while traversing through the gorge in the northern parts of West Bengal,
witnessed lit grasses at the dusk on the left side of the track,
that was not moonlighting, but hundreds of fireflies manoeuvering their way towards nothing,
the local kids were busy staring me while I was gazing the fiery grass,
our ecology does shape us in weird ways.
growing up in the concrete with a forest cover of 3.08% of the total geographical area,
it doesn’t really prepare you for anything, or does it?
if you discount,
crossing a four-lane road with heavy traffic in the middle of nowhere
just by waving your hands on the glass shields
communicating with the autoist; raging at you, sometimes pitying you
my mother used to take cycle-rickshaws to cross the same roads when she first shifted to Delhi,
Can I not think of anything that the city has taught me other than handling chaos; I sometimes flounder with these too.
this can’t be whole,
the skinny lanes of Chawri Bazar have no telling?
the clock tower erected for a purpose had no resolve in my life?
the forts and fortresses occupying a vast space in the city were just rubble and wreck for the 1.8 million residents of the slums?
in 2020, they can be just vestiges of an aged city, but
I have read, these vast spaces once sheltered countless refugees during the great partition,
can the present detach itself from the existence of the past?
Can I detach from the (un)learnings of that chaotic city?