Abar Elo Melar Pala

1995.... 17 bochor periye gelo....aj Dida nei,didar amio onek bodle gechi! Ar didake ami temon kore miss-o kori na...Gangasagarer melar kotha sunle mon kharapo hoi na...immense raag hoi, lok-e Ganga sagar jai bole! Keno je ache Ganga Sagar-er ei mela....ajo coulnd't fathom.

Koto jon ke koto rokom bhabe amar didar Ganga sagar-er golpo bolechi...specially bochorere ei somoi ta...koto kauke didar golpo suniyechi! bolte bolte gola dhore asto, chokher jol dhore rakhte partamna, but aj emon kore didar ghotona narrate korlam, je jei bondhuti sunchilo se surprised hoye giye ask korlo "tor nijer dida? mane ekdom nijer?hariye gelo mane?She didn't return? Is she dead?"

Sudhu kand jhakiye uttor dilam...hoito!!

Anger has overshadowed agony!

Comments

Love and only love…The Letter

On entering the house after 48 hours, Akhilesh was welcomed by the fresh smell of the passion flower & rose from his balcony. His 1BHK in Malviya Nagar has been done with utmost love & perfection. He has handpicked everything: be it the flower pots or the furniture. Each furniture was of low height and in sync with the wall colours, the best of the lot being the Japanese dining table placed near the balcony, at a place from where he could sit and watch the open sky. He had to pay a hefty deposit for this house, for getting such a place in Delhi was a dream of many. But, not all were Akhilesh! A smile came on his lips as he recalled the efforts invested behind this small piece of property. He ran his fingers through his long hair and scanned through the room. He has painted the walls with utmost care and each stroke reflected his perfection. Though he has picked up some chicken tandoori and roti from the shop downstairs, he had no appetite. Keeping his shoes on the rack,

Bhuter chaya

Kichu kichu mukh, jothat hothat emon bhabe chokher samney majhe-sajhe bhense othey, je ami nijei ghabre jai...tar sathey amar joog dhore kotha nei, tar kono khobor nai amar kache r na ami konodin nebar chesta korechi, na ami tar kotha bhabi na habar somoi pai, tobe keno sey emon bhabe amar swapne asey?!?! prothome abcha chilo, diye poriskar hoye uthlo sei chauni, sei hansi...ar kenpe uthlo amar moner bhetorta...hothat kotha theke elo? keno elo? ki chai? o ekta cigarette chaitey esechilo. emni te amar sathey soja mukhey kotha boltona, aj bolchey prai 4 bochor pore. bhalo lagalagir kono scene nei, moner modhye sudhu ghurche ek jhaank prosno...ki kore? keno? hothat? ki byapar?swapne to amra tader ke dekhi jara amader kachey important....tobey ei bostuti keno? tobey ki otar kichu holo? kundan bole negative kokhonno bhabte nei, ami bhabte chai-o na. r kenoi ba bhabbo emon ekjoner jonyo negative jar jonyo ami kichui bhabina. tobe jokhon achomka ese hana dei, tokhon to ar bhalo kichu mat

A Pinch of Selfishness

It was becoming customary for Hiya to steal some time for herself at this hour of the evening. With a strong mug of coffee in her hand, she stood in her terrace, looking past the horizon. All through her life, she has been a sorted daughter, wife, daughter-in-law and a conventional professional. But, recently Hiya has started feeling endangered. Her disciplined, analytical and systematic life has been slipping out of her hands, recently. Since last 6 months, her thoughts were not in her control and her actions were against her principles. She vividly remembers the 1 st time she has seen the baby, her baby, her son. That was a moment of numbness: the last drop of emotion was somehow quenched out of her. For a second, she had sensed a drop of tear near the corner of her left eye. But, later on she had reconfirmed to herself that it was just her delusion. Love… what an insignificant expression. She doesn’t love her son. They don’t love their son. Their feeling for their son wa

Letscommune