I and Ma moved to Kolkata- city of Joy. I used to fear to blink if I would miss this new glance. Silver buses instead of tractors, yellow taxis available to all unlike the white taxi available only to Jamindar uncle in our village, hand-pulled rickshaws only for 2 people instead of van for so many of unwanted people together, people running somewhere or the other, unlike our village where people found sat every evening in groups to discuss neighbours house affairs. I am in love with this new place Ma. I had turned to tell that to Ma when I saw warm tears rolling down her cold cheeks. I didn't express my excitement anymore , just held her close. Ma held me tighter. Our private yellow taxi finally stopped in front of a moss-covered wall after passing all tall buildings and fancy lights. I didn't get down from the taxi because I felt comfortable in those seats than meeting any random stranger "aunty". "Tara (Bengali Name - meaning star in English) " !! "Tara " !! help me with the luggage - Ma was shouting while pulling out luggage from the trunk. With ultimate disgust, I left my warm seat, carried my school bag, 2 more plastics and with difficulty taking one step at a time and then again dragging those plastics stood in front of the gate to those shallow walls. I was about to enter from the main gate when someone from the 1st-floor balcony shouted: "ei Meye , shamne dike na , Pechon dik diye ja "( hey girl, not from the front gate, enter from the back gate ). I was close to 4 years old with heavy bags on my back, but even with that, I was about to answer her call that my name is Tara and not hey girl. Just at that moment Ma held my hand and said: "Ji Memsab "( Yes, Madam ). We made our way from the back gate. We walked across the brick-laden bushy way to our one room and a small extended room called the kitchen and a common washroom. I understood one thing at the age of 4 - The City of Joy is not the same for all.
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That's How Life Is
AdventureThis story is about my life since childhood. The days and nights of any normal girl . Some wants to forget . Some actually forgets . Some remembers the best , some remembers the worst . But we are always told not to speak about it . We always have t...
