InOutcome

A lá Kolkata: Pujo is over for yet another season with its perfunctory dose of diversion- conventional methods of break taking – nothing zany, not too cocky, even adventure has its dosage stipulated here by the meters of pseudo communist intelligentsia. And so we exhale our trademark slumber – and Holy Ghost! Let’s get on our feet and dance to the itunes of the public vagaries! Hallelujah…
Now come to think of it Pujo (like every other concept in life) is a celebration of abysmal incompatibilities. I won’t dwell on the grandiose ones like “Village swivels below an aggressive Ganges in Murshidabad while the city shines its daggers” or the perennial urbane tear jerker like “No Light in 12 year old electrician boy’s Chandennagor house” meant to feel us calculated guilt that we promptly and how conveniently forget while thrashing that just nine maid servant again.
An overcrowded street. Its nylon excitement of the sweltering multitude coupled with that diabolical impatience to push forward has driven u to the edges of insanity. U fret , u grumble, mumble strange anathema on the asinine organizers now flummoxing their ruffled feathers, the liberal push surges u to the idol, u have already lost ninety three percent desire to view the damn thing, hundred percent to appreciate it………then RELIEF. The exit gate, u quickly step out and LO.an orgasm of cool breeze, post coital succor, the vivid hushness so much antithetical to the bustle next door. U need noise to feel the silence. And entry exit pujo gates can suffice that faith.