Yesterday

Memories. Good ones. The times we spent together. The laughs. The smiles. The tears that rolled down my cheeks and ended as a smile on my lips. Because of you.

A cup of coffee. In a disposable plastic cup. A table in the canteen. A game of Monopoly in a lazy college afternoon. Passing a "hello" in between classes. The evening walks. Up and down the steep roads. Everyday goodbyes at 7.55 pm.

Innumerable fights. That many number of  "sorry"...!! Sulks. Shouts. And then smiles again. And hugs.

Music on an Apple ipod. Sharing the headphone. Singing along. Holding hands. Just memories.

A rainy day. No umbrella. A road-side tea stall. Sharing a steaming hot cup of tea. Just us.

Events of yesterday. Memories today. Safely between the pages of my notebook like a dried, pressed rose. Like the rose you gave me one day.

Some things are meant forever. Never to end. It holds true for us. Thank you for the memories.

I am taking part in The Write Tribe Festival of Words 8th – 14th December 2013.. This post is written for Day 1 - Memories

Fingerprint

THE ULTIMATE BLOG CHALLENGE DAY 3

Sunny childhood days,

Fingerprint of memories

Printed in my heart.

Shared with Write Tribe - The Ultimate Blog Challenge - Day 3 and Haiku Heights - Fingerprint

Mithi's Sally

 

"Maaaaaa....!!!" Mithi's voice quivered as she ran down the steps, restless and tensed. "Ma, where is Sally? I left her on my bed before going to school."

Radha picked up her three-year-old, planted a long,noisy kiss on her cheek, and said, "Sally was old and tattered, wasn't she, Mithi? I'll get you a new one, a Birthday Barbie, I promise." 

Mithi's brown eyes welled up with tears. Her three-year-old mind knew she would never see her dear Sally again.

A chunk of Mithi's childhood died that day.

Change...

They were sitting close. With her head on his shoulders. The only sounds that could be heard were the flowing of the river and the song of the birds. Everything seemed so perfect. They were so New in Love.

She : Do you drink?
He : Not much. At times.
She : And smoke?
He : No. I don't like smoking!

She : (smiles, cuddles up closer to him) I have never tried drinking or smoking. Would you mind if I try?
He : (sits up straight) Oh! No.... I'm never gonna allow you to touch alcohol. And never talk about smoking in front of me!!
She : (laughs) A day will come when you will pour me a glass of drink and light me a smoke!!
He : (draws her closer) : In your dreams, baby!!

5 years later.....

They were sitting close. With her head on his shoulders. There was music around them. And a group of friends. She was excited. And so was he! She was about to try out shots of Alcohol in today's party. She had not done that before. He placed some salt on her hand, handed her the lemon and the small glass of clear liquid. Their eyes met. Both smiled. Probably they both recollected the conversation they had 5 years ago. But that was PAST. They were "kids" then. She gulped down the liquid at one go. It felt good. He cheered. Came up to her and hugged her with one hand, a beer bottle in the other.

She smiled. She wondered how people change over the years.

P.S : All characters in this post are completely fictitious. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely unintentional and coincidental.

growing up with books

I can identify the sharp transitions that I have had in my literary life. I don't think i could put it very well. What I mean is, how I have grown up reading books of different flavours.

I don't remember the first book I owned. Must be something which had colorful pictures in every page with little or no writing. I remember a particular series of books which i used to borrow from my Kindergarten library. It was called Peter and Jane. Ma used to sit and make me practice reading. Also there was The Enormous Turnip, Henny Penny, The Shoemaker and the Elves. All these had lots of pictures. Attractive ones!!

As  I graduated from Kindergarten, I was introduced to the Magical world of Enid Blyton. The Faraway Tree, The Barney Series, The Adventure Series.... they became my bible! I was a voracious reader! I gradually imagined myself as one of the Secret Seven or The Famous Five or The Five Find-Outers. I fell in love with Fatty (leader of the Five Find-outers). I tried writing letters with invisible ink. I tried having a secret society where you had to give a  password to enter the meetings! I wished I was in a boarding school like St. Clare's or Malory Towers!

Apart from the Enid Blytons, I read Sweet Valley kids! As I grew up to a permissible age to read Sweet Valley High or Sweet Valley University, I realized that Sweet Valleys are Sh!T...!!! I was never a Sweet Valley fan! Girls in my school were crazy about that series!! Ugghhh!!!

And gradually, Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple became my bedtime stories. At times I used to stay up late and finish a book and then go to bed. Ma used to get angry at times. But the urge  to reach the last page of the book was too strong to listen to anything she said.

As I gained age and wisdom, the Secret Sevens and Rip van Winkles took their place in the top most rack of my book shelf, where you need to stand on a stool to reach out. The middle rack (the most accessible one) was furnished with The Sister of my Heart, The Glass Palace, A Princess Remembers, classics like Gone with the Wind, Emma, David Copperfield. I rearranged the books of the middle shelf and made space for The Kite Runner and A Thousand Splendid Suns.

I was not confined only to books in English language. I ventured a lot into the world of Bengali literature too. Feluda,  Professor Shonku, Tarini Khuro and every short story that came out of the pens of Satyajit Ray was and still is my favorite. Pother Panchali, Parineeta, Ramer Shumoti, Chuti, Rajarshi... the list is endless. Books were my Best friend. In fact, my bestest friend (if that term existed)!

And today, I find myself so drained out after the day's work, that I don't get time to read. And I regret it. Always. The days when going to the Book Fair was like an annual ritual. The smell of new books was intoxicating. I miss those endless idle hours which I could spend behind those black and white letters.

Alas...!!

P.S : There are tons of other books and writers who have been a part of  the "growing-me". So many, that I cant possible fit them all here!

retrospection

My mind is blank. The thought bank is void. But my olfactory nerves seem to be functioning more than always. There is a quaint smell in the surrounding air. Of memories. The old ones. And the fresh ones too.

A smell of spices drifting from somewhere. Spices being fried. Just like the one which used to come from the Paratha shop in Majitar.

I can see a notebook on my table. I pick it up. Opened it. A wisp of smell greeted me. A dried flower. Once a red rose. Now a dark reddish-brown memory between white pages. It carries your smell. Across the distant lands.

Its raining outside. Suddenly. And its not monsoon. Its one of those unexpected showers after a sultry day. Accompanied by the smell of the newly-bathed earth. It carries freshness along with it. And memories. Of the day when we drenched ourselves in the fragrance of the rain, the wet earth...amalgamated with the scent of Elizabeth Arden and Azzaro.

Suddenly the strength of these scents becomes weak. Weaker.

And I realise that I am being dragged out from the "limbo" of the fragrant memories. To the grey reality.