The Last Ride

“My imaginative prowess will help you to sail through this piece not your logic”

The cosmic racecourse muddled with smog and vehement neon light piercing the meadow strangled my regular thought process and siphoned me into the solitary corridor. In a state of trance, I ambulated on the pavement jutting out from the boundary wall of SSKM not perturbed by the throng of people who jolted among themselves to embark on the right bus. Skewing easily through the commotion my whole sole endeavor was to douse the flame of some of my scintillating memories which I can’t cherish anymore but only lament with feeble hope. Cars speeding down the AJC Bose Flyover, the staircase of Rabindra Sadan waved good-bye to the last couple, cops guarding the cultural hub of the city donned in their blue duty coat with baton under their arm had already started making their move.

The deserted look around craned my loneliness and craving for a character which is nothing but surely an enigma and would remain so for the rest of my life. Why me??? Why me??? Why am I not lucky like the others??? Relentless ….questions. Why am I so dump and incorrigible; there is something called destiny and I was never destined for it; ok; then why did he allow me to taste it for some time and just when I started to take a liking for the same, the surge of all the wrong things took it away from me leaving me at loss. Although I really don’t have any solid reason to feel like an outcast but at times I am left maroon.

It was closing to 9.30 in the night a hearse was pulling in with a survillent fog light atop which showed the corpse its final direction. The road ahead of the hearse was empty but still it was crawling down probably to honor his last wish to show him around the finest state –of-the-art facades. His receding hairline fostered all the wrinkles on his broad temple; he would be somewhere around sixty-five and sported a rugged look with beard like spikes on the final day. Rapped with the quintessential white sheet leaving his feet all cracked on the heels. Two wilted white circular garland resting on his flat chest, the smoke of the Bidi, which the helper sitting next to the driver was smoking was making up for the scented agarbati, which I missed out (Or it was never seen in the first place). Prodigal use of parched paddy was missing; the countenance, which my eyes captured, said that; while breathing out his last breath he was unable to keep it simple, his mind was shuttling between agony and too much of ecstasy. Apparently, it appeared to me that the corpse, which used to be a full fledged man even some time back couldn’t build any relationship on his own apart from whatever was bestowed upon him (and today most of his blood relations’ have alienated themselves; if there is any). He failed to restrict the agony of an outcast from surfacing on his face, which was showcased to the city on his final journey.

Few more hours to go, then like the soul his body will also be set free from all the parochial misery and sufferings. (And I see this to be a very evident point which bought that clandestine smirk on his face which was never that easy to decipher for me). My inquisitive eyes stalked the hearse for some time and scanned the surroundings, which showed no trace of acquaintance in account to the body. No sobbed face around to bid him good-bye for one last time or they have already done so when he was still living his mortal life. Just when the hearse was completely out of my sight, I could realize the ebb of grief plummeting my craving and loneliness.( I am utterly blessed with such lovely parents and have also earned some love and trust from people with whom I don’t share any blood relations’ just with mere ordinary acts).

While screening the posh cars in the parking lot of the Grand Calcutta Club I only wished him, a peaceful pyre coupled with a vivacious and complete life ahead. (Probably I am not lucky like the others but undoubtedly better off than him)