The afternoon sky had turned the color of bruised slate. In North Kolkata, before the heavens opened, there was always that momentary suspension of time when pigeons retreated under wooden cornices and the smell of moist river silt floated up from the Ganga ghats.
We used to gather on the northern terrace, where old lime mortar held centuries of heat. It was here that grandfather recounted the founding years of the theatre clubs—when rehearsals were conducted by kerosene lanterns and tickets were handwritten in purple ink.
Literature, he insisted, is not the paper upon which words are laid. Literature is the quiet pause between the listener and the speaker when rain falls without urgency.
Sunetra Bhattacharya is a Sahitya Akademi Golden Jubliee Fellow and renowned essayist residing in Kolkata.
