Evening of Affections 🌇

There was a continuous rambling on the iron door knocker and a very ancient man was sitting by the window looking outside, just near to the door. That man was deaf. Not by any disabilities occurred to him due to biology but by society. This is what we are affected with these days; terrible society. And our scattered affections remain fallen off like a turned old book by the side of an empty jar which once belonged to some sort of sweets. Now nowhere to be found in the bazaar anymore. We are losing our affections, our smiles, our satisfaction like an evening, which was dead already. In exchange to that, we are forced to listen to the shouting of ambulances on the irregular roads, as they are not taken care of anymore. The rambling on the door knocker was still there. Far away a girl was heard playing the harmonium "নীল আকাশে কে ভাসালে.. সাদা মেঘে খেলা রে ভাই.. লুকোচুরি খেলা..।" A setting evening, singing about hiding and fresh mornings! This is how we are sniffing and munching for dreams. Society is killing our dreams but our evenings are giving birth to them secretly, 'hiding' behind the beliefs of an orthodox lantern, lighted for the homes. 

Those lanterns are then carried inside the house where a very old familiar song was mingling in the choking air of the 'home'.. the words of that song were something like this .."Kabhi humme-tumme bhi chah thi, kabhi humse tumse bhi raah thi.. Kabhi hum bhi tum bhi the ashna, tumhe yaad ho, ki na yaad ho.." What pleasing lines to mourn, to cry, to whisper in the void about. The door knocker was still hitting the door! Suddenly a crystal white Saari, breaking herself into the plague of impatience peeped from the roof towards the rear to enquire after this rambling. There was no one. But a child racing and paddling on his new bicycle. That kid was happy. He is contained with incomplete and growing up affections like a lightning up of a street light to fear out the stale affections of a closed-door with no door knocker, broken lanterns on the rooftop storeroom and a torn brown saari which was heavy with the sweat of the entire summer day. 

Who was singing again? Who was sitting by the window? There was no stereo. No harmonium. Yes, someone is sitting by the side of the window. A cat with a bushy tail and a pair of big eyes. Contained with affections and Melancholy of Akhtari. 🌅

Indiraa 🎠 (S.M৴..)