CHANTINGS OF THE HEART

She posed! Wide angle, then a little closer. Those pearly white teeth shone so bright Just like the summer sun outside. She smiled, happy she was London Dreams reflected in her wide smile. Was she alone? No, there were many like her! London was just eight hours away!! Oh, is it? Yes, there was another like her with wild dreams. She was finally going to be reuinted- a lifetime of togetherness. Her dark brownish hands, the red bangles just worn yesterday. And the daimond ring and platinum bangles given by her Mr Adorable. She adorned them all, she was meeting him finally.  The young mother gleaming with joy, finally London Dreams were coming true. She planned how to set up the house, her wishlist still having seventy nine items to be procured for her new 'London Home.' She took that instant selfie and converter it into a status, yeah finally her much awaited journey began  Who knew those wild dreams, those happy moments would be the last. No more selfies, no conjugal life, no se...

She didn't have the looks, nor was she the class topper. Yet, she had dreams! Wild, vivid dreams, quite extraordinary, out of the box, incomparable.  She loved to smile, natural, free flowing, attractive ( that's what many say). She knew the art; the art of hiding tears behind those smiles, mostly real, rarely fake.  She was lost at one point of time, yet she recollected herself and made the most of it. Who knew what she endured? Those bruises of her past still haunt her! Could she overcome those? Maybe, maybe not! Did anyone care? Maybe, maybe not!  Did it bother her? Maybe, maybe not! Anyone cared, doesn't matter. But in reality It did bother her! Each night the tears casually flowing from her kohl laden eyes. People say love gives pain, she carried it each day. For her neither was she, not her love Fake. Young she was, never in love. Thought it to be true and got betrayed. Broken apart, ripped to the core. She recollected herself, challenged herself. She did it. The or...

Now, many of you must be wondering that I am going to write a story. Well, this time I deviate and decide to just pen down my random thoughts in this blog of mine. I have had the best English teachers ever, well that should be since I studied in a Convent and a teacher teaching English in a Convent school definitely must be exceptional, out of the box. Yes, I vividly remember the first time I fell in love with the language was when our very strict (that was our assumption then, since we couldn't master English grammar and was scared that she might ask us questions and we would be embarrassed before the class) Miss Monica (well she was a Mrs, but we Convent going girls were taught to address everyone irrespective of their marital status as Miss) started teaching us English in Grade 9. I was awestruck at the manner she explained the chapters and made grammar lessons at ease for us. I still remember she always used to wear light coloured floral printed sarees which made her look prett...

You are gone!  Far even before I could imagine... Just one moment you were in my arms We both wading through the knee deep water.... We talking of the tenga masor anja... And the next moment you are gone... Disappeared, slipping out of my hands... Before I could recollect anything.... You were just washed away!!! Wailing, screaming, pleading, hoping that I your father would save you. ... But I so helpless... Desperately hunting every drain... Searching for you ...day and night... Madness overpowered me... I could think of nothing my son... Three days later... I hold you back in my arms... This time wrapping in a white shroud... I wail, I wail and I wail... I don't know how I shall survive without you... My son...!!!

As I try to sleep in the comforts of the airconditioner I reminiscence the good old days, Days when the sultry summer nights would be so different. Our villa like house on the foothills of the great Nilachal was very spacious and had ample fruit bearing trees along with different varients of the hibiscus- a typical Bengali household who worships Goddess Kali.  The darkness on a night when electricity would be gone for hours and we would be sitting outside our houses.  Me scared to hell of ghosts, leopards or snakes venturing in the darkness.. Would always carry the biggest torchlight and a stick. I remember how all four of us - My parents and my brother including me would watch the fireflies and listen to the sounds of some wild insects.  Dad and Mom would share stories of their childhood, of our grandparents, their hardwork and struggles, of the Indo- China war when they were kids. The Assam Agitation, the struggle and success stories of their job hunts and so more. Mom ...

They were sobbing.. Fear writ all over their faces Clung on to her hands They don't want to go back Luxury they didn't want The shelter was their solace  They loved this place There lived a demon and a demoness Who ruined their childhood They were merely four  Yet life seemed dreadful! Showpieces they were for the society Care, love and affection were just exhibits Their souls were wretched and miserable They wanted to break free  The shackles of bondage and terror They cried their heart out... Sometimes for hours .... Scorching sun burning their tiny bodies The hot iron burning their thighs The piercing needles piercing their backs One day life changed Someone saw their plight And decided to take the might Fought for their right And gave the tormentors tight Social prestige down the drain  They now rot in jail But ... The fear is still intact The future as unpredictable as before They have a home Which isn't a home.  They still feel it is a safe haven! Atleast ...