Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Locus


















So, I took a train home to Calcutta. A Duckback carry all. The rubber logo was partially peeled. *Duckback*, it said in yellow with an oval border running around it. A jute bag with cane handles. The writing in red had smeared on the off white grid of natural fibres. From years of use. That was the last I saw of them. For after I returned home I never heard of them again.



That night after everyone left, and it was time for us to go home, you had said you wouldn't mind a walk. Exactly a year. Like a maddeningly, unreally beautiful run in the rain. Underwears full of water. Shoes oozing mud. Lungs full of laughter.


It's like a strange dream. Set in the hapless and desolate context of thousand others that were shattered.

This post is in remembrance of many many people, places, especially: Dhruva. Dibyo. Donee. Dobandi. Dhakuria. and a couple of Dasguptas- one without hair, the other hates typography.


6 comments:

  1. Enunciating such Expressions of Excess, you elucidate in every reader emotions of ecstasy :P

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  2. much love, my person. both my persons, actually.

    and blessings.

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  3. No Idea (as usual) about what just happened there. But I expect you to be lost in the moments yet again... Damnation, I sometimes wish I could give you something you could use to just fade away and radiate.

    ReplyDelete