Avik's Story

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

Sometimes people find miracles while being in dirt, and today I found a box. A small tin box, comfortably decades old with rust already began to invade territory of white coating of tin. At once, I remembered the box – last I saw it four years ago, that was the time when Taniya and I stayed together and she was pregnant with our first daughter. It was her box – I remembered what she said then, that it was a nest of her memories. My daughters are coming. Finally. Right from the moment of couple of years back, when I took this apartment on rent, not a single day had been passed when it didn’t occur to me that this place was inhospitable for them. My balcony was full of cartons filled with old stuffs - so was another spare room, where one wall was invisible by heap of cartons of different sizes filled with varied unnecessary goods. I primarily lived in my bedroom and kitchen, occasionally in sitting room and dining place. And in Delhi, dust is omnipresent – and in my apartment i

She loved to smell random flowers, born out of neglect in Maidan, when we sat on grasses and looked at sky-crappers lurking ahead. She loved to hold my hand, sometimes my arm into her, while walking down cobble-stoned footpath in the heart of City of Joy. She loved to kiss my fingers, and then forehead, and then lips in god-forsaken odd places – in a patched backseat of faded yellow taxi, on a broken rikshaw drenched in sudden shower, sometimes in full public glare – a sneaking kiss. That was the best time of my life, but even at that happiness, I had this conviction that this’d not last forever. Sooner or later, she was destined to leave me to love some-other lucky one and to be loved thousand times more than I ever loved her. But in my wildest dream, I never thought that my own children would steal her from me. The prophecy was written on wall, but I was a naïve. I read the words, but not the sentence. I noticed the signs in bits, but not the bigger picture. An

The morning was heavy with nightlong rains and chill winds – my eyes were fluffy due to oversleeping - I could see hefty grey sky from dusty window, and then my mobile chimed. Two messages, one confirming a booking of a movie and then another providing a buy-one-get-one-free coupon in a momo-joint. I got down from my crumpled bedsheet and took some water. I was sure my maid would skip today – rainy day, like we used to bunk classes back days. I went to kitchen, switched on the kettle and made coffee with extra coffee powder. It tasted bitter, but the aroma was exactly what I needed at this awful morning, not a damn hindi movie, funnily titled ‘Newton’. I went to balcony and sat on a chair, and sipped coffee while gazing at sky. How much rains will it need to prove that it wasn’t raining for a while? Look at my car – parked under a tree, surrounded by ankle length clogged water. Rain stopped momentarily around eight thirty, and the show was scheduled at nine. I didn’t chan

We have a sort of song. Kind of a crude song only for us. A song detailing the beginning of a journey, which was impossible at sight, but nevertheless it happened. But that story is different – to be told with a cup of smoked coffee, in a room under grey sky and thousand stars, preferably beside a wayward river. Maybe I will sing that song over guitar and let you humming on that night. But today let me tell you a secret. That I know she loves me. Don’t laugh. We are married, but we never took vow to be together. We never uttered those magical three words. We don’t know how it started, and we have absolutely no idea, when it will end. But we are best friends for last eight years, married for five years and a parent for last three years! Life has changed so much. Time has changed from a sip of vodka on a slippery tram-line in Kolkata to a bottle of unknown wine in a private beach in Mauritius under moonlight and before vast ocean. And yes, we have changed. But still I had t

F ar far away, in a small beautiful island nation surrounded by mighty ocean , there lived a small girl and her little baby. She named her baby as doll. It was not her best friend - her best friend was from her school, but it was her baby. She took her in arms when she was back from school, and fed her when the doll was hungry and comforted her when she was sad. Oneday the small girl came back from her school, and found the doll lying on the wooden floor. It was a clear afternoon. ‘What happened?’ She asked. Her head was little bent, as she leaned forward to her doll. ‘I’m ill. I fell down from bed, and now can’t get up’, the doll said. Her voice was melancholic. ‘Okay. I’ll help you’. The girl grabbed her raised hand, and then took her to bed. Then she kept her palm on her forehead to feel the temperature. It was hot. Her face grimaced. Her doll had fever, and nobody in this house did care for that. She had to do everything on her own. ‘You lie down here.