Com partment.

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A red digital clock at Howrah station platform no.3 showed 4:29; the diabolical figure resonated through my mind as missing the 4:30 local would surely have been fatal. I dragged my over-exhausted right leg amidst the sea of people and managed to somehow scamper into the much dreaded first compartment. My momentary inflated ego was crushed immediately by a nonchalant “Murshidabad er gamcha” seller who shrugged me off by a very courteous “dada shorun”. Just as I had managed a decent standing place, I saw something very odd lurking in a general local train compartment, a young lady (yay!).

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As fate might have had it, she was directly looking at me(now that doesn’t happen), only to ask me if the train would stop at Konnagar (such a romance killer). A nod came in reflex.

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She was not the one for the poets and it was exactly that which made everything so poetic.

The tired train moved with a grunt and slacked like a baby to school. She couldn’t find the perfect posture in the overcrowded compartment and kept turning; new to “daily passenger-i” I thought. With every turn, it seemed she stole one glance here and another glance there as if it opened up different facets to her.

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I, the skilled playboy that I am, remained silent and observed the proceedings in awe. Her protruding rucksack hit me sometimes as a reminder from my inner Barney Stinson to start up a conversation. I did, in my head of course as the hawker raved on about his “quality cotton maal” in the background.

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I don’t know if it was fact or fiction, but after a few moments, I saw her conversing with another guy. A flurry of emotions wrapped around my brain as if to make folly out of my failures. I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.

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There was nothing romantic, or there was I don’t know! But at that very moment, I realised what could have been! There are so many people, we don’t know, who could have been so much more, if only…

I didn’t know if she knew him or she did not (please be the former), honestly I don’t care! She was all smiles and so was he.

Is this a tale of love lost or stalking gained I don’t know. But what I do know is that trillion tales have been told of this style but very few are actually experienced.

Everything it seems stopped that day, for them, for me; except the train, which wasn’t supposed to stop at Konnagar (which I remembered after getting down at Bally).

What have I done! What have I done! What have I done!

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Life in little rooms

Link to the Ink Elan Post:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=1914459091926704&id=986575891381700

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Vere mortuus, Really?

It’s funny when someone dies you know, (I ain’t a sadist/cynic), but it really is, they are here right now and in just the next moment, they are gone just like that: poof!

Sometimes I think that is it not possible for them to be with us like Forever?

But that is a complicated concept! We are mortals, so what is actually Forever is technically not so, we just think Forever is Forever till we get to see ‘em on a daily basis and fulfil our little selfish unremembered desires! What after that? What happens to Forever then?

Well I happened to be in that kind of a situation once, unfortunately; saw someone pass away right in front of my eyes! Ugh, what a painful feeling, in spite of all philosophical ramblings, I had also thought of catching hold of the fleeting spirit by it’s neck and shove it inside its corporeal frame! The heart just doesn’t listen, it won’t let go until that silhouetted identity forcefully escapes by the draining the ‘lub-dub’ machine of all its redundant romanticisms.

His eyes glimmered for once last time and the parting breath came out of the track like a gallant chivalrous youth, it stood, waved at our lamenting souls and left forever on the winged chariot of death, leaving its bearer for Forever.

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A great collective sigh was heaved; tears were shed in remembrance…

Only to get up with exhausted minds, bear the body on others’ bodies and take the only trip to Eternity or Forever, that was the fashion then. And so we did.

After hours of waiting in line with our co-mourners, we finally got the chance to enter the morbid place.

Few masked people were huddled up in one corner to prepare the last bed for the flesh. One of them came near with a very distinct poker face and signalled for the chunk of ‘dust thou art to dust returnest’ to be presented on the table. We obeyed in silence and saw our once beloved disappear- bit by bit!

After quite a few hours of humming, the machine stopped. With a smiling face the erstwhile poker face returned with the package, hoping about remuneration. We obliged them with their due pay packet, conveyed our gratitude and left at once.

Much time has passed since then.

Today we have are having visitors in our house and one of them is a child of five. In due course of conversation, the inevitable topic of His untimely demise came up and an automatic silence was observed to which I am sure He would have smiled. The little kid wanted to meet his uncle so I took him to Him. Both of them waved at each other and had minimalistic conversations(because fully fledged “digitisation of dead bodies” was still in its nascent state back then).

Having had a wonderful little conversation with Him, the urchin left in search for pastures new to explore. I stood there for some time, touched the digital frame which had His digital hologram, shed a crystalline tear (whereas He could only manage a comforting ‘I am there’ smile) and left the room sending a thousand thanks to Forever Technologies Private Limited who pioneered “digitisation of the dead” with their path-breaking methods.

Once a mere Harry Potter fiction, moving images are a fact now. 

Well, the technology is improving: bit by bit!

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PLEASE CRITICISE AND SHARE!!!!!!!!

 

HIS STORY

KOSHA MANGSHO

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Dokandar is in a hurry to close his shop a little early this evening.

Why not?

His wife has made his favourite kosha mangsho for dinner.

You can’t help a man falling for that,can you? *wink*

There he pulls his shutter and it comes down with the traditional “grrrrr….”.

He zips to his bicycle in a flash whilst blabbering excuses to the visibly disappointed customers.

He strokes the paddle and takes off for home sweet home.

Amidst the twirly roads with its quirky turns, dokandar babu humms his favourite tune and sometimes rubs his capon lined vintage pot belly.

pure bliss!eh?

CHOTU EKTI PRAN

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Chotu is sleeping in the only charpoy that his Kottababu gave him.He twists and turns as the room suffocates his senses. There is only one window in the room from where the sunlight gains entry and ends its errand just before the foot of the bed. In spite of being deprived of air and light, Chotu manages to stay and work for his Kottababu .That night it got a little extra hot at some point in time and Chotu woke up with a start to realise that his room was on fire!

Bewildered at his present predicament he found himself at the storehouse of death, he couldn’t call out for help as the door was also conveniently jammed! Rest aside phones, not a single pigeon could be seen nearby!

He screamed

and screamed

and screamed

and screamed

and did it again!

Alas! It was all in vain when he stopped screaming, Mother Nature understood that the fire has engulfed him!

Somewhere, a leaf fell on the floor.

BHIVISHIKA

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Many people were huddled up in one corner,discussing something, apparently very important and serious. All I could hear was some humdrum, nothing significant caught my ear, maybe because I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. As I got nearer, the “what’s and how’s” reached my ear and suddenly someone exclaimed,

“Hey, Dokandar’s here!”

Hearing my name I cycled faster to the spot and saw a little body wrapped in a dirty piece of cloth, suddenly everyone went mum, I couldn’t understand why, as I slowly removed the cloth my eyes swelled with tears.

The tiffin carrier which had some left over Kosha Mangsho fell with a clink on the road…

“Why did I leave Chotu alone that night?”

Is a question that still haunts me in my dreams.

 

based on a true incident

 

 

Winter Evenings

 

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There used to be a time when I had life in me. Oh! I miss those days. And that due to some stupid thing, which makes a lot of noise and causes a lot of pain. It metamorphosed me into what I am today. I literally don’t have any “say” now. I don’t know what spell that cruel thing cast on me, which changed my appearance and function forever. It is quite evident that I hate myself the way it is. To add to my troubles, the seasonal changes affect me badly now. I could adapt back then, but now I am lifeless indeed. Winter, amongst, all seasons are the worst, especially the evenings.
To start with, there is no one to accompany me. I sit all by myself, naked in this chilly atmosphere. One might wonder that I’d fall sick, but I don’t! To see everyone all covered up and enjoying the ambience is really depressing, I would also like a steaming cup of cappuccino while talking with my beloved. People enjoy the occasional spells of snow as it makes them playful, but for me, it’s not so good. The snow makes me slippery and no one then comes near me as I have a February face. But I do feel the sharp pangs of winter, it shrinks and warps me. Yet no one offers me a helping hand. I shout amidst the cold breeze, sadly, no one lends me an ear. My tears have dried up due to this dull weather, even if I cried, no one would notice me as it is dark, dark all around.
Far, far away I see those glistening arrays of light whisk up and down the frosty lanes. O! If I were amongst them!
I thank you, stranger, my listener, my observer whatever you are, and I thank you! For “standing by” me and not “sitting on” me.
-A “park-ED” Bench.