Hey You !

This write up came back with a note of regret – for not being able to make to the next round in the competition, to the editor's table. Well, this is the first time I competed , that is if I do not count the House Competition essay writing, where I came second after Champa. Actually I do not why I took part – chance, curiosity or plain gambling …..because writing for me has always been a catharsis – an expression that I can share …..So no regrets , really! The road may be narrow and dark…….. It was 1983 and life with Baba always veered on the unexpected and the adventurous. Like that road trip from Kolkata to Delhi via Agra. We had this faithful Ambassador that took us on this journey with Baba at the helm and our cleaner Kalipada as his first assistant. I was the official navigator and Giri uncle, my father’s friend, in charge of our ummm, let’s say security, since me and my cousin Dimpi, both all of 18,  needed an escort , officially. Baba always liked the un-tr

I changed my FB DP to a solo pic after eons. I guess it's time to let it go...Store away the memory and move on with the times.  Some memories die a natural death and some a sudden death.  I stood in front of 1/11 B Maqbool Alam Road in a state of shock. Those 3 minutes were like eternity when I realized that my childhood memories are lost forever.  I had  always wondered who lived in that bungalow where I had spent all my childhood vacations. I  often wondered if I went back. will  someone allow me to lift the shutter of the iron gate and let me take a peek at the "Champa gaach" , under which I used to build pebble houses and played with my dolls.And where we found a  snake coiled into a roll one morning much to everyone's horror!! We had a neighbor who went by the name of "Aloo". And we had a neighborhood school called "Bal Niketan"run by a lady called Suchitra , who dropped her surname because she was married to a Muslim , and the status use