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| Supatra Sen |
April’s Mischief
The loud gong of the door bell
And in walks briskly
Shyam Babu
With his neat brown paper packed
Crisp starched stock of cotton sarees
Coming after four months
He announces grandly
The sound of a wooden walking stick
And there’s Purna da
Dragging his left foot
His signature smile intact
Librarian of a local library
Have you a new list ready
Purchase to be made for the children’s section
Summer break is fast approaching…
But before that Tagore’s birthday
Planning and preparations
Dances to be rehearsed
Music and rhythm
All…
The fragrance of jasmine and mogra
Sandalwood pervade
Is this another timeline
A separate time zone
Or April’s sheer mischief
On All Fools’ Day
Making reality of illusions
A drama of fleeting images
As transient as cherry blossoms
Evanescent…momentary…ephemeral
***
The Last Train
Time was running out
Fast…much too fast
The compartments were nearly full
Crowds of faces
And among them
My father
Looking his best
Surrounded by his friends
And my family members
My aunt years younger
Disease-free and beautiful
My grandparents still alert and agile
Brother…still a young man
Our old family…
All travellers of this journey
A common destination ?
I wonder
I am yet to board
Yet no one notices my absence
Strange !!
I always thought their lives
Centered around me
Now we are but strangers…
The whistle blows…
Is it the beginning
Or the end…
The whistle once more
The wheels come to life
But why am I still waiting
For what…for whom
The train is slowly gathering speed
I wave…I call
Frantic
Father…Wait…
He seems blissfully unaware
I blindly run…stumbling, tripping
Desperately reaching out for a hand
But the train is in full motion
Taking all that I ever had
Ever owned
Ever called my own…
I miss the train
The last train…
***
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