I am Bankim Biswas and what I write is a lot of bunkum and wishwash. For instance, it’s bumkum that I’m an old 500 Rupee note. Old, yes I am for sure. But let’s make believe that I’m an old 500 rupee note numbered 5BP 6350JJ signed by someone called Governor YV Reddy.
Today, I lie in my final resting place in some obscure vault of the RBI, awaiting my imminent demise in some shredder that will be purchased by deploying my successors i.e. new notes signed by the new Governor Urjit Patel. While I enjoy my last moments of static bliss, I recollect moments of my younger days when I was virtually in a state of perpetual motion. Right from the time of my birth as a scrap of paper and being coloured green and imprinted with Gandhi photos in a minting press, I’ve been in constant motion.
It wasn’t too long ago…
That we met on a bright, sunny afternoon by the sea,
Those beautiful lips breaking into ever-widening smiles,
Those deep brown eyes drowning me in their merriment,
The silence conveying more than any voice ever could…
The tale of a girl who rises to symbolize a revolution that Bengal forgot. The Matsanyaya revisited.
A Village in Bengal: 739 AD
The coat of water that had formed a smooth layer on the dirty utensils reflected the sunlight onto Gauri’s face. The silence of the lazy afternoon was broken only by the constant waves of the running water, and the birds that deemed fit to hum, undaunted by the stillness of the season. The mosquitoes had formed a swarm over her head. Cleaning the utensils had been her ritual since her mother died; her mother had done this throughout her life, at least from the time she knew her.