CELEBRATION OF LOCAL: NABANITA SENGUPTA

Nostalgia

I

Nostalgia, you live along the road

where confetti of krishnachura and palash

string its sides in flaming hues;

where a little schoolgirl picks up

eucalyptus fruits and soaps her hands;

rough lather residues happy smile

and a scent of its leaves.

Nostalgia, you live in that gurgling stream

who sings happy songs with pebbles and boulders

and beckons the little girl to play,

whose light feet jumps from one rock to the next

like a butterfly alighting on each and every flower.

Nostalgia, you live in the sun

That hides each evening behind those green hillocks.

Yet every day rises for her  

from behind multi storeyed buildings

beyond her kitchen window these days.

                        II

Memories have their own scent.

Some are mildewed and soft

like the intoxicating mahua

and its garlanded branch

soft pink and white

or of the medley of whiffs

from Sunday bazar of assorted figments from everyday!

Because memories have colours too

of the green canopy under the blue sky

of white tagar in the temple premise

and upon the shivalinga

flocked by devotees in various hues,

or the blue and white attired children

flocking through that huge iron gate

in a stepping stone to larger world;

and pink lotuses from a Ullysian tale.

And the sounds of memory -

like a whispered lullaby and a sweet drowsiness

crouching slowly upon my senses -

living sounds of mundane from uniform quarters;

of friends and I in the playground,

in a harmonious medley or jarring notes;

music of a young alaap

that wafted from an open window

or loud readings of Akbar's rule and Einstein on relativity.

of evening conch shells

and sirens signifying end of factory shifts.

All these painted my nostalgia!

                        III

It was Holi each twilight

as sun bade farewell

smearing hill tops

in red and orange love

and chirping birds shared their day

in loud voices

feeding their little one

morsels of affection.

I sat upon the wooden chair

a friend through my growing years

which creaked in every joint

in an attempted conversation.

And toyed with multi coloured thoughts

as the sun bid adieu to a feeble moon going strong.

A pink one for my new school bag

that I boasted of at school that year

an indigo thought peeked in too

of my classroom funs

and that red one - that special someone that caused the teenage blush!

A black too - that was collected on roadside

of that ogling loafer.

Then there were thoughts of gold and silvery dreams

of a life yet to be lived

of a world beyond this insulated comfort deep

nascent cocooned fast asleep.

Ma's kitchen sent a delicious evening breeze

stirred me up from my young reveries

an evening ritual of home cooked savouries

that coincided with each setting sun.
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Nabanita Sengupta, (PhD from University of Calcutta) is presently working as assistant professor in English at Sarsuna College, affiliated to the University of Calcutta. Her areas of specialization are 19th century travel writings, women’s studies, translation studies and disability studies. Some of her translated short stories have been published, the latest contribution being in the Anthology of Modern Bengali short stories published by the Sahitya Akademi. She is also a part of a translation project undertaken by Viswa-Bharati. She has presented papers in various national and international seminars in India and abroad. She along with Suranjana Choudhury had guest-edited a volume at Café Dissensus on women displacement in South Asia. Her creative writings have also been published at various places like Muse India, Coldnoon, Café Dissensus, NewsMinute.in, etc. She may be contacted at nabanita.sengupta@gmail.com

Setu, June 2019