The Vacation Part-5

About Debjani

Debjani Mukherjee a MBA in applied management loves to play with words and shaping her cognizance of life in poetry. She behold human nature very meticulously and mastered the art of pouring her fulfilment on paper skilfully. Her poems, short stories and articles are published in many international anthologies and magazine

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Part 5

“In our culture food is connected with our emotions, our happiness, our festivals. Every region has its unique food culture, completely different from the other, undividedly netted with our social and emotional aspects. We even have prickles of hundreds of varieties; the recipes keep passing from generations to generations.” Purvi said with an aim to enrich Goergi’s knowledge about Indian food, as she munched her keema paratha.

“It is quite tasty,” said Goergi as taking a bite from his paratha. “I have eaten parathas before in Delhi but it was a vegetarian one with stuffed cauliflower and a bunch of spices. But I like this one better. Thank you for offering Mrs. Ban….arji, right?”

“Yes”, Purvi chuckled, sharing a glance with Nikhil who was gazing at her with a smile.

After finishing the lunch Tito and Titli both climbed up to the upper bunk of one side and enfolded the pocket ludo between them. The one with magnet under its pieces to keep them stuck on their places. They started playing. Purvi pulled the heavy blue curtains dangling from both the sides of the coop, separating it from the rest. Now it is like their private place, their own domain to feel free. The train kept bristling through the lush green richness of the Konkan region. The extensive velarium of trees covering the velvety emerald hills kept slithering continuously outside the window. The rain drops clattered on the glass window. Purvi leaned on one side and floated her eyes towards the oblivion. Nikhil stretched his body, laying his head on Purvi’s folded legs.

“Sing a song,” he murmured to her. Purvi gazed at him, her eyes brimming with love and started singing a Tagore song in a low voice. The lyrics and the tune flowed melodiously.

“This is the Day when it could be uttered to him
In this unrestrained flow of the rain
In this dusky coiled rally of the clouds
In this murk of the sun deprived sky
When everything else lost its identity in the gloom
This is the day it should be told to him”

Nikhil played with Purvi’s nails, taking her hands on his chest as she crooned on to him. Her wavy pensile hair covering her shoulders flew through her torso. Nikhil was greeted by the sweet smell of shampoo coming from it.

“You still sing very well,” he said, softly dragging her face closer to his. “And I don’t like you giving food to some foreigner.”

Purvi enjoyed the sweet hidden jealousy in her years old husband as a smile bloomed on her lips.

“Are you happy Purvi”? Nikhil asked through the silent words of his eyes and she looked back deep into his.


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