Day before yesterday. Dawn was turning into morning. It was pouring. Then drizzling. I love rain. I looked out the window. Green leaves of the tree just outside were dazzling like diamonds as drops of water fell from. And though there was no sunlight, a hazy, misty golden hue reflected off the leaves, the branches, the barks. It glittered like gold. All that glitters is not gold. Calcutta, they say, is a ‘safe city.’
Night before yesterday. Darkness descended on the city of Calcutta. The evening news streamed. Through the steaming cups of endless coffee, I can hear the cacophony of politicians’ voices. But I am speechless.
I think we should all be silent. We should all hang our heads in shame. Silent shame. I switch off the television.
Another attack on a girl in the city. Another round of screaming and shouting. Another set of outraged outbursts. Another vicious cycle of venom spewing. Mud slinging. Blame games. Heaps of crocodile tears falling through hopeless hollowness.
A got a Whatsapp message. “In the forthcoming Desktop Doodle I request for your take on the incident rocking the city,” it read.
Sorry, Dada, I really do not have words to express the blackness. We are all innured evidently.
Rain turned into drizzle and then pitter-patter and then tapered off. Until it fell like crocodile tears over the city of Calcutta.
The writer is Editor, Features.