Editorial

Among the surreptitious visages created by collage boxes, I found myself in the harmonium of melodies unsung. The sandwiches lay cold, jam-tissued, marmalade-tinted spectacle lay on one side, the glasses frozen in cold water. The air was sinister, smelling of love, windchimes resurrected in tranquil pleasures through the undying, faint littany of the forest. I searched for my reflection, among mementos that were placed in a neat order in the showcase. The crippling span of night thwarted my buffalo instincts and cajoled me to positivity- to dream of a day that wore the maroon cloak in the monastery and imbibed the Russian etiquette on the dinner table. I ran my hands through the vein of language, gurgling the buttersweet hullabaloo of a city life… What to write???

How to decompose? How to learn the art of revival when the questions of art throng the streets and shades of contemporaneity.

Sreetanwi Chakraborty