“They are coming by the Gitanjali Express”. “Well, I am waiting for my relatives from Calcutta”, she said in an accented tone, making the city sound more fashionable than it actually is. “Well, where are you headed Ma’am?” I wondered if it was too evident that there was more in my mind than just intending to help her with the train schedule. I smiled back and paused to hear a song play in my head. She smiled and agreed with a quick flutter of her lashes. “Umm, Y-You do have blue eyes!” I stammered. “Hi! Can you help me with the train schedule?” I opened my eyes to the question and there she was staring at me as her hands were busy tying a blue polka dotted bandana in a tri-fold over her hair. “Hi! Eh-mm, Can I help you with the train schedule?” I closed my eyes and rehearsed in my mind. Curse the moon for being a crescent when it ought to be full! I stepped closer to take a better look at what I thought were shiny blue eyes.

Only a part of her face peeked out of her chocolate brown locks but that was enough for me to see that she was angelically beautiful. She was wearing a warm grey sweater and brown fashionable boots, her gaze alternating between the hazy digital display board and her shiny analogue watch. Veni Vedi VicitĪt the entrance of the foggy railway station, lit as much by the November moon, as the flickering stained halogens, stood a young twenty-something woman. Photo Credits – My friend Arpan, captured this intense moment in his camera (Follow more of his awesome work at Humangrafie, where he tries to understand the human kind through his lens). It is for the primal pine of that vain victory and expression of individuality that man chooses to strike on in an unfair world. But it is adorned with one glorious jewel – the victorious I. The effort is overbearing and extreme, the end is unsure and the prize may be unjust and thwarting. Human effort and endurance extend the peripheries of possibility to accomplish a single self seeking but honorable goal – to draw out one’s own truth in a world replete of pretense, well-trodden paths and material riches.

That I smelled the fresh linen in the hallīy closing my eyes and counting to ten Choice That I looked in the loft and behind the rack There are noises in the courtyard of yoreĪnd searched the closet, and under the bed Of coco and betel nuts The Girl on the Swing

Oh what a tangled web we weave