Category: Stories about Others
A squall signals the arrival of rain. It is a typical monsoon afternoon in Kolkata. Torrents of water begin to stream down the facades of grey buildings lined along Mahatma Gandhi Road. Automobiles honk at each other in vain. Traffic coagulates. Crowds of people jostle against one another ,,,
It was a typical winter evening in Kolkata. Velvety and mellow. Yet Mrinal was sweating. He had been sweating since the previous day. Lovely Priya had promised to visit his home. She was a classmate in college. Mrinal had been staring endlessly at her since college started. Inside as well as outside the college.
Kuntal had an appointment with an insurance agent in Connaught Place in Delhi, but just as he was about to walk into the well-appointed office, he noticed Mr. Sharma’s name on a plain wooden door adjacent to the glass paneled office entrance. And, to leave nothing to doubt, the word ‘Residence’ stood out in bold letters on the door, defining clearly the boundary between agent Sharma’s private and public life. Neither Mr. Sharma nor the door will have a role in this story however. They were catalysts at best in the chemical laboratory of our hero’s life history. Especially the door.