The Lost Night

It drizzled over the hills, the stones were bathed over. The wind whistled through the hedges, through the wild yellow flowers. The sky was dark, the pine trees were drenched in rain. The expanded green meadow lied under the shroud of darkness. The hills kissed the clouds with its vigor, and the brooks sang through the creeks,  like a beautiful white maiden. The town whispered the tale of love, which embraced the winter night, which washed its sorrow in cold droplets of rain, which hugged the chilled breeze of temptation. 

She was awake all these hours, waiting for the return of her love, the trickling wooden roof waited with her. The fire place warmed her, as she grew impatient for the insane love to arrive soon. The hay stake lay silent, so did the spider cob around the corner. The beans stew on the oven got dried, with the growing anxiety of her. She dreamed of a garden, and some violets around, the honey bees and the flocking birds, the return of her luck, the return of her life, the return of her world, where she grew the samplings of affection and desires ----- desire to be loved, to be hugged, to be delved into the milk of ecstasy. For every winter night promised her to bring the warmth of sunshine back. Her torn red fabric of her dress couldn't rest itself to slumber. The promise to be returned, the hidden tears to be wiped off, the heavy heart to be lightened... she waited... with heaps of eagerness!

The tea estate stood still, as it waited for the maiden to sing, the teak wood stood patient for the maiden to come running through the aisle. they waited to listen to her giggle, to listen to her little heart bloom with joy, to see her hop on the dew drops, to feel her love. they waited for the return of her own self. Her dreams remained old and they scared her of the loss of love. she weaved her dreams under the walnut trees, she believed that her love would return, it unwind the smile that her heart is waiting for. she wanted to capture the cold night to her thin blanket forever, she feared of sunlight, as it would erase her dreams off. the cold night beside the flames of fire, weaves her dreams to return of her love, her paradise of the self she longs for.

The blanket murmured the song of return, the return of the depth where she would like to dive, the depth of paramour, the kisses of promises , the promises of life, the life of peace, the peace of making love, the love of souls, the souls of innocence, the innocence of night - the lost night.

The road less traveled ...

For the mornings were so amazing over a mug of Darjeeling tea and the tale of Goddess winning over evil power. The craziness to wake up early morning and listen to this broadcast was an achieving activity. The old balcony rises to life to the tune of the old man reciting the amazing poem of the women power coming to rescue the mankind. The dewdrops over grasslands reminded the tale of autumn would start soon. There was an excitement, whose reasons are unknown. These five days bring handsome memories to bongs, Calcutta- the city of joy, weary and tired of her days rise to life, the stony paths and the pulling rickshaws and those gigantic mansions that silently witness life's hustle, dress up to a new attire. The dhol men arrive at the city, the lotuses begin blooming, the honey bees begin fly to its glory, and the courtyard anxiously awaits for the Goddess to arrive. The new clothes neatly folded in the wardrobe, smell ecstatic.

The color red steals the beauty away, the precious vermilion teamed with blue sky and the white flakes of clouds blow the music of love, affection, intimacy, remembrances, The amazing smell of ghee and milk that turn into sweets, the drops of Rasgollas, the baked Saandesh call for the joy and frolic of true Bong madness. The evenings search for that soulmate, who is long awaited for. His kurta looks so good among the crowd and her hair do steals the show away. These five days celebrate the closeness of love, invokes the beauty of paramour, embraces the joy of knowing the unknown.

Those blue bells smile to the relationships that do not last long, but drives two souls insane for a moment. The food gets a different image on these days. Those delicious rice and cereals, fried vegetables, and the fight for fish recipes bring the message that the tale of autumn has begun.

That little balloon, the sound of laughter, the platter of biryani, that red bindi, the conch shells,and the lights coalesce to frame a story of the city of madness. The incense sticks burn to spread the news of love, to create a pamphlet of ecstasy, to make believe the essence of joy that rises and gets buried like the waves of earthen tremor.

Time moves away, so do the emotions, and tomorrow these little fragments of memories become an ingredient to laugh at and cherish. Life moves on !!

#Exodus

The citylights

The city bathes in rain her neatly dressed semi formals too. The traffic had been always hectic when it rains, people get stuck for hours together. The sky growls and pours to its glory. She had a minor migraine problem,but she just cannot head back to her lonely cozy apartment. She read in her history chapters, men are the bread winners, but she has never witnessed that. She saw her mother going to work, and her sister cooked ridge gourd soup, while she prepared for her exams. She always saw her step father being arrested at home, imprisoned himself behind tobacco, nicotine and alcohol. Gone are those days when she dreamed of her wedding and a man in her life. Slowly she consumed the bad breathe of the reality. She believed riches can make one happy, she never looked down, as all she would see is darkness, neither did she look up, as the dark sky shrouds her face. She lived a life to make others smile, a life to deliver happiness to others. Her soared feet whispered to the cracked ankles,.. whispered the tales of the long untrimmed hair that cries for a touch of caress. They mock on her eyes, whose brown dazzle looks for liberty, looks for pleasure, looks for an end. Home had been a dungeon of dirty hopes, dusky shrieks of men who cried for love, women who cried for love , cried for a life! Her bed chokes her to the destiny of youthfulness, and the agony of living everyday.

She wakes up to a smoky morrow, who promises to her that the day would be hers, the saffron orchids hung from the lamp-posts would be hers, and the silk scarf that tries to unwind, would be hers. The little hopes, the little desires, the littleness of her vast life that would never leave her away. The raindrops would still bathe the city, while the public buses would still rush towards the terminus, and her unfolded crate of pain, would be hers, forever... She needs to live, she needs to walk, walk and survive the journey of life .

#Exodus.