By Anasuya Bhar
They met in an alien city After thirty years. At first it seemed unreal -- She hardly had any expectations. The other girl, now a woman, Hardly emoted, but was civil, Something that her corporate and rational Mind taught her well Over the years. They were classmates, friends – She thought she was more And also wrote a few letters Which went unanswered. Life intervened – Careers, marriages, children After years of hearsay that are Now so regular over social media, The girl, now woman, called her up. It was another girl, now her daughter That needed help with literature. Shakespeare and the rest, Poems and the prose, Who made sense of them all Beyond the ken of rationality, Or even of correct exactitude, Who could ever fathom what Magic words could do? She was stunned – But she was a teacher, and not less A dealer of words, a reader Of poetry, a lover of the arts – It could only be an exercise of pleasure. She did, the daughter succeeded. The arrow had hit the target. But this became a matter of course. When the other day, The day of colours, They met, it was the same correctitude From the other woman and the daughter, Merely a recollection of other fellow mates Never an introspective look or a glance. She recollected, travelled back To moments of past warmth Expectations, and dried up memories. Of course, there was no hint Of all this in conversation. Thirty more years may pass In the neverland of meeting, She hardly cared, anymore. It was important, perhaps, To say the proper goodbye, Between wine and the splendour of Five-star accommodation.
Dr. Anasuya Bhar teaches English Literature at a postgraduate college in Kolkata, India
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