My Dear Phool-da,

When this letter will reach you, after couple of days to that, it'll be 7th - Bhai-phota. I'm sending phota for you in this letter. Let there be no evil in your life. You're fine, right? the wind is chilly now. After Durga Puja, the season takes a new swing. The sun minimises its temper. The sky is spotless bright. Did you like the kurta I sent to you before puja?

Phool-da, nothing seems nice after you're left. When you were here, in those last days, so many troubles and fights came up. At deep night, when I used to go up to the terrace to see you once, you used to sleep like a kid. The moonlight used to fall on your childish beautiful face through the window. You looked so good. Now I feel so miserable. You tell me, what else can I do? What am I? What is my power? How can I explain how much it pained me to feel that I couldn’t keep you here?

That rainy day still sets fire in my mind, Phool-da! Each scene is so vivid till now! Endless rain was washing away everything….your friends were gathered at the main gate. Everyone in our family was crying. Maa was breaking into pieces, Baba had lost his mind… clueless, aimless... torn apart. Sejo-Mama was busy, packing your stuff. A Maruti van was waiting outside the gate. In last three months your insanity had crossed all barriers. It became a cause of worry to everyone. So much so that the doctor advised us to take you to Kalyanpur - in asylum!

Still I can see, you were staring with beautiful, yet void eyes. Your childhood friend, your dear friend Sujan-da was taking you slowly… to take you to the car! The entire colony was relishing the painful drama of our family. The mad son of Sen Babu was being taken to the asylum - what a rare spectacle! I was crying like crazy from the balcony! I wasn’t allowed to step down. It was me whom you used to love the most, Phool-da! It was raining heavily. Enthusiastic crowd was flooding everyone - everyone was having fun - rain couldn’t stop them. You sat inside the car - blank eyes. Sejo-Mama at one side, Sujan-da on the other - Baba took me there… holding my hands… I came in front of you. Baba's eyes were wet, speechless. Sujan-da stirred you, told you - 'Babu, Babu, see Babu… your Brishti has come to see you. Tell her goodbye!' Phool-da, you used to call me by Brishti! But you didn’t even look at me! I went on shouting - 'Phool-da! Phool-da!' you couldn’t hear my voice! You were dumbstruck like a stone - blank eyes… Baba said, 'Babu, your little sister has come… to see you off… look at her once, look at her.' You were motionless.

The car left for Kalyanpur through foggy raindrops… my mad Phool-da left his home! The entire house was breaking to tears like the sky of that day. It's been so long since you've left Phool-da… it's been four long years! The Maa who used to be so lively before, used to sing along in the entire house and used to do the household works like an addict, that Maa doesn’t sing anymore! She can't do her work with that perfection anymore. She just cries every time it rains… she cries a lot.

Phool-da, do you remember the photograph that was taken after you won the first prize in the school championship? Maa keeps that photograph under her pillow always. She touches that, kisses that…and…and breaks into tears.

Phool-da, it's been four years that you've left. The world around us has changed so much in these four years… Choto-Maashi got married, after Sejo-Mama has retired… his son Manik has got a job in that office only, the rooms of our second floor are complete now… now Maa and I stay in the southern room of the second floor. A new bike is bought, cooks are hired… But Baba is somehow quiet these days… doesn’t talk much like the old days… as if he's too old now…

Phool-da, your room at the terrace is locked till now… none opens that… none of us enters into that. You used to study in that room, used to paint, used to sing… what a beautiful voice you had Phool-da… Phool-da, do you remember, once in Rabindrajayanti, you sang in the local function - "Aji jhader raate tomar abhishaap… paran shokha, Bandhu hey amaar…"? Do you still remember Phool-da, everyone was so amazed to hear your song? I'd heard Baba telling Maa, "My son is a bit vagabond, but sings soooo nice!" And your paintings… those beautifully awesome paintings… they are now set in the drawing room… How could you paint so beautifully, Phool-da? You never learnt them from anyone.. neither singing, nor painting! Then how could you do those so beautifully? Your friends were so proud of you.. proud of your singing… paintings… you left home leaving all those behind.

We've been to Kalyanpur so many times… shades of green, shadows of green… it's a semi-urban village… far away from Kolkata… so many trees, so many ponds, so many birds… and your campus is also so beautiful, so quiet, so peaceful… Dr. Samanta is your doctor.. nationally famous doctor. He's known for his great skill to cure the mentally misbalanced people. You're far better now… not like the initial days. Now you don’t jump around anymore, don’t shout that frighteningly anymore… but you do whisper sometimes… you say something.. you try to say something… they try, but can't understood even a single word of it! They say, you're silent most of the time…

Phool-da, you were entirely different a man before. You used to look so handsome while smiling… you used to laugh with your heart out. Remember, you took me once to a mela? We rode the sings and I was frightened to death. But you were just laughing and laughing… I was sitting with closed eyes, your hands tightly held… after we got down, you patted on my head and said, 'Pagli! What's there to fear so much? Am I not here with you?'

Where Phool-da? Where are you now? I'm even more scared these days… Baba is almost down, Maa is so fragile now… as if someone has robbed this family's peace and happiness… all smiles, joys…life… all is robbed! I'm scared, too scared Phool-da…

You used to love a wild girl. I knew it. You didn’t tell me ever… but I knew it! Actually Pritha could never understand you… she wasn’t worth it ever. Your king-like beauty, that divine a voice, that beautiful a sense of art… these are all that attracted Pritha. But her main attraction was rich businessman Bijan Chawdhury! She had secret relationship with him… she kept it secret from you. You never knew it… and when you finally came to know it, then it was a disaster by then! Unmarried Pritha was pregnant by then… Pritha put the responsibility of it on your shoulder! My that song-loving, art-loving Phool-da got an identity of a characterless criminal in front of the whole locality.. whole society!

None knew where you were for next 7 days… everyone was clueless… Pritha's brothers had humiliated you in front of the whole locality.. they thrashed you like a thief is thrashed… you couldn’t tolerate that pain, that blow, that humiliation! After 7 days, you were found in railway station… senseless in high fever. Police picked you up, they left you at home… by then, you were complete mad.. couldn’t recognise anyone! What a time it was! So many doctors, so many people, jumping around everyone… but your insanity gradually intensified…. Phool-da, the one took your life away has a nice life now. Money power has washed away all the stains from her body, but Phool-da, you lost everything… your song unfinished, your paintings lost their colours… all the lights on Sen House are dark now.. they are stained now…

Phool-da, nothing seems right without you, my brother… I can hear you singing… you voice still floats in the winds on this house. Phool-da, please be fine soon, just like the old days… pleaseeee… so many miracles happen in this world, why can't one happen to you? You know, now a days I dream, that Maruti Van has come in front of the main gate, it's raining… the entire locality is lifeless.. you're stepping down from the car… with a smile.. smiling face… that smile…that was erased from your lips on a cursed moment … some four years back.. you get down from the car and start shouting - "Brishti, ei Brishti… you stupid, can't you see me getting wet.. bring an umbrella at once… Maa, o' Maa… which fish is there in kitchen today? What's there in the menu? I'm so hungry!"…..

Phool-da, can't it happen? Phool-da, will it never happen?

Phool-da, here is the phota on your forehead.. Bhai-Phota! - ""Bhaiyer kapale dilaam phota… jaamer duyaare podlo kaanta… jaam jemon amar, amaar bhai-o jeno temon amar hai… Bhaiyer kapale dilaam phota...""    

Your beloved sister,

Brishti…   

I got to see you after long… after a really long time. It seemed like decades, you know! Yesterday, the entire Circus Maidan was flooded by crowd. Huge stage… light and flags were all over the entire city… yesterday, all roads led to Maidan, where the centre of all attraction and excitements were you! I got to see you after long… after a really long time! You've changed a lot… slight golden hue in your hairs, heavy glasses and a nice wealthy touch in your appearance… When you were delivering your speech in that ignited voice, the fierce speed and heavenly modulation of your tone were setting fire to the whole ground - excitement, amazement everywhere. You were talking about nation, caste, religion - so many things - what a great compelling speech you can deliver!

Behind the crowd, away from them, at the corner of the ground, under the darkish shade…it was me standing and watching you… yes, I also was amazed by the great analysis you were offering about India, her past, present and future… what a lecture.

I got to see you after long… after a really long time. If this enthusiastic crowd, excited city can't, then how can this token of a semi-urban town escape your charm? Yes, I also was totally into your greatness.

You might've forgotten, but I've remembered. Those were the dark hours of heated politics. In one such hour, being chased by the police and opponents, you escaped and took shelter in our small town Palashpur. My lower class, honest, idealist, school teacher father risked his life to obey the party's command and opened the doors of our shabby hut for you - to shelter you! It was an outrageous courage for a poor school teacher. You took refuge from the heated, bloody and nasty politics of Kolkata..you took refuge in Palashpur.

Your big beautiful eyes, demanding and courageous words, and numerous brave tales about you heard from my father - all these tied you tightly with my just-young heart. It feels so strange about that bond! Remember, in those deep nights, wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the bed, inside our house lit by a dim hurricane lamp, you used to talk about China, Vietnam, Soviet…Che, Kastro, struggle, revolution? Don’t know when, perhaps unconsciously, I used to start whispering in those half-spoken words - "With revolution in heart, I'm Lenin!"

But one day you left! As autumn moves on leaving Puja's beautiful brightness behind, as a train moves on leaving an unknown rural station behind, as a wave moves on leaving the call of the shore behind… you also moved on and left a heart full of excitement for me… a heart full of hope for me… a heart full of love for me… my entire consciousness following you… but you moved on!

When the sand, stone, silence, storm, loneliness of this semi-urban town had taken your face for me, you moved on. And what was left was your natural assurance of coming back to take me with you. My father used to bring your news… from a student leader to youth leader, from youth leader to even bigger leader - the graph of your life was soaring northward… your popularity transcended Kolkata and spread all over Bengal… you hardly had time for yourself - after all, such a busy person you were. Newspapers, TV, radio etc sometimes brought you near to me, but you as a person never came back.

The state of affairs has changed. One day, you'd fought to bring revolution to this system… you gave me hours long heated speech against the system… but gradually the same you have entered into the blocks of the same system - quite easily. Quite easily you people have scrapped the word 'revolution' from your dictionary. Then the sweetness of the same system and the brightness of the same state have changed you upside down…

Dear leader, when you couldn’t change the time, all of you changed yourselves. That change was first felt by me when I looked at my father's face… that day, he came back from Kolkata and told my mother - "Amaar sob swapno bhenge churmaar hoye gelo go!" (All my dreams are shattered, my dear!") After saying this, my old helpless father broke into tears.

Dear leader, I know you're really busy. But I'm sure you've not forgotten the mean words that you'd used on that day to humiliate and throw my poor helpless father away… what a behaviour you'd exhibited dear leader. My poor father had gone there only to remind you the promise that you'd once made… idealist, honest, school teacher father had believed that the words of your lips to be the words of your heart. The idealist busy political life's excuse you'd used, my idealist father had believed in that.

Before you left, it got disclosed… my mother came to know, my father came to know - my shameless love, endless respect and ceaseless devotion for you had made me easily available for you. You took that opportunity oh revolutionary, and your child found my wombs to rest in!

You promised my father that once the turmoil of heated politics cools down a but, you would come to me, will marry me, will take me… with you… forever!     

No, you didn’t keep your promise. Not keeping one's promise is the key to succeed in politics - you'd learnt this truth in those early days itself. We tried, but you never accepted your responsibility behind my bleeding wombs… you must be knowing how you paid off the debt of a courageous school teacher of Palashpur - yes, you've paid of his debt through even more courageous humiliation…

Society is still the society. Lot might change around us, but the middleclass mindset hasn’t changed yet. So your political wind might've cooled down, but for me, deep inside the cyclone was gradually intensifying. My house, family, life - everything was shattered… what an unbearable pain and intolerable self-hatred I felt to kill one little life that even hadn’t seen a ray of life! Only I and my tears felt that agony. My father had to go - a defeated soldier has no place in the plot - so heart-attack became an excuse. My mother was dumbstruck, speechless.. she still is!

But you were climbing the stairs of growth by then.. from student leader to youth leader, from youth leader to party leader, from party leader to MLA, from MLA to…. Sky was the limit for you, right? I mean, when, where, you had some unintended closeness with what an unknown and simple middle class girl - that absolutely isn’t something that you should've bothered about! Where is the time to remember that? Why to remember that? Humanity? Conscience? Love? Huh! These are all parts of speech - to be uttered to fool a bunch of already fooled fools! What will happen to career if someone seriously gets into all these funny sentiments?

That's why dear revolutionary leader, at one hand you became bigger and bigger and I turned smaller and smaller - to my father, to my mother, to my self.. smaller and smaller…

Then? Then many seasoned have come and gone. Your wife, your children - I know them all - have seen them many time on newspapers, TV… they're so beautiful, like you… very bright, nothing rural about them!

I got to see you after long… after a really long time….got to see you yesterday. Your words still have the same determination, hope, courage, guts, enthusiasm.. the repeated clappings proved its quality. You know, once I'd cried a lot, pained a lot and out of humiliation, dishonour, anger and hatred I've even wished death for you! When love is humiliated - it pains - and I've felt the bitter pain inside.

But yesterday, after seeing you, after thinking so many things, all my long-cherished pain, anger and hatred were suddenly vanished! They just vanished! I felt - you haven’t cheated me only - it's not only me who is the victim of your treachery - you've cheated and are cheating the whole nation! You are running so hard with your selfish needs burning inside you. You talk about the poor, shed tears for the poor in public, shout with developmental propaganda… but actually you are looking for personal happiness. Your daughter is in expensive English medium school, your son plays games in expensive computer, your wife has so many expensive gadgets in her kitchen, from your glasses to your shoes - everything is so rare, so expensive… still, you're a LEADER OF THE POOR! oh poor…. You know, when I was compelled to kill an innocent unborn baby, my entire existence was crying with me, hauling with me, bleeding with me… but yesterday, while listening to your repeated, ornamented and shameless lies, I felt, perhaps it's good that the baby wasn’t born… if not anything, it had your blood in it… No… at least I've not gifted one more Meerzafaar to India… at least I've not gifted one more treacher to India… And you know, only for this joy and relief, my heart is suddenly so burdenless since yesterday... I'm feeling so light!... What a revolution I just went through!

It was raining! The entire nature starts dancing when it rains in the village. The Rainlover quickly took a bi-cycle and started riding with beautiful raindrops showering all over him. He passed by the old school where he was built once, he passed by the school's hostel where he'd tried first smoke, he passed by the playing ground where he first injured his right knee badly in a game of football and of course he passed by the beautiful people whose presence itself makes him feel – 'It’s good to be home!'

But all this nostalgic intoxication came to an abrupt halt when a man just jumped over him shouting 'Thamo! Thamo!' (Stop! Stop!) Surprised, the Rainlover, looked at the man. He was a mess! His lanky naked body had mud all over. It seemed as if he had slipped and fallen on the wet mud many times before he chose to give a ‘surprise hug’ to the Rainlover. His mud-stained green lungi also stood as a testimony to his paradise lost! But all observation went for a toss when the man resumed shouting – ‘Tumi ki haater dik theke ascho?’ (Are you coming from the market?)

‘Yes…’ said the Rainlover.

‘Have you seen a woman with a kid? Anywhere? In the market… or on the way… or anywhere?’ the man’s voice revealed he was about to cry. Tears were unidentifiable because of the raindrops. But as the man hurriedly spoke, the Rainlover could smell the real source behind all emotions – alcohol!

It was the same old story. Yet, to justify, he asked, ‘Is this regular? Regular drinking… Regular wife-slashing… being drunk? Good that she’s left you.’

The man’s voice cracked again – ‘No… it’s only today…’

‘Yeah.. yeah’ the Rainlover was convinced.

The man repeated his question, the Rainlover tried to think, but couldn’t remember if he had seen the woman with a kid. The man’s expression changed. He started running. The Rainlover saw the man seized the hands of another person who was coming from the same direction. He was shaking his hands… as if the stranger was the last hope for him. But that man also shook his head – he also hadn’t seen anyone of that sort!

The Rainlover thought of resuming his rain loving, but something struck him. So he rode to the puzzled man and said, ‘Come up…’

Then two of them started riding towards the bus stop. Through out the man went on chanting, ‘Aamr e bhool…. Aamar e bhool!’ (It’s my fault!)

It was noon, that too rainy noon… so almost all the shops near the bus stand were closed. They saw only a sweet shop was open. The man ran to that shop… the Rainlover followed. Before the Rainlover could even reach there, the man came out shouting – ‘He has seen her… she bought few sweets for the kid… oh God… they have gone to the station by bus!’ Bus? So the Rainlover kept the bi-cycle to the shop owner. It was pointless to wait for the next bus as the service isn’t that frequent. While the Rainlover was thinking what to be done, he saw the man started running on the main road – god, he was trying to stop a speedy truck! Fortunately, the truck stopped well afar before it could hit the man. The driver brought out his head and threw some 4-5 coded adjectives to the man. But the man went straight to him and started requesting to take him to the station. One drunkard knows another one very well… so the truck driver rejected all his requests.

The Rainlover approached and requested the truck driver. Repeated requests from a sensible (!) person somehow pacified the fire in the tone of the truck driver. But he was still not ready, while the sweet shop owner came out and shouted, ‘Niye ja na baba’ (Please take them, dear)!

It worked, and within some 10 minutes the reached the station. The man jumped down and ran towards the booking office. The Rainlover brought out his wallet and held a Rs 50 note saying ‘Thank you.’ The driver smiled and said, ‘No need… are you his brother?’

The Rainlover smiled, and turned towards the booking office. The man was still running. He said, ‘The man in the ticket window is saying that he just sat on the chair. The guy before him isn’t present right now! What to do?’

‘Let’s check the platforms… if…’ before the Rainlover could finish, he saw the man jumping up the stairs… the Rainlover also chased him…. The man was running on the over bridge, with the Rainlover doing the same behind him. Suddenly he stopped, narrowed his vision to one of the platforms and started clappig… ‘Oi to… oi to…’ (there she is!)

It was the first time when the Rainlover saw a man clapping like a kid after finding his woman! The man ran to her, the Rainlover also felt to do the same… it was part of his ‘achievement’ by then… but he stopped at the edge of the over bridge to cherish the following!

He saw the man ran to her, took the kid and went on kissing the little face for a while. The wife got up and started shouting… the Rainlover couldn’t hear what the man said to his woman and for next 10 minutes, he could hear only the wife to do the talking. People had gathered, few of them scolded the man, few of them requested the woman, and few of them were just having a good time! But after the prolonged tryst, the man did manage to bring a glimpse of smile on his woman’s face! Oh, that smile… what an achievement! The Rainlover was about to clap from the over bridge, but managed to control himself.

With the smile of a winner, the man took his wife and started walking… the Rainlover intentionally placed himself behind a thick pillar so that the man couldn’t spot him… the picture was so perfect in itself… when they came near, the Rainlover heard the wife frowning, ‘Dasha dekho? Sara gayee kaada’... (Look at yourself… mud all over…)

The man replied, ‘Tomar Janyo!’ (For you!)