Wrath and Tears...

TRANSCENDENCE Right now, I am walking down the street, and observing things, people, places--basically anything that lies ahead of me. I just love reading the untold stories from these observations, sometimes I make up, at other times, the stories come by themselves. All I have to do is look at a particular place or a stranger's face, and almost spontaneously a story comes up in my head. I see a middle-aged man with a brownish muffler and a green-and-black sweater, walking at a quick but alert pace with his hands moving, making invisible ellipses in the air, and I can visualise him sitting in front of his house physician, telling him that he was fine, it was just a normal thing at his age, and the doctor sternly advising him to take the matter seriously. His daughter rebukes him, with a bit croaked voice, tells him, 'Do as doctor uncle says...". The doctor bends down over his pad and starts scribbling illegible letters, while saying in the previous stern tone, that alo...

  The Bag of Samosa “ What do you mean? You haven’t made samosa today? Why? This.... this is not good… ” “I am sorry Mihirbabu, I know how much you like samosas, but I am helpless. The owner has ordered us not to make samosas today, apparently due to some weird belief of his. So sorry, but you’ll have to find it somewhere else…” Mihir Sanyal looked dejected while walking out of the sweet shop. Samosa had now become a bad habit, one which he was certainly not inclined to let go of on that day at least. He decided, he would walk to the next sweet shop and get his samosa from there. Mihir Sanyal was just another average middle-aged lonely Bengali man living a characteristic mundane and inconsequential life. His day started in his rented house with a cup of tea and his favourite samosa, both bought from the shop adjacent to his house. He would wake up each day, have his tea and samosa, get ready for work, and leave at exactly the same time, without fail, like he had been do...