Parabarti

PARABARTĪ.

KOLKATA ONE. JULY 2017.

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He reached out for a tanga, braced his chest and screamed, "Duto goli jaabo! kotho chahi?"

With a turban on his head, trying to add life to his shaded hair, A skinny old aged man spoke.

"Kotho jon ache?"

The tall man next to me brought the shoulder to his ears, pointing two fingers at the sky, said "Du jon" "Theek ache. Kudi taaka" Said the man with the turban.

As I was trying to reform my confused state, he turned to me and said, SIT. Eyes almost closed, voice as deep as a humming bee, I was flattered.

And he was arrogant, I thought.

A street as wide as not for more than a tanga to pass by.

Dim filaments at equal distances lit the narrow lane, for it to look like a bright dawning sky.

It did add magic to the present.

A mellow ride through the silent world, After stopped the tanga, underneath an old balcony.