Holi, Somewhere Between Then and Now
It is Holi today— and the morning arrives softly, not with the reckless laughter of friends but with a quiet knock of memory. I close my eyes and I am no longer here. I am walking through the lanes of Kolkata , where spring hangs like a secret between old balconies and tangled wires. Spring arrived in fistfuls of color, laughter echoing through terraces, pink dust soft on familiar faces. Now I work. The day passes in quiet files and screens. Yet somewhere, beneath this careful routine, a small streak of gulal still refuses to fade.
