Mohini's Murat

Mohini goes to her garden, just at the front of her house.
A small garden.
Her Paradise.
Her ways to be in her heaven, far away from the madding crowd.
Specially in the morning, when the town has not woken.

Those saplings.
They keep her awake all day and all night.
And when going to the garden, she tends their leaves, waters them, and admires the beauty of those blossoms and buds, she finds her moment of bliss.

Her Murat stands there just by her side, often smiling at her ways of nurturing her garden of peace and beauty.
Mohini finds her living there.
Right there at the hearts of those trees, saplings, their lives.

She finds her Murat too.
She finds her Murat in her.

Ranjana's waking up

Ranjana soon after opening the window of their bedroom of their two bhk flat, found drops of dew on the sil.
Those drops were glistening like drops of pearls, with the beams of the woken morn.
A day of her town.
A sleepy muffasil town, with its sweetness of love and sacrosanct morning. Not so far away she found the blooming trees.
A morning of spring.
She looked at her hubby.
Still sleeping.
Her daughter.
She was asleep too.
She pulled the curtain aside.
The morn came with light falling on the floor of their bedroom.

'Wake up you...surjimama dichchey hama ranga jama gaye oi...(the sun uncle is crawling, see, with a colorful shirt on him...)'
She sang whispering  into her daughter's ears.
Little Labonya turned back her head and wrapped her dad.
'Ar ektu ghumoi...'(let me sleep a bit more...)
She said sleepily.
She kissed on Labonya's forehead.
In her half asleep state, little Labonya smiled.

After freshening up she stood at the balcony with her cup of tea.

Every morning, this is her ritual.

Instead of spending time at the room where deities were kept, she would just stand here and try to appreciate the new born day.

To her it is no less than a worship, for in the birth of a day, she finds her God.
It is not that she doesn't pray, but why to confine prayers in a room filled with deities only?

The morning had become her deity.
The waking up too, much like her sleeping off.

And standing at the balcony as she would watch people getting into their daily struggles for survival, she would pray, for all.
For that newspaper delivery boy, for that milkman paddling away, for that daily labourer walking briskly with a spade on his shoulder, for that old woman who goes wandering, for that music composer who would fine tune his instruments early in the morning-setting free notes of music from his sitars, tanpuras, guitars, harmoniums, tablas, for that rickshaw puller who would take a hurried sip from a plastic cup his morning tea before getting to the street to earn a few coins for him and his family...

Ranjana would pray for them all.

And that way Ranjana found herself at home and also very much in the world around her.

The world of her worship.

Shilpi's starry starry night

Shilpi was trying of think of something to draw and paint. It was another day of her painted life. She had been doing painting since her child hood. After she got shifted to this town, living in a girls' hostel, for studies, she had kept alive her pastime of painting.
After the classes, when she walks back to the hostel, from the university, with theories of philosophy clogging her brain, she tries to refresh herself by looking around her.
Those trees which lined the avenue till she would reach the gate of her hostel would then appear to her as beautiful companions. When the breeze would blow stirring the leaves of those trees, she would think they were talking the meaning of life within themselves.
And the sky.
It always stays there over her mind and soul.
'Ki ato anmona hoye bhabish bol to?'(what do think being so absentminded?)
Her friend Camelia would ask her.
Camelia had always remained clung to Shilpi since they had become roommates.
In Shilpi she finds her alterego, her confidante.
If the colors of spring would create a nascent rise of desire in her, Camelia would say that to Shilpi.
'Find a boyfriend...'
Shilpi would say.
'Amar abar boyfriend! Ja dekhtey amay! Keu pochondo korbey na!''(Boyfriend for me! The way I look who would love me!)
Camelia would say.
'That's wrong...'
Shilpi would say.
'For beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder and also within you...'
Shilpi would say.
'Bajey bokish na...(don't say all these...) You're beautiful, you're studious, you're different...you would never understand my issues...papa had said, soon after this course he would search for me a bridegroom!'
Camelia would retort.
'Why studying then?'
Shilpi would counter.
'Yes...yes...but you know...how difficult is it to spend money on a course like this, which has little scope in our country...'
Camelia would say.
'No branch of study is bad...there is a scope for everything...'
Shilpi would say, and start humming few lines from a song.
A Tagore.
'Tui dibbi achish...ki Korey je emon bhabey thakish?(you're living it in such a carefree way...how do you do that?)
Shilpi would smile.

Later in the evening, when the girls would go back to their rooms after gossip on movies and boyfriends, when Camelia would lie down on her bed, trying to make out what Socrates had tried to deliver to his disciples in the Symposium, Shilpi would take out her painting equipments.

Camelia would watch her through the corner of her eyes and would remark:
'Kaal kintu SKD Socrates dhorbey...(tomorrow SKD would take lessons on Socrates)'

'I know...'
Shilpi would say just and start working on the sketchbook.

But today, she was not finding any inspiration.
She was chewing the end of her pencil, thinking.
'Cherey dena baba...portey bosh...tor bhalor jonnoi bollam....(leave it...sit with the theories...saying it for your good)'
Camelia said.
Shilpi would look at Camelia and smile.

Just then her eyes fell on the portion of the late evening sky filled with stars and nebulas.
A clear night sky with its boundlessness.
Shilpi just went up to the window and looked at the sky.
'How beautiful...'
She thought.
Just then she heard the girls at the adjacent room listening to musical bandbox.
The late evening show.
And she knew it was a Don MacLean song that was being aired.
A Don MacLean.
Much like a song of Tagore.

She went back to her sketchbook smiling.
She got her inspiration.

She started moving her pencil on the sketchbook like she was not painting, but revealing her vision of a dream.
A Starry Starry night.

Camelia, finding Shilpi working, got down from her bed, and came near Shilpi, for she knew in Shilpi's works she would always find herself beautiful.

A granny's day of spring,

Ashalata was trying to do her thread work on a cotton cloth.
Nowadays, she couldn't even see well.
Age was slowly taking its toll upon her eyes. Her hands also shake a bit. Still, around this time, she would sit with her needle, colorful threads, and cotton cloths. For every year, all the way from the country of opulence her grandson from her son's side  would come.
She had other grandsons and granddaughters from her daughters' side, but she had always kept a very secret adoration or love for the son of her only son.
He bore the title of the family, according to the custom and more importantly inspite of being very much habituated to western culture and ethos, he had still kept a very Bengali heart.
In fact, Ashalata noticed, that Snehangshu, her son Santosh's only son, was more interested in anything Bengali, be it food, songs, or literature.
So, she would make every year a special embroidery upon a simple piece of cotton cloth.
And Snehangshu would take it, and with it he would go away after his two or three day's stay.
Once Ashalata had asked Snehangshu what he actually did with all those cotton cloths.
He showed her a photo taken in his phone of a small wooden box where he had kept them, stored, like people store valuables.
That pleased Ashalata greatly.
She even became a bit emotional.

Her only son who had left her alone in the house built by her husband Indranath, soon after his marriage and settled at a faraway town, would come too, with his wife.

Her daughters would too arrive.
They being settled in faraway towns too.

But this year, before Holi or Doljatra as it is usually called here, the festival of colors, her daughters had called her and reported that they would be going together with their husbands and children for a tour.

Her only son, Santosh, upon hearing that his sisters and their husbands and children were not arriving, also thought that later they would gather at their ancestral house and have a fitting get together.
Ashalata became a bit morose, but soon she tried to console herself saying that after all she had grown old and had become overtly sensitive and perhaps sentimental.
She blamed her sadness to her senescence.
But, by God's grace, she was informed by
Santosh that though he and his wife would not be there, their son and her grandson Snehangshu would go and stay there at least for a day, if not two.

She became elated.
She had found an energy.
She asked her only companion and long time cook cum butler cum errand man, Naru to clean the room adjacent to her room in her small single storied house which her late husband used as study cum living. She had made Naru to bring vegetables and groceries and fish and meat from the market.
She herself supervised Naru when he broomed the bed, put bed cover and pillow covers.

From the morning she was humming a tune or so.
Happy as she was.

At around ten, a taxi stopped in front of her house.
She at once asked Naru to move to the gate to help Snehangshu to offload his bag or luggage.

She followed Naru too, but due to arthritis she couldn't move fast.

And just when she was about to be on the verandah, Snehangshu came and touched her feet.
She took his chin by her hand and embraced him.

'Kemon acho didi?'
Snehangshu said.
Ashalata smiled almost like a child,
'Now that you have come I am so happy!'
She said.

The day went in cooking various Bengali cuisine and serving them to Snehangshu and in turn listening to stories from him about the country where he had been working for the last four years.
'Would you not come back soon?'
She asked.
'Na didi, I have works...'
Snehangshu said.

The day turned evening. Then night.
The granny and her grandson kept on talking, laughing, exchanging stories.
The grandson had given his granny a beautiful scarf and some tinned food items.
Granny had given the grandson another embroidered cotton cloth.

After dinner, when he was about to go to his room, Snehangshu said,
'Didi, this time I would go back to our house soon...by tomorrow afternoon...will that be okay?'

Ashalata turned her head to one side.
She had a deep sense of hurt when she heard that but she couldn't plead her grandson to stay for at least a day more.

He might have works, she thought.
She couldn't be selfish.

Next morning when the granny and the grandson were having tea, the granny finally gathered some confidence and asked:
'Dadu bhai, how wonderful it would have been if you would have stayed for at least one day more...'

'But didi , you know, I got works. The company where I work at that foreign country is actually thinking of opening a subsidiary here ... And I would have to be very much busy in doing liaison...you see...'
Snehangshu informed Ashalata.

Ashalata again bent her head sideways.
Of course she could understand her grandson's works and their importance.

The hour of departure came.
'Uff! Tumi ja khawaley na thamma...akhono hojom hoi ni...'
(The amount of food you had served to me are yet to be digested...)
Snehangshu tried to ease off the grimness that loomed over his granny's face.
Ashalata tried to smile.

Naru had managed to arrange for a taxi.
It would take Snehangshu to the train station.

The taxi was waiting at the gate.
Snehangshu touched Ashalata's feet.
Ashalata tried to keep her composure.

Just then, Snehangshu's cell started ringing.
He took out the cellphone and went a few paces away .

'Oh! Really! That's fabulous! '

That was the last bit of conversation which Ashalata could hear as her grandson came near her.

'Granny, know what?'
The grandson was visibly elated.
'What?'
Ashalata asked.
'Just a few months, say eight or nine, after that, I would be in this country!'

'What do you mean?'

'I asked my boss to keep me posted if there would be any chance of fitting me into the subsidiary that would be opened here, and he just informed me that if I wish, I could join the subsidiary unit once it would start operating...and that is only a few months away!'

The grandson gushed.

'But your parents? Santosh? Mugdha? Will they be happy?'

'Why not? They would get their son at home...
And...'
Snehangshu added,
Like an afterthought,
'If they would get worried about my career options, my future, I would convince them...
Why worry?'

Ashalata felt that she had given away those embroidered cotton cloths to the fittest person in the world.

She smiled.

The sky of spring had wondrous Hues spread like a canvas dipped in a riot of colors.
Ashalata thought Doljatra or Holi had arrived early at her home.
A bit early.

Quite the opposite, *

Not many years ago, there some where lived a king.
The king had a kingdom as usual. But that kingdom was not owned by his family.
It was a curious kind of kingship that that piece of land followed.
Kings were chosen by some people who were chosen again by the citizens of that piece of land.

Now the present king before being chosen had the purity of heart.
He being a descendant of a very poor family had all those memories of hardship and sufferings.
Memories which were strong.
Memories which made him a noble man.
Those people who had chosen him had thought of putting him into the chair of the king.
A king's chair?
Well, as thrones are usually found in real kingdoms with real kings and queens, here in this particular piece of land chairs were given to the king.
Soon after taking on the chair, the king had all the noble thoughts.
He promised the people the cleanliness.
He promised that there would be no such thing as unnecessary burden upon people.

But due to some lack of foresight and proper perspectives, every day different things happened.
Those courtiers who actually chose the king, were always making some things which could bring in troubles.
The king was not unintelligent.
He kept his courtiers (both men and women, as he had women courtiers too)
informed of his decisions.

But, his courtiers.
They were often too busy either to please the king or to please themselves.
Now this curious pleasure seeking had its side effects.
Often, in the garb of pleasing the king, they were actually causing problems for the king.
For example, only the other day, without even knowing properly a woman courtier brought a teenaged boy before the king and reported:
'Sir, this boy was shouting against you, calling you bad names just outside the gate of Your Majesty's house.
I was passing by and nabbed him.
He could be a great danger to you!'

The king sought opinion from other courtiers.
The other courtiers had not proper knowledge of the incident.
But they thought why would a woman say all these stuff, after all women were the most kind hearted people.
In that land there was actually a great respect for women.
Women were never maligned.

But this woman, actually did not even herself witness the incident.
She was reported of the incident by some people.
But she thought it could be a too good opportunity to be missed to please the king.
So in the court she said that.
After all, who would make an inquiry upon a king's judgement?

So that teenaged boy was sent to the prison.
There he was tortured by the gaoler.The gaoler was just like that women courtier.
He was also interested to please the king.
For by doing so he thought he would get something, some reward.

But the boy had read stories of people who talked of peace.
The boy had read stories of people dying with smiling faces while saving their mothers or fathers or sisters or brothers.
So he didn't budge.
This made the gaoler even more desperate.
He took the boy's non violent non conformist attitude as a great challenge.
He kept on torturing him.

While the gaoler was doing so, the king was reported by one very old courtier of his, that the boy actually was trying to draw the attention of the king to the ills happening in that piece of land.
He was actually yelling so that his words could reach His Majesty's ears.
He never knew that His Majesty was not in his house.
The king , upon hearing this got very much confused.
He summoned that woman courtier,whose name was Belambi,and asked:

'Tell me, Belambi, the truth!'

Belambi: Sir, I have been up this hour wide awake, all through the nights.

The king: I demand, or eh...place an entreaty, what troubles you?

Belambi: Nothing Sir, for Your Highness is well aware how much I work for the land...

The king: That who doesn't know?

All other courtiers were watching the king and that woman courtier.
They actually had great respect for both.
The king was respected because he was the king.
The woman was actually getting double respect, first she was a woman, and secondly she was an important member of the decision making body of the kingdom.

Just when all these were happening, someone informed that the boy who was in the prison was in dire straits.

The king looked at the courtiers.
Belambi was sitting there on her chair.

The king looked at Belambi.
Belambi was not sure what she could say.

The messenger was waiting.
Staring at His Majesty's face.

The king was thinking.
The courtiers too.

Belambi signalled the messenger to come near her.
When he came she asked:
Tell me, is there any bad news?
The messenger whispered:
Don't say madam, the poor little boy is actually on the verge of death.

Hearing this Belambi got very much tensed.
She asked the king:
Your Highness, if you could allow me, could I go and see for myself what was happening at the prison?

The king allowed her to go.
Belambi forbade other courtiers not to come with her, when they thought they could accompany her.

Upon arriving the prison cell where the boy was left dying, Belambi was very much shocked.
She had never been to a dingy room like that ever before.

'What a room!'
Was her first remark.
Then she went near that boy.
The boy looked at her and just asked:
As you are a woman, I would call you Mother, will it be okay?
His voice was feeble.
His body was frail.
His eyes were drooping.

Belambi looked at him and said:

Yes...

Then the boy asked:
Now that I am in prison, tell me, you are sleeping it well?

Belambi got angry.
How dare you??!

She yelled.

This brought that gaoler to the spot.
The gaoler saw that he would never get a better opportunity to prove his loyalty to the king and the courtiers.

He started beating the boy.

Belambi rushed out.
She went straight home.

But that night she didn't sleep.
The next morning when she went to the court, everyone noticed that.

Belambi had got the king's attention too, who, during a break in the sessions of the court, while munching potato chips, asked:
Tell me, is it your physical discomfiture that makes you to walk so unbraced or did you steal out of your house and caught the contagions of the night?

Belambi was greatly affected by the king's query.

She said nothing but her eyes were full of drops of water.

After the sessions she ran to the prison.
The boy was still there.
Belambi asked the gaoler not to torture the boy and to make every arrangement to save him.
The gaoler was amused.
He thought by torturing the boy he would get a reward.
Now it had turned quite the opposite!

So he asked the courtier:
Madam, if you pardon me, what should I do?

Belambi said:
Let me first consult with the king and other courtiers, till then keep him here, and don't beat him.

Then Belambi went to her house, a bit satisfied.

But the next morning when she was going to the court, she heard the news that people of that piece of land had gathered before the court.

They were actually pleading to place a memorandum before the king.

Belambi went to the court.
But before she could even sit, she was informed by a messenger from His Highness that the king had actually entreated her to go home and to stay there till something could be done about the boy.
Hearing this Belambi got a bit sad.
But as she couldn't defy the king's order where kings were actually selected by his courtiers, she went home, sobbing.

(* note on the title: as there can be no piece of land where there is a kingdom and a king who is again selected by courtiers with no hierarchy, it is contrary to any idea of kingship and also to democracy. Hence, the story should be taken as purely figment of imagination. Still if people find any similarity with any incident happening around them with the story, then quite naturally, their power of imagination will be solely responsible.)

A song of dolphin

With final exams being over, Gary meaning Gourik and Titli were getting bored at home.
So, this Sunday when Kamal asked the two to go for a drive to Diamond Harbour, they both instantly got ready, though they were pretty amazed, as it was only six forty in the morning.
Sulekha however only said 'why take them?'
'They need to see that for themselves...'
Kamal said, as he started talking with his boss over phone.
'Can you go with us too?'
Titli asked.
Sulekha looked at Kamal.
'No...I will have to make arrangements for lunch here...besides got too much of laundry pending...'
Saying this she started putting things into a small folio bag for Kamal.
A torch, some medicines, water bottles, knife, phone charger, etc.
'But for how long? Dupurey ki baritey khabey na?'(will not have lunch at home?)
Sulekha asked, knowing Kamal must be going out for some work.
'Not for more than six hours...'
Kamal replied.
It was only seven in the morning when they got out.
Sulekha was insisting on their having breakfast at home.
'We would have something on the way...otherwise we would be late...'
Kamal brought out the car.
He seemed to be a bit grim and in a hurry.
Knowing Kamal, their dad's habit of going out for emergency works, like helping people or rescuing animals, specially marine creatures like turtles, tortoise, etc, they did not say anything then.

'What's the work dad?'
Titli asked finally when they had crossed Amtala. She could no longer hold back her curiosity.
Gary whose real name was Gourik, was as usual playing chess on a tablet, sitting at the backseat.
He had no other passion.
Chess all the time if he is having any time to spare.
Already got enlisted with a chess club of repute in the locality.
He being engaged with his game of chess, was actually not very much curious.
For him it was like an unexpected Sunday outing.

Kamal had already bought some snacks
for them.
Titli was munching a cookie.
'Once reaching we could have our lunch there...'
Kamal said.
It was a fine winter morning.
Clear sky.
Mild chill in the air.
Overall temperate.

'Yes...what the work?'
Gourik asked.
For the first time he opened his mouth to say something.
His eyes were on the digital chess board though.

'You will see for yourself...if we could arrive there in proper time...'

When they arrived at the spot a huge crowd had gathered.

Kamal pushed through the crowd, holding Titli and Gourik firmly in his grip by two hands.

'What the...'
Titli was about to say.

But what she saw once they arrived pushing through the crowd was unbelievable.

A fairly large river dolphin!
Was it alive?

It was.
For it was slowly moving its tail.

Kamal asked Titli and Gourik to stay there as he started dialling numbers in his cell.

'Yes... I am Kamal Dasgupta, yes...From dept of Marine Biology ... Send forces... And make arrangements so that the dolphin could be taken to the river and released...quick!'

Kamal was speaking with great reserve though Titli and Gourik noticed how much anxious their father had become.
Then he went up to the dolphin.
He sat beside its head and gently started moving his hand over it.
Sort of caressing it.
The creature made a strange sound.
A very curious one.
Suddenly there was a lull.
Those people who had gathered there and were shouting and yelling and thinking of killing the creature, suddenly stopped talking.
They never heard such a pain ridden yet beautiful cry of a dolphin.
The dolphin again did that.
Titli and Gourik had by then come there too.
They also started caressing the creature.
A local man, probably a fisherman came forward.
'Babu, amra otakey jodi kachi diye bendhey nodi te niye cherey di akhon...cholbey...apni bolen?'
(Sir if we can make arrangements to take this creature to the river by tying it with strong ropes, will it do? Tell us?)

The man said.
A group of local fishermen had come forward too.

'Amra eta dekhtey parchi na...kharap lagchey khub...proshashon kokhon ashbey ke Janey...deri hoye jabey...'
('We can't see this any more...feeling real bad...when will the authorities turn up no body knows...it could be late...)
Said a young man from the group.

Kamal looked at the crowd.
Not far away.
He looked at the creature.
It was still alive.
Chances are very much there.

'OK...do that...'
He said, as he started opening his shoe laces.
'Going to the river with them?'
'Yes! We'll release it to the river...you two would be with me too!'
Kamal said, as he got rid of his shoes and socks.
'Bring a plastic carry bag from the car and put your shoes too into it...'
He asked Titli giving her the car key.
'But dad, how come you know that the dolphin was there?'

'Heard it on the radio in the early morning programme of local people reporting as amateur reporters of incidents happening in their locality...this programme I don't miss...specially if I hear anything related to marine Ecology...you know that, don't you?'Kamal said, patting Gourik's shoulder.

The fishermen and local youths had already arranged bamboos and ropes and boats.

They were working at great speed.
Many people had joined hands.
The crowd had grown.
But they were not yelling or shouting any more.
Instead a great sense of anticipation prevailed there.
As if they all wanted now the dolphin to get to the river.

The dolphin let out another cry.
But this time it did not sound like a morbid cry.
It sounded more like a yell of joy.
Just then a group of officials and local policemen arrived.
They started cordoning off the area.

Aniruddha, Sree and a rock climb

'So Aniruddha,are you tired of the climb, mon amour?'
Sree asked.
Sree being what she is.
Always full of energy to climb new frontiers. Right now they are in the middle of a climb. They had chosen a small hill this time.
Ropes were as usual tied to their harness.
Aniruddha was breathing fast. Sree knows her love. Knows him more than anyone else could know Aniruddha.
Her mon amour.
She thought Aniruddha might suffer from asphyxiation. She hanging from the rope slowly lowered herself.
'Take a deep breath, take in all the air you can, slowly, then release the same...relax...don't stiffen your muscles...'
Sree was constantly saying these.
Aniruddha, did the same.
He knew only upon Sree he could trust.
His childhood love.
His only trust in this difficult terrain.

Like that rope with which he was hanging.
And like that cliff.
Sree smiled.
Seeing Aniruddha getting less tensed.
The sun was on their back, few beads of sweat getting accumulated on their necks, hands, torsos.
Tough it was.
Too tough.
Excruciating.
But a promise is a promise.
A promise to reach that summit after two days and two nights continuous fight against the formidability of Nature and her awesome splendour.
'Only few minutes more...see...there lies our summit...there once reaching we would love us more and love all the flora and fauna around us...it would be our discovery...only discovery that could make us true...'
Sree kept on egging Aniruddha.
Aniruddha looked at his Sree.
His childhood love.
His cord of belief.
Insurmountable one.

He with a hammer started ramming upon the nail.
It got into the rock.
He tried to pull it using all his might.
It held.
He tied the rope.
One more to go.
Sree had pulled herself onto the top almost.
She was tying herself with a long cord from the thick trunk of a tree.
She would be lying down and extending her hand to Aniruddha.
She would pull him up.

Aniruddha looked up.
He saw the smile in Sree's face.
The Peace of a Beauty as she appeared with the beads of sweat glittering upon her resplendent face.
Her hair like a dreamy cascade flowing down her shoulders.
A blackish brown cascade.

Aniruddha knew he could climb any cliff.
For his Sree is there.
His Mon amour.

Couple

My Love is a walk down my town,
My love is singing your love night to morn,
And to find you in my eyes
As you find me flying in the sky

Unforeseen

One day returning home early Sarala found her husband walking up and down the terrace of their penthouse.

Usually Karthik returns home late in the evening, and soon after coming home he would start writing down accounts in his notebook.
He has several notebooks.
At least a dozen for his business.
Then, a couple for the market.
One for the insurance policies.
One for those bonds he had bought.

After all how could one live without money?
Money is the only honey in the world.
And which fool doesn't know that?

Without the smell of it he couldn't even sleep.
Karthik being a very sensible father had put everything into proper places.
His earnings had increased by the grace of Lakshmi.
He had put things in vaults even.
Sarala was pretty pleased with her husband's this quality of finding money.
Karthik would also buy her gold chains, ear rings, and things of silver and bronze.

Sarala looked like a real queen.
Every one would admire Karthik's ways of decorating his wife.
The people at the neighbourhood apparently loved that too.
But, at the back they would call Karthik man fully wrapped into his wife's folds.
Sarala also knew that.
And she even enjoyed that.

Now seeing Karthik walking up and down the terrace with visible angst and anxiety, Sarala got worried.
'Ki hoyechey?'(what had happened?)
She asked.
Karthik just looked at his wife and started his walk up and down again.

'Can't you see I am worried?'
Karthik asked.
His face looked flushed.

'Yes, that I could understand...but why?'

Karthik came near to Sarala.
He seemed to be very suspicious about something.

'Had put a bunch of bills under the mattress...before going out to office, at around six I remembered that I shouldn't have left that money under the mattress, after all the days are not so good, called you several times but your phone couldn't be connected, so rushed straight back home, leaving an important client meeting postponed, and you know what? Coming back home couldn't find that bunch of money! Who had taken them out? You?'

Karthik spoke with animated verbosity.
Sarala feared he might lose his breath.

She brought a glass of water for her husband hurriedly, knowing how much overtly worried he would become about money matters.

Then she said,
'You promised me to give a golden necklace, only this evening, while dusting the bed, I found the bunch of money and thought why not I give the money to the jewelers...so I went to the jewelers and asked them to make for me a necklace...and you would be very happy I think to know that the jewelers where I have placed the order, are actually giving unthinkable discounts in the labour charges...'

'Okay...then...'
After hearing the story that the money was not actually lost but put into some real profitable investment, Karthik got relieved.

The client just then called Karthik informing him that they had found a better supplier, and so they were not doing any business with him.
This news saddened Karthik a lot.
The whole evening he almost starved.
When Sarala served him his dinner he remained completely unmindful.
Their children, seeing their father being very much lost in monetary thoughts did not disturb him.

A month after, Sarala  thought of going to the jewelers and asking about that necklace.
But rummaging her purse she couldn't find the cash deposit memo.
She became worried.
She thought of informing her husband first about the missing bill, but then she restrained herself from doing that as she knew that could make Karthik, her husband even more worried.

The jewelers where Sarala placed the order of her necklace, was pretty new to the town.
Only last few months she saw that store doing business there.
It was at such a corner of the town that Sarala rarely went there for any works.

When Sarala  arrived at the store, she found it locked, its shutters downed.

She was quite baffled.

A betel leaf and cigarette shop was there just beside that jewelry shop.
Sarala upon making an enquiry there realised that the shop owner of that jewelers had been arrested and his shop had been closed down by the police a few days back.

'Why?'
Sarala asked astounded.

'For police have found something in their store...I don't know more than that, didi...'
The betel leaf shop owner said.

Sarala was completely broken.
She thought how could she tell all these to her husband.

She never thought that bunch of money would lead to all those unwarranted troubles, completely unforeseen as they came.
She thought of going to the police station but she had no evidence with her, as that order memo she couldn't find.
Moreover, after that postponement of business with that client Karthik's  business also was not going well...

All about gardening

'Hain re, saradini je ghurey barachchis? Parashuna kokhon hobey shuni?'(o my heart's joy, loitering all day long, when will you come and study?)
Ankita would ask her daughter.
Finding her playing with mud and water in the garden.
It was an afternoon of beautiful spring.
The trees have turned into flowering proclamation of love and gratitude to the goddess of spring. Ranjit had gone out for a tour. He would be back not before tomorrow.
After doing all the works at home, Ankita felt so tired, that she dozed off white watching a movie.
A beautiful day of spring.
A comparatively noiseless afternoon.
A beauty sleep.

Only at around four she woke up abruptly.
'Kajori, where are you? Kajori?'
She got frightened not seeing her daughter beside her.
When she was watching the movie, Kajori, her daughter was just beside her. Lying upside down, reading a story book.

'I'm in the garden!'
Ankita had heard her.
She almost rushed outside.
Her heart was throbbing to the fullest.
'Kajori?!'

And there she her found.
Her pink cotton frock, her red tunic, all full of mud.
'What are you doing?'
She asked her.
'Planting a tree...'
Was the answer.
Ankita found Kajori had gathered a twig from somewhere.
She was pushing it into the ground.
Ankita went near her daughter.
'Will it grow mama?'
She asked, looking up to her.

Ankita drooped to see the twig.
A creeper of sorts, with tiny white tubular roots coming out.
'Where from you got it?'

'The other day, while cleaning the garden, uncle by mistake, took it out...and I thought it could turn into life, for I have seen on Natgeo Wild, how creepers like these can grow once again if planted...'

Ankita was pretty much surprised.
'Yes, you have seen it right. Only these type of herbs grow from branches...their roots come out once they come in contact with mother earth...they are made that way by God...'

Saying this Ankita brought from the shed, the water sprinkler.
'Now sprinkle water at its root...it will definitely grow...but you will have to put a little twig or stick just beside it, as a primary support...later on you can remove it...'
Ankita told Kajori.
Kajori nodded and got busy with her works.
Ankita stood there supervising her daughter's effort of planting a sapling all by herself and she thought her daughter might become a teacher.
She also thought there was no need to press her daughter more to read by confining her only to the study room.

Obeisance to Love

'Yes, you can take this route and through this highway you could reach that monastery...'
Nayan was standing at the front parlour downstairs.
Right opposite him stood Rohit.
He was drawing a route chart on a piece of paper.
He would be going out soon.
Outside the fog and the mist had laid a blanket.
'Are you going there alone?'
Rohit asked.
Nayan tried to look through the glass door.
Fog and mist had made the glass blurry.
'Yes...a monastery visit as it is...they are sleeping...today is a rest day...'

'Take something from the kitchen counter...you would have to make a trek...'
Rohit said, smiling.

'O yes...'

Nayan went out.
The first thing he got outside was the cold sweeping breeze.
'Hope the temperature will rise after few hours ...'
Nayan started walking.
The rough route sketch in his hand.
The mist made visibility poor.
But that's what gave the place a sense of beauty. A solemn grandeur.
The whiff of air had the fragrance of incense bearing trees. He noted how dewdrops glistening at the edge of the leaves were preparing to take a jump to meet the moist earth. He looked ahead.
Up there, half hidden into the greenery could be seen the chortens.
He saw little boys and girls walking past him in groups. They were singing!
Nayan felt like singing too. He remembered the hotel where he had coffee on the terrace.
He remembered the face of that old man who used to bring him his coffee and sandwiches. He remembered those big colorful umbrellas which were fixed at the centre of the tables placed on the terrace of the hotel.

And he remembered that piece of ms which that man in red orange robe gave him to have a look at once.
His face.
His eyes.

Nayan walked.
Jeeps and four by fours were going past him.

Finally after almost one hour and half he reached the gate of the monastery.
He pushed it open. It made a screeching sound. The sound though not loud, was enough to create a stir.
There he stood at the courtyard of the monastery. Pigeons he found hopping.
Wooden pillars with riot of colorful engravings stood there holding the sloping roof of the main building.

He dropped down and kissed the ground
and muttered obeisance.

He had to.
For he had made a contract with the Beauty of Peace.
He had to.
For he had known how it could give rise to Love.
A kind of Love that finds no distinctions made and thrust by men upon men.
A kind of love that keeps him home.
A kind of Love that keeps him away too.

Finding Thokmay*

Sneha and her father went into the dining hall first. It was adjacent to the double storied hut they were staying in.
No one actually dares to make a venture to the hills during this season, end of December as it was.
But Sneha's father would always think that the beauty of the hills could only be understood in its roughness.
It's solemnity, according to Partho, Sneha's dad, comes out best in winter.
"In summer hills become maidens...they dress themselves up, quite contrary to the plains..."
Partho would say.
Sneha would try to make out her father's words. Not that she realised everything but then she got mom to explain things to her.
Her mom, Kaushani.
Kaushani would just tell her stories from folklore.
Recently Kaushani bought her a book for children by Sudha Murthy.
It had stories which enthralled her.
'In our times, we had those granny's tales...we used to call them Thakurma's Jhuli...'
Kaushani would tell Sneha.

This morning, the weather being full of mist, fog and dew, they had decided to laze.
Breakfast would be served soon at the hall.
Barring them only one family had tucked themselves into that fairly decent double storied hut.
The caretaker, Ajay, would wake early in the morning and then he would bathe and dress up in leather jacket and jeans.
He would always appear as someone who was going to do some party.
Neat, well dressed, perfume coming out of his body.
Sneha would ask her mom,'These people always seem to be smiling...what could be the reason?'
Kaushani would say,'ask your father, he would explain things to you better...'

Now that they were sitting at the table, she and her dad, Sneha thought it would be great if she would make that query.
After all her father had spent his life in hills at one point.

'Dad, why I find these people always smiling? '
She asked her father.
Partho was then trying to read something pinned on the softboard at the dining hall...some of those who had come earlier to this place had left their handwritten notes about the place, its surroundings, the hospitality of the people attached to the lodge.
'Due to the location...'
He said,
'Location?'
'Yes... These people are constantly fighting for their survival...they don't even know when an avalanche would come down upon them...besides the population being sparse and the level of pollution being to the minimum, the exhaustion and stress factors are minimal...add to that the silence and the awesome natural bounty here, not tarnished...it is like living in a heaven almost...free from din and bustle, needless hurries...'
Partho kept on explaining.
Sneha tried to grasp what her dad was saying.
Just then Kaushani came.
Sneha could see she had with her brought a boy.
A few years older than Sneha.
Partho smiled seeing the boy.
Sneha was not sure what she could do.
But seeing her father smiling, she smiled too.
'Partho, have you got something to record voice or song?'
Kaushani asked.
'Of course...dad's phone!'
Sneha interjected.
'Why?'
Partho asked.
'Bring it out nah...'
Kaushani pleaded.
'Okay...'
Partho brought his cell and gave it to Kaushani.
'Thokmay, play it once for us, please, will you?'
Kaushani asked the boy.
A typical boy from the hills.
Not very well dressed.
In fact a rustic smell was emanating from him.
But, he brought out from his back pocket of ragged jeans, a flute and started playing it.

The mist, the fog, the chill, the silence of the morn, the coldness of the place and that tune of the flute, all got mixed up.

Sneha was looking at the boy.
He was playing the flute keeping his eyes closed, only his fingers were running to and fro on those holes of the wooden pipe.

But the tune was so marvellous that even after the boy stopped playing it, Kaushani forgot to press the off button on the phone which recorded the tune.
Partho, took the phone in his hand and stopped the record tab.

An unhindered sense of satiety filled the hall.
Kaushani asked the care taker to add one plate extra to the order of breakfast they had placed.
Ajay, the caretaker said, 'There are several of them here, madam...'
Kaushani said,
'That I know...'
Partho and Sneha by that time had started talking with the boy.
'Come you boy, the unhindered!'
Partho patted the boy's shoulders,
'Which football team do you support?'
'ISL or National league?'
The boy asked back.
Partho laughed.

The breakfast arrived just then.
'Why football dad? Don't they play other games?'
Sneha asked.
'We love to play football because that's easy for us to play...we need only a ball...when we do not get a ball, we play with smaller rubber balls...nowadays we are also playing cricket and hockey...but those games are what you call... expensive...'

'I would try to give you money, you can buy a cricket bat, or a hockey stick or any sports good you want to buy...'
Partho said.
Thokmay nodded.
He was giggling.
'Now play on kid...let's have an encore...'
Kaushani said.
And the flute blew sweetness to the cold air.

'Breakfast?'
Sneha asked.
'Keep eating...'
Kaushani told her daughter.
'Thokmay? You?'
'I will...but first let me play a different tune for you...it is a Tibetan song...'
Thokmay said as he wiped his mouth by the back of his palm, getting ready for a tune to be created out of that wooden pipe.

(*Thokmay- a typical name of a boy with Tibetan origin, meaning unobstructed or unhindered)

For dads are like that...

Rupsa was a bit sad, she had planned to do so many things today. She thought of going out with her friends for a hangout.
After all it's Sunday and who cares to mug things out in the first year.
But this sudden rain.
It might spoil the dress she had decided to wear.

Only last night she had talked with Arko, Sandy, Hemu.
They all made a plan. The venue would be that shopping plaza at Camac Street.
Arko was supposed to buy the tickets for a flick. Interestingly, she had gathered from her seniors in the college that the movie would help them very much in their studies.
The novel from which the movie had been made had been included in the syllabus.
That's another convincing reason to ask her father to allow her to watch the movie.
Her father, the least talkative person, (probably in the whole world!) just asked her the name of the novel.
She replied.
'You need to see that...it might have a bearing upon you...'
He had said and started reading an old book on the history of Indian Independence.
That's how Rupsa's father always had been.
Either reading, or writing, if he is home.
On Sundays, he loves more to stay home and to utilise the time.
On weekdays, he writes too, but not for long hours.

Contrary to her dad, her mom, always loves talking to people. She talks with her, tells stories of her own adolescence, her college life, her friends. Then with the maids she loves talking. She asks them about their life. If she will go to the market she will start talking with the people there.
Often Rupsa would get angry with her.

But Bipasha would just say,
'Always try to understand people, interact with them, people are never bad...'

'Ma...its raining and we are supposed to meet at near that plaza at Camac Street...my new pair of palazzo...'

'It will not rain the whole day...why worry?'
Saying this Bipasha went to the study with tea cup and breakfast for Subhro, Rupsa's dad.

Rupsa got ready and went out.

Arko, Hemu, Sandy were there.
The movie hall on the third floor was not fully filled up.
The movie, though one of the best acts of her favourite hero, Leonardo, was not a typical love story.

After all who would like to see the fall of American Dream?

But then...

Of the four Hemu and Sandy constantly bantered in the hall, while the movie was on, even getting at least for a couple of times, sharp rebuke from those who sat behind them.

Love birds they being, they just ignored all those remarks as mere digs from 'intellectuals'.

Arko however was watching it closely Rupsa noticed.
She thought she found a sudden tinge of sadness in Arko's face soon after the movie ended when they were going to the food corner.
She had never found Arko expressive.
She always looked upon him as a very studious, disciplined, sharp yet witty boy.

'That movie wasn't good, nah?'
Rupsa asked Arko.
'Na...it was quite okay...'
Arko had said as he signalled Sandy to order pizza for all.
'Give money to Sandy, your share only...'
Arko said.
'But of course!'
Rupsa went up to Sandy.
Hemu was also there at the counter.
Tokens were to be taken.
From there, standing as she was Rupsa tried to observe Arko.
He was writing something on a piece of paper napkin!

After the pizzas were gobbled up and soft drink glasses were emptied, Rupsa, finding Arko, absent minded still, asked,
"What were you doing on a piece of paper napkin?'
Arko turned pale.
He seemed to be completely taken aback.
'Oh! Nothing!'
He said.
'No... I had seen you...don't play tricks with me...'
Rupsa said, dancing her eyebrows.
'Do you have any intention to become Miss Marple?'
Arko asked.
'Then there should be an Agatha Christie!'
Rupsa quipped.

Arko looked at Rupsa.
'Do you have got Agatha Christie back home?'
'Only Agatha? We got Doyle, Ray, Sidney Sheldon, John Grisham...you want them?'
'Yes!!'
Arko said.
'But first you would have to show me what you were doing on that piece of paper ...'

'Yes... I think, at least you will give some importance to stuff like these...'
Saying this Arko brought out the paper, folded as it was in his hip pocket.
Rupsa opened it.
Arko had drawn a face of a girl.
It looked like that Daisy who was there in the movie!

'Arko! You're a great artist!'
Rupsa almost gushed.

Arko felt a bit embarrassed.
He blushed.
Rupsa for the first time saw how a boy of her age could even blush.

Then she remembered what her father said at the time she was preparing to go out.

'It might have a bearing upon you...'

Rupsa smiled.
'Dads are always like that...'
She thought.
The sun had come out of the clouds by then.
After a spell of rain, the dust got settled on the road too.

A morning serenade,

Serendipity, if thy name is life,
Here am i
Just outside thy door,
With bouquet of flowers
Where my songs I pour,

You may call me a poem
Who hath strolled
But then that's why have I come
In songs of Love to unfold,

As unfolds a bud
To catch the colors of spring
As breaks a morn
With the glory of the Unseen,

As wakes the bird
After a cosy warm sleep
As the Aurora sings
Where her Beauty she keeps,

Serendipity, if thy name is life
Here am I
Just outside thy door.

A sketch,

Every year, during spring, when the smell of leaves and flowers would stir her soul, Ketaki would think of her by gone days, her university days of having sessions of adda at the canteen,her first friend who turned out to be her love, her chasing T.S.Eliot and James Joyce and Jibananda Das, her finding solace in Tagore and Wordsworth and her death with the redness of gulal upon her face.

This spring, even after so many years as she had started arranging the bookshelves properly, and putting fresh flowers into the vases, and humming a Tagore in her lips, she found she had missed herself.

They had shifted to a bigger house with better facilities, her husband had got a promotion and her son post exams, having a vacation.
No worries.
Still she thought she was missing something.
She asked herself what actually she was missing.
Her life, her youth, her beauty, her longing for friends, her lost love?
What?

She looked at herself in the mirror.
No, she had not that grown old much.
She counted her gold adornments.
No, there were nothing missing.

Then she looked outside.
It was another beautiful day of spring.
Smell of moisture was there too.
As if dryness with moisture had made a perfect harmony.
Like harmonious remains life and death, light and darkness, happiness and sadness, winter and summer, the hills and the ocean, the rivers and the seas.

She finally realised, what she was missing.
She was missing her favourite thing,
Her favourite pastime.
Painting.

So thinking, she asked her son to bring a sketchbook and pencil box and watercolors and pastel tubes.
Adi was a bit surprised.
'You are going to draw?'
Ketaki was thinking what could be her proper answer.
She was thinking of finding a proper excuse.

'Why not? Can't she do that?'
She heard.
Angshuman had said that.
Ketaki was bewildered.
She looked at Angshuman with moist eyes.

Much later, when she asked Angshu how he could know that she was willing to draw something, Angshu smiled and said
'I remember finding your sketches in the cupboard a few days ago while I was helping you in doing the spring cleaning. And I noticed with how much care you packed them and put them into a folder...that showed your devotion to that work...and I loved that...'

Ketaki was surprised.
She smiled.

The king and acts of sedition

Once there lived a king.
A king of a kind.
He loved his parrots very much.
Every day when the king would start his court, giving away one after another his judgments, his courtiers clapped.
They nodded their heads.

In that kingdom there was a school too.
The king one day ordered his men and women(he luckily had few women courtiers too!) to go to the school and ask the children to sing bhajanas.
Now prior to the arrival of the king's men and women the school had a curious syllabi and curricula.
There the children were taught music, painting, English, Sanskrit, Arabic, french, German and even Spanish. There they were also taught mountaineering and riding horses.
God knows how experts with purely philanthropic bent of mind would arrive there and stay there and teach the children different disciplines of learning.
The children were really very happy.
But it posed a problem too.
For the king.
He thought of sending people with expertise in nationalistic jingoism.

But those children, being brought and groomed in multidisciplinary works, couldn't understand what that nationalism is.
They thought the rivers of their land were part of their nation and mountains too.
And those people who worked for them, bringing in foods for them or taking care of their works or helping their teachers were people of their nation.
Even those foreigners who with purely philanthropic bent of mind came there to teach them, those school children thought them to be part of the nation too.
Those children had also learnt that asuras and devis or devs were all humans.

So when those people sent by the king arrived at the gate of the school the children protested.
They were then taken to prison on act of sedition.

Some of the teachers who were also great nation lovers, then asked the king what actually sedition meant.
The king fumbled.
He looked at his men and women.
They fumbled too.

Some even told the king that Act of sedition was severely castigated by the king's forefathers, who were great kingdom lovers and nation lovers too!

But the king thought he had done it right!
After all a king is always a king.
And nothing can stop him from being that.
Kingdom or nation.

The old man who walks by

There is that old man who walks by Subarnalata's house every morn. At around seven thirty or eight. At that time Subarnalata would usually remain busy with her works. She would either be fetching water from the road side tap or would be washing clothes.
But that old man.
He would walk by the house.
His figure bent.
His eyes almost closed.
But he would walk without stumbling.
'Adbhut lok...'(a strange man...)
Subarnalata thought every time she would see him walking.
One day, while she was washing clothes she found the man.
It was a beautiful sunny day of spring.
The leaves were whispering songs of love to each other by their rustling.
Subarnalata thought she would call that man and ask him where he would every morn go.
To work?
But in such an old age...
Subarnalata looked at the man.
He was simply dressed but not at all beggarly.
He was not a simple morning walker.
For morning walkers usually walk in groups, bantering and laughing and having fun by cracking non aging jokes.
But this man didn't belong to them.

'Is he a very lonely old  man then? With none to take care for him?'
Subarnalata thought.
'Nah...I would have to ask him...'
So thinking, she called the man who was walking away past her.
'Eijo burobaba...shunchen?'(Hey old father, are you listening?)

As soon as that old man saw her, he smiled.
A candid intoxicating smile.
Subarnalata thought she never had seen such a childish yet pleasant smile.
'Where do you go every morn? Do you just take a walk or just go to work?'
Subarnalata asked the old man in Bengali.
The old man came near her.
He without any hesitation placed her hand upon her head, and said,
'I walk as I love to walk...I live as I love to live...if I will die...I will love that too...'
Subarnalata was amazed.
'Ki je bolen...'( what are you saying...)
'Achcha...are you a saint or something?'
Subarnalata asked again, curious.
'No ...I am a lover...a terrible kind of a lover...I love myself...I got my wife back home...I love her...I got two sons and two daughters...I love them...I got birds and white cottony rabbits , and a turtle and fish in my house , I love them...i love to do gardening...my wife and sons and daughters too, my sons in laws and my daughters in laws too love doing what i do...we live that way...though they got their own works...still we love to spend some time together...i love the locality where i live...i love the temples, the mosques, the churches and buddha temples and gurudwaras, they are there in our locality...all of these places of worship...now that I am talking to you...I am thinking of you just like my another daughter...and I can see your knuckles had blackened...which shows you work hard...I would advise you to take care of them...'
Saying this the old man started walking again.
'But...what you do?'
Subarnalata asked, with her teary eyes.
'I paint and sometimes I write...and sometimes I sing...and sometimes I dance...'
The old man said, and went away.
Subarnalata was looking at the old man and she thought she felt a sudden rise of tranquility in her.
She thought her mind went blank for a few minutes.
She thought she found a strange rise of enthusiasm within her.

Writing epitaph, back

Myself I wrote my epitaph
It was probably my first post
In that space
Where I was born,
By the river of Ganges,
Way back in the nineties,

I was too young then,
Like a child,

I was too old then
Like that old man
Who would
Go by the Ganges
Sailing his bajra,
Singing stories
Of his all encompassing love,

I died out of that,
Simply I fell
And fell
Till I was no longer a boy,
Till I knew thousands were dying like me,

And that Gothic structure at Esplanade
White marble
There I died,

After that I thought
I bloomed

Whence You grow within me

Whence  you grow within me
Like a tiny little tree
Through your leaves I see
Myself ,You and me.

Manasi's Ravi

'Is it possible? Can it really happen?'
Manasi thought looking at the screen of her computer.
Just she got a mail from that highly acclaimed designer Ravi Kishore!
She was only thinking of some designs and putting them one by one into her website.
Then suddenly she heard a ping.

She thought she was watching a remake of a popular flick from Hollywood, starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks.
But it was more intense!

In that flick there was a lot of acrimony with regard to business between the two main characters.
But here...

'God! I must be daydreaming in broad daylight!'

Manasi reread the mail.
Ravi Kishore had written how much he could find similarities between her ideas and his and how much he could connect with her ideas.
He had also written a few words about his family. The birth of his second daughter. How he and his wife were kept on tenterhooks by the newborn's demands of constant attention.
He wrote he got so much busy with his family and the children that he could not scrape time for to look at Manasi's webpage.

Reading the mail, Manasi got into a shock almost.
She couldn't believe what she was reading.
She checked the mail address.
Yes, it was the official one.

'How come someone send a mail through his official mail address? What kind of a man he is? Contemplative? Magnanimous? Overtly generous?'

She replied a mail.
A very short mail.
'Gracias'
She wrote.

After that, she just started doing her work.
She would have to make the pencil drawing on the cloth.
The stencils were to be cut.
Drawings were to be made on the paper.

Her son and husband were watching a movie downstairs. Soon they would ask for supper.

She thought of going downstairs then and there and breaking the news to them.
They might be excited too!
Ravi Kishore!

Then while rummaging Ravi Kishore's website, she found a saying written in bold fonts.

'The Truth is eternal. Our happiness and sadness are transient'

Manasi actually wrote and printed some tees for a youth programme last week with the writing on the back:
'Impermanence is life, permanence is eternal'

She thought she had coined that idea.
Now Ravi Kishore also saying that!

She started pondering.

She thought she should concentrate on her works even more. She thought that Ravi Kishore might have sent that as part of his subscription mails. After all such a big designer he is!

She thought she should love her friends and family and her surroundings even more.
She thought she should give away, if possible, some of her unutilized old clothes and garments to those who had no ways or means to buy new ones.

Just then her husband and son came to her.

'The news is we have decided to make a supper for you and us... You work...
This is our weekend gift to you...'
Her husband and son said in unison, almost.

Manasi felt little drops of salty water at the corner of her eyes.