This street knows me very well; has seen me grown up.
This street had taught me to cross the road and to learn varied car brands.
This street is what I adore; where I walk lorn when I need a shelter from all humdrum.
The school that I had studied is not a small one. The teachers who were there had retired
Or had left the school. Still, when I meet them, they talk to me like am that spectacled kid.
One is not in contact for a decade; it was me who had stopped the conversations.
We had a fallout on a girl; he loved her I loved her. My first love was that.
These days when I think of once, I think if I could bring those days back.
One is not in contact for half a decade; time, at first, then, life is the reason sole.
He dreamt of becoming an Indian cricketer; playing for the country.
Last time I saw him, we talked on he had become a nine to five employee.
One is going to get married a few days later; I’m waiting for this day for so long.
He is the first with whom I had my first drink. He is the one who had been there
Whenever I needed help, whenever I needed a consultation.
One is busy with life; Facebook, Whatsapp all we’ve; his birthday is same day, not month.
We start off, being foe nineteen years ago, and ended up being friends, being a team
working together. He is a brilliant handsome guy with no affair, no addiction.
One has got married and now a wife of a lawyer; living in Delhi; she was my closest once.
She was the only girl for who I didn’t fall and she knows that well. We do not talk much
now but when we do Apocalypto has also to sitbeing despised. She is my angry teacher.
One is a busy entrepreneur; I like her; I had told her, but, she had said nothing ’til now.
We don’t meet much. We don’t talk much. But, when we talk I let her do the talking
Because I like to listen to her. She carries a vibe of positivity around her.
One is my brother from another mother; he’s there when I broke down;
He’s there when I need to be clicked; a score and a four our friendship running its show.
We quarreled, argumented enough to severe the tie, but, it’ll never happen I know now.
I had grown walking in these alleys, bylanes, byroads. I’ve known my city through it.
The store that is at the bylane, few minutes from my home, was the first from where
I bought my first cigarette and lightened it there; keeping an eye around. I was late-
seventeen then; the wine shop that is few minutes from the shop is from where I had
My first bottle of vodka; I was in late nineteen then. Street, friends all have changed now.
I don’t know what owning a house means. Here and there and still I am a tenant with
Ma. I had grown up in different houses, different streets, different neighbors. And I
what I today is of all these factors, all these aspects.
I had cried first when Didi left for his in-laws house after marriage.
These streets had seen us growing up. Had seen her love story getting unfurl.
Now they see her with her son every morning or evening on way to school or
Park. The park that is there just a few minutes from my home had seen me carrying
The lad for an evening stroll or taking him for the pandal hopping during Puja.
The road that goes by turn into crossing the new police station, there lives the man
Wisest I’ve ever met. He was not my teacher, but, also the one who used to read my gibberish poems When I had started writing. From him, I came to know of my father a lot.
Gibberish poems when I had started writing. From him, I came to know my father a lot.
At his place, in his tuition, we met. The bylanes, bystreet, neighbor had seen us roaming
Hand in hand. I do not remember whether it had rained or whether there were the roads
were full of fallen leave when I had held her hand first time.
Now she is a mother of one little daughter. And one of the dearest friend I have from my
Growing period. Love, you ask nothing there. Because we were young, we were
Recognizing the world then. So discard that thought, mon ami(e).
Changes are inevitable. That’s why the field where I and my friends used to play or
Chat; where the annual fair and many more small fairs used to held is now a stadium
With a mall beside. There are apartments, expensive buildings demolishing the old.
The stretch of bypass that used to be desolate almost after nine, is a busy one. The
Darkness cannot be found as they are halogen lighted. The number of vehicles, public
Buses have increased. This street has grown with me one can say, I can comment.
The road that leads to the Petrol Pump, where the Durga Puja is a popular one
Had seen me walking with her in a wet April evening. Weaving dreams besides
Giving her a walk through the streets names and where can they lead to.
The Mall, I mentioned, had seen us on a date for the last time. The street that leads away
From there had seen us traveling for the very last time together. The street is witness to
Many of my life happenings.
A few months later it had seen me walking back home in drunken footsteps with my
Office colleague. I hadn’t cursed her, but, had lament for her. This street, these bylanes,
These bystreets had listened to them.
She had come to our home on a September evening and had leave one April evening,
One year and seven months later. She used to stand there at balcony looking out at
The street. She liked to keep standing there and with failing eyes used to look at the
Crowd, at the people, at me going to the office, at Ma going to the office.
This street has taught Ma how to ride a bus for the office. This street had seen her going
To her office on the first day with her father. This street had also carried his hearse–
I was seven then. I vaguely remember him. Helping me to board the school bus.
The street has seen me grown up. The street has carried the last journey of my Dadu,
Dida. The street had let me walk with my lovers. This street also accompanied me
When I need to talk to self or need to be calm. At night, it is my muse.
The street, the people, the shops, the shop owners all know me by name. Some like me
Also. Due after due, order after order–they never said a word to me except few.
A decade or so from now, when I’ll bid farewell, I wish of a wet April morning or
Melancholic dry leave-filled street of November to carry me.
That day, my friend, do not follow me. Do not crowd behind my hearse. Because I
Do not want the street to feel left out. Instead, celebrate my farewell not my life.