In a hospital green couch, of a college staff-room, Shabdita Nayak sat in her starched black cotton saree, with her ear-phones plugged in and her fingers fiercely typing on her notebook. The starch was so crisp that it made the black seem grey. She had just had her lunch on a motley bunch of regional snacks -- happily shared amongst a motley group of regional colleagues -- and some unofficial gossip and defined determination to rough it all out in her next off-period.In between she also managed to cross couple of hurdles on her mobile game. That was last year. July. She was on one end of a see-saw, on the other end an invisible body of burden. Sometimes Shabdita could see her. On a see-saw, one either sees or gets the saw. Gradually, she befriended her, on the other end. Last year, through July, they made new friends in the park -- Firoza, Wahida, Mridula. Good friends, bad friends, mad friends. There was not a day they didn't tide the outcast.
Last year. July was thirty one different days. With an invisible, body of burden humbly befriended. From there, today would seen most unlike to Shabdita. She was writing about herself, the distances covered and the destinations left behind. She covered some in letters, some in faith, others in love. She uncovered secrets, discovered ambition and rediscovered herself. Those thirty one days had given her strength to travel three sixty five more, to reach here. The continuity of change is persistent. Here she sits, no sarees in her cupboard, no students beckoning upon her, no inhibitions to live with, of the next.
Shabdita looks at her treasured chest; whispers sing to her of known melodies, her friends. They are no longer with her. Helter and skelter she withdraws from her comfort to look for Firoza and other tales. They are as faint as the essence of lemongrass, long stocked. Shabdita runs towards her team, they run further fast. Shabdita closes in, they close away. She thinks she is lost. But everything is familiar -- the empty chest, the whispers of her vanishing friends.
Walking alone on a pavement in the clouds, she suddenly feels it giving away too, and as she was about to panic, she realizes she was falling in a proper balance. The balance was held tight by her friends. All this while, they remained where they were. In thirty one different days, chapter after chapter, a soul slit to fit. Every fall was synthesised with an effort to fly.
Love lived in an empty bottle full of nothing. She looked deep into it, sometimes sniffing, sometimes smiling.
"Poor girl. She had a lot of talent they said" the matron informed the new Doctor in the asylum. Shabdita sat there, holding a bottle, and smiling through it, straight into the Doctor's eyes. She knew she would wear a shining medal for her works soon. Here it is! Golden, shining.
Dr Pachrisa took Shabdita's hand and brought forth his brand new Littmann stethoscope. Golden, shining.
Last year. July was thirty one different days. With an invisible, body of burden humbly befriended. From there, today would seen most unlike to Shabdita. She was writing about herself, the distances covered and the destinations left behind. She covered some in letters, some in faith, others in love. She uncovered secrets, discovered ambition and rediscovered herself. Those thirty one days had given her strength to travel three sixty five more, to reach here. The continuity of change is persistent. Here she sits, no sarees in her cupboard, no students beckoning upon her, no inhibitions to live with, of the next.
Shabdita looks at her treasured chest; whispers sing to her of known melodies, her friends. They are no longer with her. Helter and skelter she withdraws from her comfort to look for Firoza and other tales. They are as faint as the essence of lemongrass, long stocked. Shabdita runs towards her team, they run further fast. Shabdita closes in, they close away. She thinks she is lost. But everything is familiar -- the empty chest, the whispers of her vanishing friends.
Walking alone on a pavement in the clouds, she suddenly feels it giving away too, and as she was about to panic, she realizes she was falling in a proper balance. The balance was held tight by her friends. All this while, they remained where they were. In thirty one different days, chapter after chapter, a soul slit to fit. Every fall was synthesised with an effort to fly.
Love lived in an empty bottle full of nothing. She looked deep into it, sometimes sniffing, sometimes smiling.
"Poor girl. She had a lot of talent they said" the matron informed the new Doctor in the asylum. Shabdita sat there, holding a bottle, and smiling through it, straight into the Doctor's eyes. She knew she would wear a shining medal for her works soon. Here it is! Golden, shining.
Dr Pachrisa took Shabdita's hand and brought forth his brand new Littmann stethoscope. Golden, shining.
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