Soumya Scribbles...

[...] 23, Kashi Bose Lane, Calcutta, then. This is about a time when Calcutta was still colonial, atleast by name. A [...]

[...] and ofcourse cricket. There was never a hurry. Technology was still pregnant with 3G and mobile phones. People were slow, quiet and understanding. They won't excuse themselves from elders. [...]

[...] once it was broke. An old old city in India and the crowded streets, the dirt, the dust, the rickshaw pullers, roadside tea stalls with candles, shops semi-lit, hawkers invading footpaths, the hustle [...]

[...] over it, was wise. Even during the summers, it would be cold, thus. Men, all wearing kurta pajama would sit on it and play cards, talk business, futures and ofcourse cricket. There was [...]

[...] . This is about a time when Calcutta was still colonial, atleast by name. A time when hand-pulled rickshaw and its chime used to define the sounds of the city, a time when communism was still [...]

[...] holding breaths and the unending moisture wets. A cactus is born with red rose. To this Dhansiri riverside, where the nostalgic Shalik looks back with dark eyes, you may yearn for a return to the [...]

[...] moisture wets. A cactus is born with red rose. To this Dhansiri riverside, where the nostalgic Shalik looks back with dark eyes, you may yearn for a return to the place that you have searched [...]

[...] - Deep, masculine, unsaid. Like a woman it touches. Poets die - They depart on their four-legged sabbatical cot as autumns come and winters stay. Let frail leaves and dried ink count unwritten poems. [...]

[...] up river that shies below the draughted earth. Above, they kiss holding breaths and the unending moisture wets. A cactus is born with red rose. To this Dhansiri riverside, where the nostalgic Shalik [...]

[...] a child looks at the West every evening and wonders if the Sun will rise at all. On a chalked territory where the name starts selfishly with 'I' women wear iron-guards over breasts and men helmets, [...]