Calcutta 1969, a period of revolution and poetry.
Charulata Dutta dreams to be a scholar, even if it implies going against her conservative family. Despite being the first graduate in the history of Dutta women, she soon finds herself trapped in a w...
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Every corner of this wonderful city smells like love. The soft pitter patter of raindrops, the rustling of leaves and the greyish sunlight the filters through the narrow alleyways inspires romanticism. In one such ancient locality in north Calcutta, a huge household was bustling with activity.
'Chiti ache!' (there is post for you)
A large elderly man with a jiggling belly and bald head adjusted his glasses to look at the young postman. The postman adjusted his khaki cap and stared back with equal concentration. After a solid minute of sizing each other up, the rotund man hollered, 'Mahen! Get the post!'
A dark bespectacled man walked stealthily towards the huge oak doors. The green paint was peeling; he made a resolution for the thousandth time to paint them on the weekend. Despite having six brothers, he was the only one suitable for odd jobs around the house.
'Whose letter is that?' Ramnath finally vacated the ancient creaking armchair, his huge belly jiggling as he reached out to get the letter.
'Its not for you baba, Mahen said. 'Its for Charu.'
'Charu?' the older man exclaimed, shocked. Charu was a secluded woman, who seldom got any post. To the best of his knowledge, his younger daughter had barely any friends outside university. Even for her classmates, she wasn't the best of peers whom they could write to.
'From whom?' he asked. Mahen looked incredulously at him for a second before glancing at the sealed envelope.
'Nabayug Patrika'
'Oh!' Ramanath sighed. 'She must have been writing all those weird English theses to the newspaper again. Give her the package: she must be home now.'
Mahen rushed to his room. He was already running late for office. After all, the shipping trust at Calcutta port did not tolerate indiscipline from its employees.
'I am done cooking Mahen, ask Palash and Deben to hurry!' Ramanath's wife, Taraboti hollered from the kitchen.
'Yes ma!' he hollered back, already skipping steps to rush to his room. In his way, he hurriedly dropped the package in Charu's desk. He intended to inform her, but she was nowhere to be seen. Tripping slightly in his dhoti, he finally broke into a run. "Palash....Deben....hurry!' he shouted at the top of his lungs before rushing to the well to bathe.
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