Avik's Story

  London is a collage - patched and stitched with pallets of colours, shreds of cultures and bits of languages. And a typical London double decker bus is the mirror of it. Following Taniya's transfer, I skipped driving to the office. This was mainly to save money from exorbitant parking fees and partly to save myself from city traffic. But if you always fancy for a closer-to-heart reason, then it is just because I get two hours to read - solid, without any distraction. But sometimes you can’t help cheating with reason and listen to heart, you can’t help but listen, watch and feel all the people - the passengers - they embark the bus, search for their seats, and find ways to kill the journey time. Tell you what, it is something I always cherish for, just like the thousands of moments formed and dissipated while I used to travel in Delhi Metro, and how some of those moments were powerful enough to be fossilised! The tiny bus stop of Beulah Spa reminds me of me. Mostly. It remains

  Today I dreamt of Kolkata. The morning began early when I heard the tune of Messenger. My window was faintly lit with the first light and wet from the night-long drizzle. I knew who was calling, and I was both eager and reluctant to touch the green button. I longed to see the face of my little girl and also dreaded her massive energy and questions and irrefutable demands to play. I opted green and I greeted her. Immediately, she began filters, games, backgrounds and incessant orders. I switched on the light, wobbly walked to the washroom and then held wooden railings, while slowly managing the stairs down to the kitchen for a cup of tea and then slumped on the sofa. We watched a few cartoons together (a cool feature in Messenger - we both love it) and then she got bored, and told me bye. Morning in London at this time is chilling. I stood up and switched on the heater. I returned to the lounge room and had a good look at my sofa - crowded with yesterday’s clothes, office bag, few und

The city skyline was never clearer this afternoon. Blue and crisp. This part of Waterloo Bridge, where I was leaning against the railing, above the mighty Thames, was too nondescript to describe, but was said to be the best for viewing the famous London skyline. On left, palatial creamy Somerset House, now hoisting a blue yellow Ukrainian flag in solidarity of their unspeakable sufferings. A little further, still left, giant Walkie-talkie and the humongous Scalpel, picaboo-ed the great bullet Gherkin tower. Mind boggling Cheesegrater stood along with them rather arrogantly. And St. Paul's Cathedral's eternal dome graciously lurked behind them. The astonishing cathedral is synonymous to the city itself. If one looked closer and was privy to this city space, and had 6/6 sight, then one might notice the Sky Garden in Walkie Talkie too. On the right, between the distinctive curvy Boomerang or Vase and bland tall Southbank Tower, the Shard pierced the sky and forever in talks with c