lonely afternoons...

Afternoons in kolkata used to be different..the scorching sun made sure that the entire locality was silent...silent like a black night!!while in the summer vacations mom used to be at office and my sole companion was my world of dreams and enid blyton till class seven and different fiction authors henceforth.I hated those handwriting home works & those ridiculous sums which bit hard on my nerves.While in between those adventurous secret seven & famous five I could hear the radio from the neighboring house where the playlist essentially comprised of old bengali songs or shruti-natok which gave a feelings that rabi thakur still exists.My concentration broke when pasher barir Kakima arranged her utensils before going for the power nap.I knew the same radio channel would be adjusted at her bedroom amplifying the bengali songs.Breaking the pin-drop silence of the empty roads a rickshaw with its creaking sound stops at two doors next to us.Pinkididi's boyfriend has come to enjoy the silence of the afternoon.I could hear the old fan making a rhythmic sound at her bedroom.I think that the fan tried its best to overpower the sound that was being made by the passionate moves of pinkididi & her boyfriend in the old palanka.My next door Kaku never failed his evening tea at 4.30pm.He was the person who pulled in other retired kakus for an evening chat which ranged from politics to sports.Gupida also started preparing since it was almost the time for all sorkari chakures to come back home & flock at his tea stall.Then came the Khash Khobor at 6 followed by Janani...afternoons rolled into evening to night.And that marked my mom's return from office.It was the time to get back to my home works which I hated to do the most.With the sharpened pencil and empty copies in my desk I could feel the old bengali songs ringing in my head.
Today when i hardly get the time to feel the afternoon in front of numerous excel sheets & numbers I can still hear those old melodies.The cup of coffee still reminds me of kaku and the vending machine makes me miss Gupida.I miss those nijhum dupur where I had thought of growing up to a corporate lady with a pocket full of money.I did achieve my goals to some extent but I miss those afternoons where I could dream without worries.