Mind Tavern

The sea roared in a kettle, signalling to the lone occupant that cold winds do not come bearing gifts of tea and wool. Lifting the lid, one is reminded that every peek is reprimanded by those that pay silence to avoid consequences. The flux of leaves and water seemed like a dance of November. They would lose their colour, yet flourish like an aerated whirlpool where burns release from a dark, eternal torment. The wobbly chair from Mother's wedding found its perfect fit between two eroded rocks. Their erosion was not apparent because it had so taken to the mahogany of the limp chair that it wished to birth the seat from its own womb. Alas! If stone did birth trees, none could be a greater sin than to hide the fact about wildfires from them. They aren't a wisp to embrace, but a sight that pushes senses into the roots, so in all that ashen numbness, one might still qualify being alive. These years gather on the eyes; I dreamt of a box full of them, little fish scales stuck to...

I cancelled the paper today. The paperboy wondered for a while, then rigorously scratched my name off the list as if rewiring his route not to leave the four-rupee English daily at my doorstep. With the paper, I parted with my awareness of dates. A quick glance of the top, ignoring all advertisements in the periphery and I would know if the cabs are going to be surge-priced for the day. There was something today. I could hear my mother part with an amount of money that was considered obscene by my father. Regardless, the unsung matriarchy in the typical Bengali household was not a new sight. She’d been a bit sick for the past few days, much to the amusement of my physician, who was more fascinated by her internet research than years of medical expertise. But today, she felt a need to be better. The afternoon almost deceives you into thinking that ordinary days turn into ordinary nights. I’m not of the time when the postmaster used to sort through piles of letters to be sent out ...