Poetic

Poetic

On the other side of sixty, serene, frail and still beautiful Sudha considered herself to be a poet- she could create pictures with words and she thought those pictures were poems, small, beautiful and sentimental. Some of them were green some red and most of them were blue . The whole day she sits by her window, looking vacantly and wistfully out in the streets where there are people, young and old, rich or poor, beautiful or ugly, loitering, standing or hurrying. From the first floor, the forms below do not seem too distant. She wrapped the shawl tightly round her shoulders to keep away the cold wind blowing from the North. It is December, 2003.
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Nearly forty-five to fifty years ago, Sudha & Binodini were on their way back from school. Two days more and the school will close for Christmas .
Sudha declared happily 'Papa is going to publish my poems in a book form.
Really ! Binodini sounded wistful.
Yes and papa says there will be my picture too in the book.
I also write poems and every body says they are very good- Binodini said tentatively and then added- will your papa publish my poems also?

Sudha started walking very fast and almost ran the rest of the distance leaving a baffled Binodini behind.

Why should Binodini write poetry too , why cant she leave some place for Sudha, Ever since Binodini joined their school Binodini had dethroned Sudha. Bright, supple and boyish Binodini has become the first girl, the best player, the class monitor and now she says she can write poetry too Sudha must do something to stop this girl from writing poetry.

At school however Sudha was all sugar with Binodini and oh so eager to see her poems.
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The phone rang- who can it be- Sudha pushed the chair back. Rima's shrill voice forced Sudha to keep the receiver away from her ear- Didu what are you doing[- Still seating by the window? Is my pullover ready?

No darling the buttoning and seaming are to be done yet.
Do it quick Didu- next week we are going to Shimla from school.
Ok dear come tomorrow evening - it will be ready for you.
Sure!
Sure.
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Here are my poems- Binodini gave her a hard bound beautiful red diary with golden border.
I will give it to my Papa 'Sudha said solemnly.
Sure!
Sure

Sudha took the inkpot from Papa's desk opened the diary and emptied the inkpot on it and watched with satisfaction the river of blue ink engulfing the little creations like raindrops.

Binodini could not belief her ears- but how, but why.
I am so sorry, I feel like a murderer. Papa asked me to put the diary on his desk- but how was I to know that he has forgotten to put the lid on the inkpot, the whole inkpot overturned and all your poems have been washed away. Sudha brought tears to her eyes.
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Down the street corner came a little procession, four people carrying a body and rest walked solemnly behind chanting- Ram Naam Satya Hai, Raam Naam Satya Hai. The strong smell of incense reached Sudha even up at her first floor window.

Ram Naam Satya Hai, Raam Naam Satya Hai- They were taking Papa to the burning ghat. Sudha looked fascinatingly at the body covered with white sheet, garlanded and incense burning at his feet. Sudha was only ten and already an orphan. She stared blankly and uncomprehendingly at the little procession taking away with them the most precious thing in her life and the only thing that struck her was that her book of poem would now never be published.
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Sudha spotted the postman. She was already at the doorstep when the postman pushed the bell. Ms Sudha Rani Saha, 15 Chandramoni Lane, Kolkata 700020, the name and address written neatly in her own hand stared back at her. Sudha tore open the envelope a sadistic smile hovering on her face-

The Editor sends her complements for your contribution but regrets her inability to reproduce the poems.

Sudha opened her father's chest of drawers and carefully put the note alongside the ones collected since he died.

She came back to her study, the next post would come only at about 4 pm. There is enough time to finish reading Binodini's latest Book of Poems