coolness settles in slowly and wholly, the earthen smell of the moist soil fills the air, the leaves suddenly seem to turn more lush and green, somewhere deep in your heart you find the passion to do something you actually love so much so that you drop the nagging work, throwing all worries to the gentle wind outside, picking up a guitar and trying that song you haven’t played in a while, or sketching that unfinished portrait, or  writing a poem, or just staring out of the window with a warm cup of coffee…Somewhere inside you, that creative side, that passionate side of you gets a spark, you feel that energy and carefreeness flow in you, and it’s wonderful…Our appreciation towards the rains that bring the much needed respite never fades.

Yellow taxis on the roads drenched with the first drops of the gentle drizzle, kids taking their bicycles to the puddles, playing football while being covered up in the mud – laughing everything they slip or skid,  taking shelter under a shed to find so many stranded people, taking two cups instead of one cup of hot tea and enjoying that adda at the tea stall, or just extending your hand out of the window to feel the raindrops coalesce and flow away from your hands, watching the ripples form on the otherwise still lake, throwing away the umbrella and just embracing the rain and taking in the feeling in by dancing around in circles. And the lovely hues of yellow, red and orange after the sky clears up in the evening is charismatic.

Isn’t it magical, how the rains softens the outlines of things and makes them slightly blurry, taking away some of the heaviness you’ve been carrying for a while and making you live in the moment for then.

What’s your way of enjoying the first rains as they arrive? Do let me know in the comments section, and I would love to read and try to relate.

Evanescence

The incessant downpour slows down. But it’s still raining, though lightly, as I can say from the pattering sound on the tin sheet that manages to house a crowd of people stuck there like me. I am wary of the proximity of people around me, coz Covid-19 still does exist; so I adjust my mask for the zillionth time, checking if it covers my nose as much as possible. I’ve been waiting at the bus stop for almost an hour now, but there’s no bus on my route at this time. And the cab fares are staggeringly high today.

So, I decide to wait a little longer, looking at the second hand of my watch and at the drizzle next. A bus arrives, but unfortunately, it’s not the right one. The crowd dissolves in no time. I sigh. This happens quite often, so I’m disappointed but not surprised.

The rains stop, and after a while I can see the reflection of the sunlight on the puddles. The sky is clearing away, and the weather feels soothing on an otherwise humid day. The gentle pink evening sky encompassing the buildings, the distant city lights coming back to life and my numb mind after hours of classes today make me almost miss the bus that had arrived a moment ago. 

Luckily, I get a window seat and I plug in my earphones to immerse myself in some good music. I watch the beautiful sky, the twinkling city lights, the well-lit skyrises. I don’t know why but it feels so magical, I can barely describe it. So I don’t even try, and instead try to soak in to the mystical feel. 

It’s just the perfect atmosphere to get lost into your thoughts, immersed into music, eyes watching the pink sky – and so I do, leaning against the window sill, I fall into a reverie, gazing pensively at the charismatic sky beckoning to me in the distance. I see kids, young couples and lovebirds enjoying the weather as they walk on the streets- closing their umbrellas, jumping and splashing on water puddles,  laughing heartily and living the most of their lives.

Their way of living struck me as profoundly beautiful. There's something simple in that - something that makes my fingertips itch and my heart sink. I've missed that feeling - the feeling people probably call as being in love, whether it's being in love with someone, or with the weather, or with just about anything that make us happy. 

Yeah, love is in the air. I can feel it...

I guess we all lost someone or something that made us happy once and we yearn for it, letting our broken hearts a chance to get shattered into a million pieces again and be vulnerable. But it’s okay- hoping a little bit, right? Helps keep life interesting.

The time passes by quietly, as the bus starts speeding up the way local buses in Kolkata usually do. If you haven’t travelled on one, you’re definitely missing out on a lot, or precisely speaking, on the speed.

But it doesn’t even matter- the speed, distance, time, anything really. Perhaps I was too tired to process them, but for the time being, I felt content just watching the lovely sky from the window pane.

 

Suddenly the bus decelerates, making my twisted head hit the iron rail of the seat in front of me, and for a second, it feels like everything has come to a halt. Nah, it’s not because of being hit on the head, it’s the sight out of the window at that moment which catches my breath.

At that moment, another speeding bus, headed for the opposite direction grazes past us, and at that moment I see her, and those pair of blue eyes…And I know I have seen those eyes before; they seemed so very familiar -those blue eyes and the cool hue that make me get lost in them- as if it’s the vast ocean. Time really does pause for a moment, and as the buses pass, our eyes connect and stay fixated.

Her blue eyes flicker just a little, and I feel she knows me too, coz nobody’s eyes would light up on seeing any random stranger going on a bus. Yes, eyes do speak words that you probably never say. But that’s just about it – I can’t recognize her anymore coz she’s wearing a mask and I’m wearing one too…

And it’s like somebody has pressed the play button already. Time speeds up, the buses cross each other and head off their ways. But I lean my head out of the window, looking back; trying to decipher whose eyes they reminded me of and I realize she’s looking back too, probably figuring out the answer to the same thought.

 

The bus goes far away into the distance but I keep looking, until it’s silhouette disappears as well. Those blue eyes leave a lasting impression upon me, and I wonder who she was, and where I had seen them before.

Even after getting back home, my mind stays disturbed and keeps drifting away. I try to forget those eyes and dismiss that moment as a mere misconception, but something about them makes me agree to disagree. To keep myself busy, I try to study a bit. Doesn’t work. Take a short nap. Still doesn’t work either. 

And I know I’m too disturbed to do anything, and I wanna know who she was and reassure myself none of that was a misconception, that it was probably her, with whom I had lost contact since I had switched schools some time back. It had to be…When our eyes connected, I really thought it was her.

I open my window and watch the stars in the clear night sky. They look just like your twinkling eyes, only your eyes are a lot more bluer. Remember when we first met at the library and we unknowingly picked up the same book at the same time? You had blushed gently, and our eyes stay fixed at each other, and only after a while did we realize we were holding the same book. And the fuss we had made over who should take it. Gosh, I can never forget the first time my eyes met yours. I love the way they shine the way they do. 

This time, I try to sketch her, those blue eyes flickering and the mask covering the rest of her face as she looks at me through the window of the bus. It takes time to sketch, and I get absorbed in it. Eventually, my mind calms down.

I'm glad the sketch resembles her. And I hope a little more.  I really do. At least we're in the same city, and I'm pretty sure we would meet someday, when destiny decides it's time for our paths to cross again...

                                                           ------------x-------------

Thanks for reading!! Drop a comment below if you liked it or found it relatable. I would love to hear your reviews!!

If you liked the sketch, visit my friend Aritra's Instagram page ( https://instagram.com/tyflos_zografos?igshid=lt0rmf9dz8q4) for more amazing sketches.

Her Last Letter

Spring time…It’s on it’s way…The season when life -as I knew back then, was slowly coming back to life itself. The days were getting longer and warmer and more pleasant, the sky was getting bluer than ever and the dry leaves were slowly getting replaced by the lush green ones.

So yeah, on one of those fine spring mornings I was cleaning up my room and arranging books and stuffs to be discarded in cardboard boxes, when I came across this diary. Wiping the dust off, I took it out in the warm sunshine and treaded my hands slowly on it’s cover. I remembered; this was one of those many things I couldn’t find after my family moved in here to Kanpur.

Shifting to a new place and getting settled does take time and lots of things get misplaced, and I knew that, but all the same I was happy and relieved to find it. I opened it, to find carefully stuck between the now yellow pages some of my old photographs when I was a kid, some of my childhood drawings-faded and filled with smudges, some more photographs of my high school days, some contact numbers, some colorful study notes, some greeting cards, letters sent to me on my birthdays…

Flipping through the pages-accompanied by an exquisite smell only found in really old books brought a rare sense of delight and nostalgia, but not until had I gone through the last page did a sudden, unprecedented gust of wind blow away one letter out into the garden.

I rushed out into the garden and caught hold of it, afraid of letting it go, lest it fly away far off. I opened the envelope, and took out the letter, and a few photographs that were with it. I glanced at the contents of the letter and read those few lines written on it with that beautiful handwriting…That same handwriting I had known for so many years…

And then, as if struck by a lightning bolt- it all hit me by a flash. I reread the letter, saw the same handwriting I was so familiar with, and that name I could never, ever forget.

And those were not just some lines- they spoke about the pain and anguish that led them to be here on this letter, but I, I was not able to understand it when this letter reached me

 

That, forever was perhaps, not in our destiny. . .

 

It’s like I’m back in time- caught in a thought spiral, again…

That fine spring day when I was walking on the way back to home after my extra classes. Plugging in my earphones and getting immersed in a song put on repeat, I kept going – giving company to the otherwise quiet and solitary path, which was now covered by maple leaves.

And that’s when I had stopped…

Coz somebody had blocked my way with a bicycle. I looked up and there you were, giving an ever so gentle smile like the sunshine. That one day back in spring, when our lives brought the two of us together. And all of a sudden, you had said – “It's such a lovely day, right? Let’s walk together!!”

I was taken aback as this was quite unexpected, and I had told you not to bother about me. But you had given me a sullen look, got down from your bicycle and accompanied me nevertheless. A couple of times, we had glanced at each other- remarking how beautiful the day was- the golden sunshine bearing down upon us and the uneven gravel path decorated by the dry leaves scattered upon it.

Turned out both of us were definitely not good at conversations, but I wasn’t alone at least. And I knew something like that would happen, since we never talked much, but it didn’t matter at all, because we were treading on the same path together and admiring about the same weather- which was more than I could ask for. And I noticed, your eyes seemed to sparkle and glisten all the time. In that moment, every step we took, everything I saw and heard, everything I felt – the world around me took on colors in a way I never thought it could. 

And I was glad you had refused and accompanied me that spring day, treading on the same path together and admiring the weather with me. It really meant a lot…

 

We never really talked, but that didn’t matter much, right? There really are some things that get across, even without saying them out loud. Anybody can talk to you, but having someone who perceives the world the same way you do – that is something special and prized. Finding wonders in the everyday things around us, even without talking much, and enjoying every trivial moment we had spent together – it’s as if I’m watching some movie scenes on repeat…

And the numerous nights we used to hit the roads at top speed with our bicycles and cameras in hand, pursuing the stars and the moon with no idea where we were headed to - it was just us and our bicycles chasing them with all our might, trying to capture the star-studded sky. Wasn’t it wonderful, the moon shining down upon us, watching the stars twinkle and glitter like diamonds against the rich silver-blue of the night sky – just like the way your eyes sparkled?

And those endless hours spent at the local library, going through the multitude of novels and picking out our favorite ones, sipping a cup of coffee and reading them, scribbling notes and inspiring lines- what about them?

Sitting on the swing, watching the sun dip quietly across the riverside, feeling the warm spring air, listening to the distant sounds of the city – did you forget those moments we spent together?

 

Do you think you can just FORGET? Is it really that easy?

No way!! I can never forget about us – those memories are precious to me, and I hope they are for you too…You stopped my way that fine spring day, and gave me a little reason to be happy…How can I ever forget?

 

And just like that gust of wind that tried to blow the letter, just like how unexpectedly you had come into my life – another gust of wind blows, carrying the fallen dry leaves along with itself and snapping me back to reality. 

I close my eyes and picture you on your bicycle, waiting in the distance. I open them, and find that the wind has gone- just the way you had quietly left, and has taken all the fallen leaves with itself- but there’s no you. I reach out my hands in the open, walking a few steps ahead - asking you to come back and accompany me, but I realize you are not here by my side.

But the letter’s still there with me, firmly held. I remember the last thing you told me while we were watching the sunset near the riverside. You had given me this letter and before I could say something, I noticed that your eyes had lost the sparkle I was so familiar with, and I had frozen, coz I felt something was not right. Tears had begun welling up on your eyes, and you had told

 

“You should better be going back…It’s gonna rain…Take care…”

 

The sky was clear enough and there was no way it could rain. And when I looked towards you, you had already started running away. I tried to catch up but you didn’t stop for a second, you just took your bicycle and sped away, not looking back even once or listening to my shouts…

 

The sunshine has now lost it’s warmth. In fact, it’s even fading away. The once scattered leaves enveloping the green grass are now gone. I clench the letter in my hands- afraid to let it go. I look up at the fading pink sky, fighting off tears of my own and I finally get what she meant.

 

“Yeah, you were right. It’s beginning to rain, and I should get back…”

Missing the City of Joy

5 months- has it really been that long? Time flies, I have heard. Or so I have realized. It’s been 5 months already since I have written something concrete. I’ve been scribbling and all-it helps deal with sudden bursts of creativity that are more often than not short-lived and also with anxiety.

Yeah- I guess anxiety is the right word... Ever since the fall of summer this year, things have gone so downhill with people (in general, I mean. If not, you are definitely very lucky!!) in so many ways and anxiety is obviously culminated. Everyone’s lifestyle and plans hit a low at first, and then after getting adjusted to the new normal, people kinda felt safe in the comfort of their homes and they were anxious of any social interactions.

But till how long? Soon enough, many of us want the opposite- for things to get back on track as fast as possible. Students are having trouble to cope up with the pace of online classes and the pile of assignments are going sky-high while those passing out from colleges are facing the harshness of the job market amidst rising unemployment. Teachers feel sad and helpless that they aren’t able to teach with the ease they were acquainted with in physical classes. Kids who would otherwise be playing in the parks and grounds all day are stuck at home. Work from home has also become quite stressful…

So, I know that many of you are anxious to meet all your friends, relatives, schools, colleges and all the familiar places you used to visit. In fact, I was anxious about this too…But something needed to be done instead of jamming my brain with never-ending worries.

And I felt I should write upon it. Yeah, initially I was pretty doubtful if this piece would also find an end or not . But then I thought- for situations like this, we should venture ahead for a while and let your heart pitch…So, here it comes-

I’m missing the City of Joy

 

Yeah, you read that right. In the middle of all chaos amidst the lockdown, my family had to move in to Kanpur due to Dad’s transfer. Although on the brighter side -that’s temporary for me, coz the moment college starts physically, I would have to fly back to Kolkata.

And yeah, I’m still counting on that –knowing the odds are not very optimistic.

 

This is the second time we’ve got transferred to a new place, the previous one was from Nagpur to Ishapore. Even there, we had spent almost a decade. The only notable difference was back then, I was a little kid. So I thought “transfer” to be a long holiday and I was pretty excited on thinking about it. But alas, I had no idea then that it could possibly be the last time I was seeing my friends there. I had promised them I would be back soon but that  sadly never happened.

And growing up to realize this fact was disturbing enough, realizing there was no going back, losing contact with so many classmates and neighbors and all…

 

Ten long years ago( And gosh, it still feels like only yesterday), when I first came to the Park Estate-a small place in Ishapore which is an even smaller place in Kolkata, I was short of words. The British era bungalows had an exquisite historical feel, and living in one is really a special feeling. Having a mansion to live in- even now this thought amazes me.

The colony was enveloped in lush greenery and the air was so fresh and the atmosphere so welcoming and serene, I bet no one visiting The Park would be able to ignore that. The long road running in meanders was a treat to walk and observe this little, beautiful place.

The sunshine streaming in through the trees, the sight of rare and common birds alike and their chirping, the colorful butterflies on the equally vibrant flowers- it’s hard to find such a place these days in a suburb. 

Not to mention the Riverside Park- which offered the best view of the majestic Ganges I have ever seen so far. It’s my favorite place in the whole colony, and almost everyday I used to go there and spend some time-with or without my friends. 

Sitting under the mango trees in the hot summer afternoon-accompanied by the smell of ripe mangoes, lying down on the soft bed of green grass or dipping my legs in the cool water or sitting atop the pump-house watching the evening sun fade across the horizon-while the white clouds and the blue sky took up hues of yellow, red and orange- this place was charismatic. Then there was the Gunpowder House and the Dutch Tower which became the base for the first fiction I ever wrote.

And how can I forget my school, and my school friends without whom life would definitely have been so less interesting and colorful!!

They were just that awesome- I tell you. We had so much fun and the last few years were even more memorable. Looking back at old pictures only brings to mind one thing: I wanna go back to school!! And I don’t think you would disagree on this, right? I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to say more coz  there’s a lifetime of memories, those school days  gave us- somewhere kept safely and sweetly  in our hearts– and I honestly don’t know which one to say and which one to leave. So I guess I’ll just pass…

I apologize if the flow is haphazard, but what I’m writing has a start and knows no ending… And the fact is I can’t describe one thing without mentioning another- these decade long memories are pretty intricate and closely woven. Just as John Green said- 

“My thoughts are stars I can’t fathom into constellations.”

 

Over the years, my fondness for the ever-so familiar places at Ishapore grew as well. So much so that every Friday, the last working day at college, I used to pack my bag and then head for college. Right after the classes were over, I literally used to rush to catch the first auto I could manage so that I could in turn, catch the first possible train back to Ishapore. Waiting for the rows of cars and bikes to stop, glancing nervously at the traffic lights every second, hoping they would turn red soon- gosh…Those were some days. 

And then when I finally did return, life was so pleasant again. Taking a deep breath in the fresh air, looking at the cheerful blue sky and sitting atop the pump house at the Riverside Park cured all my worries.

But even while leaving for home(Oops!! That’s no more), a part of me would love to stay back here at college. There was this strange attachment to college which even school didn’t offer in such a short time…Must have been for the amazing friends( especially those in Apes and Sad Cats if UKWIM) and the memories we made…

Honestly, college was definitely not what I’d imagined during school life, but with you guys-it was certainly bearable at first, and then enjoyable and thrilling!!

From being a complete nobody to making new friends and getting accustomed to the new environment, enjoying our hearts out during CIIPPUS (I still remember you guys singing “We Will Rock You” while the entire crowd cheered. You guys totally rocked out there!!) , playing carrom and T.T in the common room, chilling out at Goku Da’s canteen and that cha khawa after a hectic day, celebrating the birthdays of our batchmates, playing football matches and idling time at the CAB ground, exploring the nearby areas of the city, facing the first semester exams underprepared to starting a new semester with high hopes..All of which came to an end abruptly after SRIJAN. Our unplanned visit to the Victoria Memorial was, I guess, the last time we had gone together. Most of us went back home during Holi, not knowing we wouldn’t return anytime soon…

At times, I still regret not staying back during the weekends, thinking of those unfinished football matches, of spending time at the CAB ground, watching the evening sun fade, those gossips…

 

I look up at the star-filled sky and sigh; realizing I’m all but lost in a maze- amidst those billions of stars.

Neither my old life at Ishapore, nor the new one at Jadavpur... And that hurts, for real…

 

It’s strange, you know-

Two cities separated by so many miles

Like a lover separated from his love

So close to your heart

And yet so far

Making him swing between hope and despair

Searching for ways to find her back

Just like me,

Looking for the City of Joy

Winter…it’s on its way…I can tell by the chill in the air and the withered leaves that winter – it’s on the way…The season when everything becomes so quiet and numb…The sunshine has a gentle and comforting presence that comes and goes ever so quickly you end up doubting if it ever came. Such are the happy days, you know…

They are so fragile, so vulnerable and so short-lived , just like the dry leaves hanging on the branches of the  tree with all their might – until a gust of wind takes them down. And the next moment- they are gone...Quietly they fall, bowing down to the inevitable...

I try to abandon these depressing thoughts and try to imagine how everything would be when things do get back to normal. I would stay in the college ground itself with my friends if need be it, playing and laughing and reliving all those precious college memories and moments.  And then I would get back to Ishapore to meet my old school friends and neighbors. Yeah, I wouldn’t have that mansion and I wouldn’t be a resident of the colony, but honestly- I don’t care anymore as long as I get to see you guys.

Kolkata after all, is not a place-its an emotion and it’s the people who make it so beautiful.

John Green is so good when it comes to words and I can’t help but add another of his lines:

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia…You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you’ll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.”

 

Yeah, I’m using the glimpses of the bright future sometimes to escape the harsh present. I’m not short of reasons to love the City of Joy and the people there, I’m still looking for reasons to love this place too. It keeps me going, I know, but there’s one little difference-

I’m gonna do it.

I maybe stuck here for now, but I’m getting back to Kolkata soon… 

To the City of Joy…

The Riverside

A fine evening… After a couple of spells of sporadic rain, the clouds are clearing away finally. And with that, the bright sun is emerging slowly. And a cool breeze is blowing too. Couldn’t be better…

I take out my bicycle and head out to my favorite place- the Riverside or to be more precise, the Riverside Park in the colony.

If you have gone through my blog carefully, you would know by now that I loved going to the Riverside Park- like, a lot. The sight of the majestic Ganges, the beautiful sunset, the soft, green grass, the calm and gentle breeze and the captivating smell of ripe mangoes during the summer- anyone would love this place if they ever visited it. Perks of “living” in a defence colony.

I reach at the Riverside. It’s been some time since I came here due to the lockdown, but it’s okay. Once I’m here, I feel pretty happy and relieved. Just being here brings back a whole rush of nostalgia. Ever since I came to Ishapore 10 years ago, the Riverside has been my regular destination to stop by and contemplate.

I open the gate and park my bicycle in a corner. The place has changed a bit, with trees uprooted and still lying there, hanging on for dear life. A bed of mangoes lay strewn on the right side of the park. The grass has overgrown, but it kind of makes up for the loss of greenery. The swings, see-saws and the wooden benches are all covered with dust. The place seems like it hasn’t seen a soul for a while…

Back when there was no lockdown, the place was so crowded with people taking pictures and occupying the best spots in the park that I had to reach there in the afternoon itself, bearing the brunt of the harsh summer sun so that I could watch the sun sink across the Ganges peacefully.

When I came from Nagpur to here, I didn’t have any friends. That’s silly and obvious, I know. Right from then, this place fascinated me a lot. I remember sitting near the river bank and spending hours watching the Ganges and the beautiful sunset.

And even now, out of habit, I sit down near the bank and dip my legs in the cool water. It felt refreshing…

After I made friends here at Ishapore, all of us used to come to the Riverside Park and watch the sunset together, sitting over the pump house. It amazed us all, to think of the sky as a canvas and us as the painters. We used to imagine the clouds taking up various shapes and guess them, laughing and smiling. 

The sunset brought with itself so many colours and hues that changed ever so quickly. At times, when there was no noise, we could hear the sounds of the vehicles on the other side of the Ganges. We used to think how the other side on the Ganges looked like, and whether it was more beautiful. Back then, in our childhood days, the world was definitely more colorful.

But now- just thinking about the present scenario of the pandemic and the never ending lockdown was so depressing, I shake my head and try to get rid of it.

I lay down against the soft, green grass on the bank and watch the sky. Beautiful. The cool breeze, the smell of the ripe mangoes, the sound of the water lapping upto the bank, bees humming, butterflies dancing around, birds flying sky high and the dark clouds replaced by white ones. I close my eyes, soaking into the ambience and thinking about the good old days when I used to come here every day.

We used to play football and badminton over here, and on multiple occasions we had kicked the football straight into the middle of the river. What a trouble it took us to convince a passing boat to come over near the bank and return our football! From laughing and crying together and getting into heated arguments, we loved them all. 

After exams, we used to race down to the park to discuss the papers. Not to mention the fact that the day before exams, we used to spend a considerable amount right here. And I believe, every KVian at Ishapore must have gone to the Riverside after the last exam was over! The Riverside Park used to be packed with seniors, friends and little children that day…

This place had it in itself, the ability to bring relief, hope and solace. Whenever I didn’t feel happy or was in a dilemma, I always came here- sitting down near the riverside. By the time I got up, I usually got rid of my worries or got a way out. Gone are those days when I along with my friends used to come here right after school to play football, badminton, and instead all that remains is a collection of treasured memories not easily to be forgotten or lost. 

Many of my close friends got transferred to other places, just the way I left Nagpur and came here. And that hurt a lot. Perks of “leaving” a defence colony- I think, and sigh.

Perhaps, perhaps I would have to leave this beautiful place too. And maybe quite soon, coz I’ve been here for 10 years already.

Back when I was in Nagpur and in class 4, I thought moving to Ishapore due to my father’s transfer was a kind of short vacation. But as the days had passed, and the days had turned into months, which further turned into years- I realized it was not. And by then, I had lost contact with most of my classmates, barring some of my close friends.

The mere thought of leaving this place, to not be able to simply sit by the Riverside and watch the magnificent sunset, brings sadness that feels as old and terrible as life itself. I undoubtedly spent a wonderful time here at this place. But I’m not bored of this place. No way, not at all.

I open my eyes and look at the sky. Before I know it, under the reds and yellows of the sunset, the sight of the fading sun across the infinite sky takes room in me. And it clears away all thoughts and brings with itself a new hope, a new beginning when the sun rises again tomorrow. The promise that everything can go on and be good again, no matter how bad our losses might be.

The phone rings. Must be a call from Mom to return home… I get up to pick it and answer. No it’s my next-door friend Anuraag, and one of those few friends still staying in the colony.

“Hey, I am sick of this lockdown, bro. Let’s meet someday ASAP…”-he says.

I look up at the sky. The sunlight was getting dimmer. The sun would set soon.

“Umm, can you meet up at the Riverside Park now? If you hurry, we can see the sunset here.”- I ask.

“Okay cool!!”- He says and hangs up.

Anuraag manages to arrive quite fast, in about 3 minutes. And actually there’s still some time for the sun to sink in. We talk about how we were passing time during the lockdown in our own ways. And then, as if without any second thoughts, the memories of our friend circle resurfaces. But they weren’t here to discuss the football matches we played, the pranks we played, cycling together… Only if they were here…

That’s when the same idea strikes both of us. We yell-“Video Call” at the same time.

We quickly scroll through our contact list and start inviting our old friends. At times, we doubt whether they would even remember, let alone pick up the call. It’s hard to believe they would when we have been out of contact for quite some time. We wait patiently, looking at the fading evening sun.

The sun seemed to hang on for us for a little longer, so that we could relive our precious childhood and school days. Turns out that was exactly the case. Coz all of our friends- Sumit, Ishaan, Srijan, Avik, Sudeep, Sayan… (the list is a bit long, so I apologize if I missed out on you. But I hope you remember, at least..)  eventually pick up the call.

And each of them, in turn, invites another long, lost friend of ours. 

The response is overwhelming. The sun finally starts dipping. The sky looks elegant and enigmatic- filled with hues of red, orange and yellow amidst the vast sky. All of us admire the picture- perfect sunset with awe. And it’s better when all of us are together. 

Yes, for a moment, we think all of us are at the Riverside Park and not on a screen. And talking about our good old days brings so much hope that someday, after the lockdown, we could actually have a reunion here, at the riverside. And that makes life interesting- having a firm belief and conviction of a dream come true.

The darkness starts setting in. The street lights blink, and then they get illuminated. 

But our talks have no end. And so is the sound of the river water lapping up to the banks. 

Laughing and reliving old memories that were so special to us, the time doesn’t matter at all. Life is the moment we’re living right now. There’s only that moment- us laughing, crying, reliving and recollecting our best days spent here and the incredible certainty that we would meet up very soon.