[One more losing entry in a creative writing competition. The stipulation here was that the story had to be about 500 words. So without further ado, let me present one more reason why I should stay away from fiction]
He walked up the steps.
He was happy—another job well done. Within moments, he would be with his ten year old son and his lovely wife.
He knew he was not like any other dad or husband. A life of sitting behind a desk was not for him.
I am neither religious nor a big bibliophile. And yet the things I miss most about Calcutta and my old life , without doubt, are Durga Puja and the Calcutta Book Fair.
That is because Durga Puja is not only about religion. Just like the Book Fair isn’t merely about books.
People. Yes both of them are also about people. And the essence of Calcutta—my favoritest city in the whole wide world.
When I close my eyes and think of Book Fair, the sound of shehenai on the public-address system comes warbling back to me—through the many years that have passed. I am flooded by memories—the puddles of water on the Maidan, the discarded bamboo poles lying about, the dust everywhere stirred up by the peripatetic peregrinations of millions, the tattered newspapers flying around in a midafternoon vortex of air, the smell of freshly-printed books, the sense of peaceful hustle-and-bustle all around. All was well with the world.
Make no mistake. The Book Fair is about books. Only not just about it.
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