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"Masterji."

His Old Monk seemed to speak to him. And that word which carried utmost respect and held an aura of power was detested by him at the very instant. That word which was once an achievement for him, seemed like a burden today.

The unlit fireflies swarming in the air looked like ordinary beetles, unattractive. They only light up at night. The night which was young, was not so young anymore as the crack of dawn rose to the horizon. Must've been around five, he judged observing the activities.

"Jonaki."

She — Paakhi — despite her sweet name, was always called Jonaki. Her love for fireflies was something that no one ever understood. And her son was just like her. Jonaki's little one also shared her love for glowworms.

Indroneel used to have a hard time making sure that the young Veer did not jump out of the railing, trying to catch those glowing flies.

Those were some days, he reminisced.

The headlight of his Chandni called out to him, reminding him how he had to complete his responsibilities. He was called 'Masterji' for a reason.

He could sit for some more time.

The Rabindra Sangeet notes which hit his ears made him go lost, yet again.

Once he was a child with no worries. A very shy one in fact. All he would do was hide behind his mother when the presence of someone who was not a family was graced upon him. His nose always buried inside some book or the other, there was a world he lived in, unknown to others.

One afternoon a shout had echoed in his neighborhood. 'Mampi!'  the name was yelled out again and again. He chuckled at the memory of the first impression of his best friend. The name was a huge embarrassment for her and even his nickname was not all great. Those names outlined the first and foremost condition of their friendship.

Daaknaams  earned a big fat 'no' from both, Indroneel and Amrita.

Years later, he could not believe the extent of change.

And here he was today, with no Mampi by his side. He was the reason for a person's death. He was the reason why an innocent was rotting in the prison. No one could fathom the thought or even the suspicion that he could be the criminal they were looking for.

The society, strange way it works right?

They choose not to know when they could, not to feel when they should, and not to see when their eyes would.

For had they chosen to see who the real Masterji was, or even who the real Ismail Ansari was, then things would've been different.

The society, she had eyes; yet she was blind.

The lady pouring water to the Tulsi plant which stood at the center of their Feroz Bari showed that the time for his departure had arrived. It must've been pretty late already. Picking up his beauty he glanced at the city, giving her a longing stare.

She held many names. She, the city. Ironic were two: The city of Joy and The dying city. For years she had been dying but not dead yet. And why would that be? She was a city with a soul, and her soul was far from death. Her joy and her misery were blended into one. And that's how she stood bearing every blow. Every street of hers held a story, the ones you have never heard before.

For years she had seen many. Too many to count. And every story gave her a wave of shock. Guilt, that she couldn't do anything.

He stared at her. The real beauty. Every inch, every corner of hers worth to be worshiped. He admired her; the peeking sun, the standing bridge, the nonchalant air.

He trusted her. He trusted her to make sure that his story never repeated again.

And she took the oath. Come what may, this shall never happen again.

Her oath though silent was heard by him, his eyes were open and for the first time in his life, he chose to see. It took just a minute but felt like hours.

"Who am I?"

The whisper was answered with her open arms. She, the city. Accepting any and every. Her unsaid words lingering in the morning breeze. Swaying and rustling. Questioning the questioner to discover his question.

Welcome to Calcutta.

To see or to not see,

That is the question.

Answers shall never set one free,

Pity as unsighted are we.

~ End of 'Three: To See Or To Not See'.