Yesterday evening, as on all other evenings, the banyan briefly dallied with the river .Its tiny red fruits floated on the waters glistening in the sun like rubies.
The woman-bather, busy disentangling flickering stars of driftwood from her floating dark hair took no notice of the fruity overtures.
The last ferry did not bring him nor did the five ‘o clock circular train which disgorged people in sweaty shirts on dusty Bagh Bazar platform.The mongrel got up from its disturbed sleep sniffing at the coal-smell left by the train went back to its sleep under the current bench.
The beggars on the river’s steps would eat their early dinner and retire for the day on the platform. Somehow they had scintillating prior knowledge that nobody was actually expected on the train or by the ferry on the day or for that matter , on any other day.
Living moments 