SPIRIT OF ASTHAMI EVENING

I fancy whether violet and yellow agree with each other. But neon and sodium vapour flooded the air with a prehistoric mystery. The atmosphere was trembling with drumbeat as if waiting for something very special to happen. The rustling of sarees, exquisite smell of French deodorant made the expectation yet more tempting and luring. The blue-bronze sky made above head a Persian canopy studded with diamonds and emeralds. The evening looked like the queen of Babylonia who had died long ago but her spirit still haunts in the purity of beauty and aestheticism.

It was Asthami night. The spirit of festivity was at its peak. I was standing in a dark corner of our neighbourhood pandel. My expectant eyes were looking for her. But I could not find her. I wondered where she might be at that moment. Would she be that cruel not to allow my eyes to have a glimpse of her. Drums were beating at the rhythm of my heart beat. Now I understood what was the expectation that rent the air, what was about to happen. It was she who was going to grace the occasion with her majestic presence.

Such is the spirit of the Asthami night—when every bit of life is radiant with elegance and splendor. As if cosmic Mother let loose the heavenly beauty on everything. Even my next door girl looked so cute that I sneaked a surreptitious glance at her. The imagination of Vedic poet captives the cosmic motherhood in the idol of Ma Bhagabati Durga. An incessant flow of bliss was streaming down from her. Suddenly drum beat went mad. A tremor made its way through the crowd. Yes, she arrived. Her reddish purple saree caught the entire pandle in blaze. I bequeathed Mother Durga not to allow her pain my soul any more. May there be a little room for me in her otherwise indifferent cruel heart.

Sunday Afternoon

Burtrend Russell rightly observed “Only fool dies in workhouse”. And God could not deny the fact. So, He establishes a rule of rest day ie. Sunday. This is the day when workhouse let loose its hand on us. On Sunday we are a lot of free and frolicking people. Sunday has a universal, if not eternal, appeal on people. The very approaching of Sunday brings about a queer pleasure in our mindset. Sunday yields a mysterious chemistry even in a die-heart stern man thus metamorphoses him into a funny and amusing man. Who does not welcome Sunday with a smiling heart. This is the day when man takes rest.

But each man has its own definition of rest. There may be one who undertakes a long bi-cycle ride on Sunday. He feels he has his rest. He feels his soul is recharged. He is ready to take is next week assignment afresh. But I enjoy Sunday in my own style. I enjoy sleep, reading literature, listening to music and participating in games. But sleeping is the top most agenda in my Sunday treat-list. I rise late on Sunday morning. However Sunday is not complete without some of my favourite dishes form Mom’s kitchen. My Sunday flows quietly and lazily and I enjoy every bit of it. I am fond of reading Agatha Christie. An adventure of Herclue Poirot just foots the bill of my Sunday afternoon.

I personally prefer and absolutely private holiday. The day I want to live only with my family. Seldom I do invite any guest on Sunday.

SWEET MEMORIES OF SCHOOL DAYS

It is very sweet to recall those happy days when I was learning my first lessons and playing and adventuring at my school. Who can ever forget school days? Walking down memory lane, I find the days are still fresh in my memory. It was an early summer morning, my Mom took me to my first school. The colossal school building and hundreds of parents and students thronging in the school gate made me tensed and scared. But it was as if with a touch of golden magic wand that my scare transformed into a deep likings as soon as the lady teacher stepped into the class room. Her delicate and charming personality cast a pleasant atmosphere in the class and that was all the beginning of my long schooling days. When I turn the old pages of my school days I find them still studded with unforgettable experiences of outing and excursion with loving and caring teachers and various programmes that I had taken part actively.

The last day of my school was a mixed experience. We were vibrant with enthusiasm of stepping into the new horizon of higher studies and at the same time the very thought of parting from our school mates and beloved teachers made us awfully sorry.