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 ...
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...!!!
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