Hello Dolly | Chapter 2.

Hello Dolly | The middle scene |

The Winter of a juvenile Jamshedpur.

You have been long gone for a month but I can still smell of the farewell adieu before you left. I know that your family needs you. I know that your sister needs you. I know that I need you.

I wish I could convey my feelings before you left for Pune. Three months after, I got posted in Jamshedpur. It is a beautiful little town under the umbrella of TATA industries. Things are fine here.

My window is perfect but it is incomplete without your presence. My home is perfect but it is incomplete without the sound of your ‘sondha aarti’ (evening prayers) with ‘Maa’. My kitchen smells of fish, onions and fried potatoes but it still misses your cuisine for ‘mutton kosha’. Yes, I still miss you. But why did you not miss me? But why did you not mention ‘Ayan’?

It is your sixth month in Pune. I can see your feed being invaded by this individual. Ayan Mukherjee, a typical Bengali guy with that charm of a doctor but a dentist at the end of the day. I did not know that your interest in ‘salt and pepper’ has changed. From the looks of your posts, I can conclude that you are dating him. I hope you understand the difference between dating a guy and coming in a relationship. I do not mind seeing you in the arms of someone else. I can only blame myself for not conveying my feelings about you. Would you have accepted it? Would you have still replied to my texts like you are doing right now after knowing the truth about me? Let me leave in the comforts of the blanket of lies on a winter of a juvenile Jamshedpur.

I still remember when you used to visit my room on Sundays. That red ‘bindi’ which you used to borrow from ‘Maa’ before visiting the ‘kali Maa’ temple is etched like a poster on my memory lane. I miss the smell of your hair that gives a tough competition to any Bengali maiden. After-all, the length of the hair and the depth of the kohl around the dove-shaped eyes are the dandies of all Bengali girls in Bengal. You adapted yourself in our culture just like our sands being plunged in waves.

Dr.Ayan Mukherjee fills the gap beside you, rather perfectly well. It is not jealousy that smells of my words but love. I have never seen you so happy after ‘baba’ passed. I believe you are genuinely happy. How can I be mad at you when you were never aware of my feelings counting today! Maybe love is not about being with the person you love. Maybe love is about praying for the person you love so that he stays happy irrespective of your presence. Maybe the reason why I still remember you in my prayers. Maybe the reason why I still pray for your happiness.

Jamshedpur is kind during winter. I wonder how does Pune taste during summer. I will be gone from here in a few months. I know you will be coming soon to Alipurduar only to be dressed as a bride. That shall be your final sermon for your next journey. Will it be difficult if I confess my feelings for you before the vermilion marks your forehead forever?

That night where we exchanged more than words, the secrets we produced got burdened in the sounds of thunder. It did ignite my true self for you. The next morning I could not help but confess my feelings for you. I stopped and to this day I lament why didn’t I?

Do you still remember what had happened in that lust cladded night?

To be continued in Chapter 3.