Sunday Reflection By Ketaki Datta

Here and There in New Year

It was Monday.Riza was waiting for a call from New Jersey!For Riza,days were too long in Kolkata.Nights were sleepless.
Tomorrow is Poila Baisakh,the first day of the Bengali year,1429.
The day was sultry.Riza wrote a poem while listening to Beethoven’s ninth symphony.
She stretched her gaze to the late afternoon sky through the window of her southfacing room.The pastel shades of fluffy clouds had many narratives in their folds.She switched on her music system and began to listen to Rondo Alla Turca of Mozart.These were her favourites!
She was still waiting for the call.Afternoon yielded on to gloaming.A lonely dusk in Kolkata,dotted with noises of the street,the caws of the crows about to return to their nests,the chirps of the birds on their valedictory flight cocooned Riza so meaningfully!
So lackadaisically!
Riza was about to walk to the bed to lie down and relax!
Riza was about to retire to the warmth of her duvet ,to the assuring hug of her pillows!
She looked back on the table where she left her cellphone for charging.
She picked the phone to switch the speaker on…
Happy Poila Boisakh…Shubho Nababarsho!
The baritone of her son,Shohan,floated into her ears…made way to her heart…jerked her to tears…

After an interregnum of five years!
Shohan had no time to call her up.
He was caught in a nonsensical union with Karen…
He forgot about the Bengali New Year…rather pooh-poohed it, considered it redundant!

Riza was crooning….Eso hey boisakh…Shohan joined in from the other end!

Night tiptoed to draw a glossy curtain on the day,ushering in a fresh,new day to follow…

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