#Kolkata Stories_Series

The number of bottles on the table kept increasing.. 2,3,5.. His vision was hazed, yet he volunteered to clean my specs at once!
“I cannot see your eyes, it’s bothering me”, he said.
Is this deja Vu, haven’t I heard this before? Too fogged to recollect I submitted my specs to him with a grin.
He came straight from a 14 hours shift. I came from a month’s sleepless nights! No, actually, I came straight from the doctor’s. We both came here to consume the medicine for the heart!
We talked about nothingness for a while. Then moved on to my concerns about putting on weight, his growing penchant for styling his beard. And then back to naught, nothingness. We decided to leave for Phuchka soon after.
And then he had to say something else too.. ” Stop running away, will you?” Not sure whether this or the uneven road made me stumble at that point. But my hand got hijacked in the process. Firmly entwined in his for like a kilometer! I couldn’t have eaten the phuchka like that, he was considerate enough to give it back at which point.
I discovered a few things about him tonight…
Age has softened him a bit. The frequency of cuss words in his sentences has lessened. When sleep touches his voice, he sounds perhaps like an angel!? I’m fond of looking at him when he’s driving… Oh So serious!
Once again, he made sure I reached home safe.

This is a work of fiction. Don’t post stupid questions if you must ask.


A Visit to the Café

The coffee tasted sour today

I spared a deep sigh

It smelled of resignation

Not caffeine, for a change

That’s it

Life goes on

Until it doesn’t

The clock tick-tocked aloud

Like Time would have sniggered

To show off its omnipresence

It’s getting dimmer inside the Café

Cue for me to leave

They heard me mutter

As I ended it with a soliloquy

“Pull the glass door, don’t push it

Don’t look back

Don’t be weak”


At every Milestone, I face you.

Just you and I, and the glass.

Of whiskey and love.

We catch up like old times.

Your disappointments,

My dumbassery.

Together we count,

The times I failed you,

And the times I grew weak.

One persistent leitmotif.

But even the thousandth dead wish,

Wanted to see you happy,

Wanted to make you proud.

Don’t leave me yet.. Mother..

Wait till I reach the next milestone.

And together we will count again,

The times I failed you,

And the times I grew weak.


I longed to visit Kurseong,

Walk by the damp hillside alleys at dawn.

Find the ugliest of wild flowers in unknown mountain crevices.

Close my eyes as the coffee smelled its strongest in the afternoons.

Read Sartre on the balcony chair when it’s dusk.

God’s plan for prisoner #2/6 was opposite altogether.

The prison made me forget about Kurseong.

Made me feel full on an empty stomach.

And learn to call it home too!

It sure does feel odd to be free outside the prison again!

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