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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Lovingly, Apu Prithwiraj Chowdhury Pulu, how are you? Are you all well, these days? This pen is down on spark, too soon, quite a dismay! These letters are tracing more and more blurry , even more than a foggy winter morn, Where all these years got eloped, along the way? How come, a mystic fate, for so long? It seems, as if , these gone days, the sundial rested the bonded mystery on a railtrack. With a longer story to tell, between, I managed your address , now it is with me. Silly me! I have simply forgotten to introduce myself, a thing in my task list, yet to see, Can you recall me? I am roll number forty six, Apurba Kumar Roy, to be more precise. Last time, I saw you in Nagpur, in a factory workplace. Do you know what happened, then? I visited Khulna, Aparna’s village place. Khulna, in Bangladesh, now, so the map says. Who is there, still living in residence? Is there anyone remaining, who calls you “Pulu”, other than me? Kajol is a married family man now, he is posted in Calcutta, with his service. Apart from all these, let us come to the topic of this letter, why so, why this one, now? Do not have any clue to begin with words, to fetch a river of tears with cobblestones, to let you know. It has been almost thirty years since we last met, no correspondence , nothing at all! Perhaps you will say, “It is all your fault, why did you not do so, to add up to makeup?” No stories of addition are left these days, all evolved with subtractions along a lifeline! My sister left at age six, dad at ten, and while at seventeen, mom left me, for good. And the spring on a blossoming twenty two, took away Aparna, too! And not only them, in a seasoned present tense, all are gone, the smoke train engine, my nightingale of sorrow. (To be contd.)
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