By the time I reached home, social media was replete with, “Averee is no more.”
Artiste Sanjeet Chowdhury’s flat on Kolkata’s NSC Bose Road, Tollygunge, is in a mess. The room is in the process
I was familiar with every bit of it. The green mountains, the rainforest, the blue horizon and beautiful Assamese people. It was in the month of February in 1982 when I got an engineering job in Hindustan Paper Corporation’s Jagiroad plant site.
I try not to think/Of the setting sun by the Mediterranean/And the New York Times bestseller/On my chest/
like a baby clinging to her mother’s bosom…
She preferred sitting on my chair when I placed one of her zabutons on it for my own use. She was generous, and didn’t mind that I used her zabuton without her permission. She didn’t ask my permission, either, when she used my chair to sit, or even to sleep.
My mirror has the shape of a Greek lyre. Its frame is back-to-back swan-like inverted S’s of painted black wood. Bas-reliefs of golden laurel leaves rest mid-frame on both sides. Gold also outlines its slender neck and reed-like strings rising from the small bridge across the top. Apollo himself, God of the Lyre, looks out from the broader bottom, in golden bas relief.
It was September of 1977. This forty-five-year-old memory is as fresh in my mind as if it happened last month. Indeed, do I remember what happened last month in this cluttered age? Probably not, yet the memory of seeing the greatest of all time forty-five years ago is etched in gold in my heart, in many hearts of our time.
End of summer, back to school!!! As the morning broke today with the call of the alarm clock (lazy for three full months), there was a mad rush to fill the hot cases with pasta, chop the cherry tomatoes and the baby cucumbers, and fill the water bottles.
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