From The Quill

Having grown up hearing the stories of Agomoni from our grandparents' generation, how Maa Durga is but a daughter returning home to us, for five days, and the blue sky and white clouds being a reflection of her happiness on her impending homecoming. Then suddenly clouds begin to gather, and my grandmother would often say, Oh look, there it is, Shiva seems angry. Why, I would ask, the eager child in me, always having a love for stories. And love stories. The clear blue sky and the fluffy white clouds are another natural thing that preludes the Dhak of Durga Pujo. Every time I see it, no matter when and where, it reminds me of her. Having grown up hearing the stories of Agomoni from our grandparents' generation, how Maa Durga is but a daughter returning home to us, for five days, and the blue sky and white clouds being a reflection of her happiness on her impending homecoming. Then suddenly clouds begin to gather, and my grandmother would often say, Oh look, there it is, Shiva se...

Like the clear blue sky and cotton clouds after a spell of grey clouds and thunderstorms that often prelude Agomoni, happiness reflected in Kanai's eyes. There was lights, Dhak and celebration in the City of Joy. After two years of despair and struggle it seemed like Ma Durga was truly home. He watched the streets crowded with eager onlookers, people waiting as the aroma of the freshly made egg rolls hit his nostrils. The day ended at dawn for them. Baba counted the money in the box with a smile. Maybe it meant Maa wouldn't have to go back to working her "night shifts' and return home teary eyed, reminding Kanai to stud harder than before. With eyes full of hope, Kanai folded his hands, She smiled back. © Suranya

 Lost in the trail of success,  Fame and time.  He walked into the empty Villa.  Turning on the lights of his luxurious home  His eyes fell on the wall full of pictures. Moments that have passed by.  Her smile. Her tears. Her fears,  All came haunting back. He gulped down the drink.  Not letting the guilt get to him again. Trying to forget the pain Void.  Emptiness, Regret. Despair. He lost her,  First slowly, then all at once.  He had never paid attention  To her silent screams.  Her vanishing dreams.  He realised it all day.  Her presence was replaced in a moment,  By a paper and memories.  And he knew for sure.  In the rat race called Life  He had lost this once.  Life in all its flavours.  Is it worth the fame and success?  Only if someone is there  To share it with you.  Life was always about  Chasing dreams for him.  Until today, he has realised  S...

 Riding with the tides  He had gone on many adventures;  Each moment at war  Went like a flash of thunderbolt  Before he could return home. Waiting somewhere in the palace,  Her eyes were on the horizon,  Each day of separation  Unbearably engulfed in loneliness  And time was calculated in heartbeats. © Suranya

 I sit crouched up on the topmost post,  Of the tower meant to overlook the waterhole I feel dizzy, but god forbid I sleep The fate of the country rests on my  Keen eyes, I keep alert. And just like that, in the calmness of the night,  Sounds of commotion are heard coming by The horizon flared up in smokes of dust  Hooves and trumpets all from afar. I wake from my trance, in time to ring the bell  Alert the soldiers who sleep in the cells. I gather my weapon, they lie long in the dust  Time to raise them at the targets, discard the rust. Gunshots and arrows, war calls and cries  My ears are deafened by the noise of life. I remember briefly the people waiting back home  Parents, children, and the one who nurtures them. I raise my rifle and shoot at them, roaring. A bullet grazed me, and I lay down bleeding. Here is my breath about to stop, the camp lost  My life is just another number game. © Suranya