in the evening, when everybody would be out there flying kites and gossiping about how some neighbour's achaar did not taste as good as it tasted last year, I would always look up at the sky and smell the small town aroma. I always thought I did not belong to that place. Something to do with my chronic imaginary flights. I always dreamt about a big city life. Big roads, buses, billboards, pollution, traffic jams.
Patna was different. There were box rickshaws. I used to go to school in a box rickshaw. When it rained, the man would cover the box with a blue plastic sheet. One of the best feelings I've had. To be caged inside a box rickshaw covered with blue. The rickshaw would rock its way through the bumpy roads and I would listen to the rain. Still I felt there were greater things to be done in life than looking up at rain drops falling on a blue plastic sheet.
5 comments:
They have those box rickshaws transporting schoolchildren even in Cal. In Patna, its other use was to transport bread - Shakun wasn't it?
:)
i used to travel in those box rickshaws when i was in kindergartens....they haves have that blue plastic sheet on them dont they... :)
you come across sounding like Tagore.especially the last 3 or so lines.nice..
Reading this post gives me the feeling that this girl is hopelessly lost in the long, foregone memories of her melancholic past. And how she bitterly yearns for them..and those days.
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