To begin this piece I will steal the thoughts of one of my favorite poets, Tennyson.
“And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shallot”
My words are casually flying-by- night these days. In the dire turmoil of dilemma I went to the island where I found a Shallot inside me. Little Shallot! Brittle Shallot! The island is about couple of hours from Calcutta. This lea is not yet blessed by Addison’s invention. The sun was lazy, not rushing to swipe the attendance card in one of the glossy IT sector hearths. Even my day didn’t start with the maddening scientific terminology!
It was our Sunday. The banter revolved round sarcasm, criss-crossing words like innumerable snowflakes settling in the arms of time, to be trodden again, and with fagging from Wills classic to Goldflake. Some of the ashes decayed our darkness. Added to these was the great Indian loo to mention, without a lock, which makes you vulnerable and highly-dependent.
We reached in “jupkhali” near sandeshkhali in 24 south parganas. It was one of the most serene locales near Calcutta. The sweet smell of soil made us dizzy much before we prepared to booze. The tadpoles in the lazy green water of pond will bring an unconscious smile on your face. The innocent faces once we reached, reminded me the pages of Hungry Tide, especially Kanai, so similar!
The monotony of life without chicken dragging all of us mad came to an end when the aroma of tossed garlic trespassed our sanity. Thanks chinki for the treat! We followed our guide, who was well versed. The trivial photo sessions, and the warm sun nothing simply stopped us. We came back like a shepherd boy. Tired and hungry, our gluttony heightened to consume almost everything that was offered to us.
The boozing didn’t stop us from savoring the delight of climbing a tree. Each one of us in our own way - some got stuck and what a pictorial view it was! Thanks Golu for the entertainment!The most popular noon day siesta could not tempt us even with the cool breeze of her magic wand. Some of the old ladies looked at us, when we puffed our heaven in between two fingers. We laughed to say, “Let the soul rest in peace.”
While returning we desperately planned for the next trip. We were preparing to slam the door at the face of our cunning reality. As the sun went down, the souls returned back to the memories that haunt them day-in and day-out. The waves of time brought back all the forgotten faces, screaming to tear apart our momentary happiness and my face came back when I tried to rest back home, preparing for the week ahead!
