The one string of the Ektara the Baul plays in reverence, with his index finger in place: the strain of his devotion reaching miles and hence, losing oneself in His name. The seeker of truth as he calls himself, to dwell in His love, union with the eternal Beloved. The lanes he set his feet on, the woods he traversed, lives he touched with his music and laughter. His declarations of life won many a heart; his enchanting folklore, the soul-stirring songs, piqued by occurrences, are all but offerings to his Lord. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Down came the parachute Kimo was sitting by the sea; waves splashing onto her bare legs and then receding to their source. It was a small, quaint village on the outskirts of South Goa, teeming with coconut trees, sandy-coiled snails, and crabs peeping out from swaying bushes, waiting for nightfall. She had procured a few seashells to create a necklace for her short, slender neck. It was noontime. Strong, imminent sunrays fell on her tender, young skin. She had just entered the threshold of adolescence and often found herself clumsy and out of place, unable to confide in anyone in particular. As she felt dizzy, she could see her parents talking to a local, arranging for a speedboat from where they were planning a parachute ride. The sea was calm, the rocks squaring out from the sea as the tides went down. Kimo was reveling at the mere thought of rising high with the parachute. "Kimo, come here, the boat is ready," her mother gesticulated. She took long, heavy steps; her thick, coarse hair fell over her countenance, restricting a clear view of her parents. As she approached the boat, she saw a familiar face-- her friend Suri. She hadn't expected to be here. Dressed in a white cropped top and denim shorts, she talked to Kimo in a low, reverberating voice. "What was the answer to the second question, part two in science?" she enquired with a suspicious look. As she recalled the answer, her mother called again and she went away, heaving a sigh of relief. She was reveling in the parachute ride—the clouds smiling at her, birds flying by, her father singing a medley, and she, soaking in the vicarious pleasure in full measure. "See Papa, Kimo is here too," she could hear Suri calling her father. As she turned around, She found another known, impudent face. "Now we can revise the tables here, Kimo," he gave a wry smile as he uttered those words. There was suddenly a lot of noise and commotion; her blurred vision was now even more obscured, and with a fluttering sound, the parachute came down. She thumped onto the ground and woke up from sleep. There was no Suri around her. She never knew her mathematics teacher was Suri's father. Was he? She was still in the boat, her head resting on her father's right shoulder. She had fallen asleep soon after she embarked on it. Kimo at the beach 'The sweet la-la song comes to my mind sings in my heart minus the tables: Everything is fine when you are in a parachute under the sun...' By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Kolkata diaries-1 It has been nearly six years, I reflected—yes, almost six years, or maybe even more. The thought crossed my mind as a bus zipped past me. I pulled my feet back and waited for the traffic to clear, hoping for a chance to cross the street. The mall was on the other side. The cab driver had dropped me off on the opposite side of the road. ' Didi, Google Maps showed me this location only. Bas raasta ta cross korlei apni pouche jaben,' prompt came the reply when I asked the driver to stop by the mall. After much ado with the driver, I burst into the vibrant atmosphere of the mall. My dearest friend Debolina, however, had yet to make her grand entrance. I lovingly call her " Debo ". I was waiting with a beating heart, eagerly scanning the bustling crowd, anticipating that moment when she'd finally arrive and light up the place with her energy! And there she arrived, draped in a white kurta pajama, carrying a huge bag, tightly secured in her hand. I wondered what was inside. I, somehow, managed to control my shameless curiosity and hugged her(my eyes were still fixated on her bag). What followed was a heated and animated conversation between us. We were hardly listening, barely pausing to breathe, and talking continuously. There was so much that needed to be said in such a short time, so much to share, and conflicts that had been put on hold for far too long. But who cared about the people around us? Not us, at least. Our laughter echoed throughout the mall, and we hardly noticed the passersby. I’m sure they thought we were half-wits or completely out of our minds..... My friend Debo entered a shop filled with bags in every nook and corner. I followed her obediently like a sunflower following the sun. At that moment, I had completely forgotten about the large yellow bag she had brought with her. "I want a bag with a chain, not one like this," she said to the salesman of the shop. I approached her and assessed the situation. The shop showcased bags of a foreign brand, none had chains except for a few that she didn't like. She windowshopped a few more and then we left the place. We were both hungry since it was lunchtime, so we headed to the food zone. While we waited for our food, I decided to check my phone. To my shock, I found five missed calls and ten messages on my Google Drive. As I looked through them, I realized that there were some urgent changes that I needed to make right away. I was speechless. I had taken a holiday from work to spend a few days in Kolkata with my loved ones, and there 'She' was, expecting me to work on the document. I chose to ignore it. Then, we exchanged gifts we had meticulously chosen for each other and continued with our secretive conversation. We had our tummy and soul full with delicious lip-smacking food. After a long time, both of us were having an authentic Bengali meal- luchi, mangsho, pulao, cholar dal, and mishti doi. Uff, what a delight it was! Since 35/36 guns matches in our kundali , our meetings are incomplete without books. So, turning our heads in the same direction, we entered the bookstore. And as is obvious, we got lost in the realm of bookland. Bookshop Multiple titles swayed before my eyes...I couldn't choose. My sensory organs refused to function appropriately. And when I turned around to ask my dear Debo, she too was in a different zone altogether. She had already collected eleven Bengali titles to her credit and was on the way to collecting more. 'I don't get Bengali books at my place, how can I let go of this opportunity?' she smirked and then carried on with her work dutifully. My phone beeped again, and then again. 'Your boss is missing you, you must reply to her,' Debo muttered, giving me a look drier than toast. Our time was quietly ushering us toward goodbye. We went to the counter to pay our bills. 'Ma'am, do you need a carry bag?' the shopkeeper asked. 'No,' Debo replied And there she opened her enormous yellow bag-big enough to smuggle a watermelon-and started stuffing her treasures(books) like a kid secretly stuffing pockets with toffees. "Here arrives my bestie, dangling a sunflower-hued tote, there it sways, and here it sways like a happy child on the go..." By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

At daybreak, when it's still dark outside, I often contemplate the household chores to be done that day. As soon as I realize that I have to prepare tea to start with and then breakfast, I again retire to bed...It gives a temporary illusion that there is still some time left to spare in idleness. During winter, my mornings are generally marked with intolerable indolence and indefinite inertia. While I am still lying, I often get a weird idea, that maybe, I am tied to my bed with invisible roots, growing underneath my bed, reaching till eternity... I stare through my glass door, to my balcony, which opens itself onto my room. The glass door serves as an eye to the outer world from the inner recess of my blanket. The sky is not visible in the morning. Not even the buildings opposite ours. It's foggy outside. The fog distills itself gradually, giving way to the sunrays, just the way ignorance is replaced with knowledge and wisdom. My poetic sensibilities get awakened from my otherwise inactive anatomy. The newly bloomed red roses in the green pot engage my attention the most. I have witnessed them blossoming from buds into flowers- one of the several miracles of nature we often miss out on in our chaotic schedule. In the afternoon, I often observe or examine the shifting clouds, figuring out the tales they frantically want to narrate...I have often taken photographs of them in various moods and shapes, but never really incorporated them in my writings...One dear friend of mine once mentioned that I have good prospects of becoming a photographer...My infinite gratitude to that kind soul... Except for pigeons, I hardly find any birds coming to my balcony...During the rains, the whole place is splashed. There is a splattering of window panes as the rainwater taps on them...Hurriedly, we collected all the clothes hanging outside, and closed all the doors and windows...The beauty of the rain is lost in the process. I don't prefer heavy rains which drench you entirely....they have been romanticized enough in films...I love the slow, big drops that suddenly fall on our faces, hands, and then start pouring gradually... the beginning is always magical, coming straight from the newly formed clouds. Nature opens the window to my heart- imparting a deep sense of solace, calming the inner war of the mind ...bringing a temporary halt to my thoughts to immediate effect...I feel at one with nature, lost in the joy of just being Alive... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

As my lips rest on thine, I forget for a moment it's your or mine. When our frames coalesce, our earthly forms transcend from matter to spirit in unison- in a deep eternal passion of love, a blessed state of pure oblivion. Words get flawed while I utter them to love you. Our rendezvous, after a long pause-- stirs a warmth of deja vu. Holding your palm, as we strolled the gardens of Eden, your hypnotic eyes disseminate somatic essence. A reflection of self I find in thine orb, Oh, my Love! never abandon me EVER- even beyond this earthly attire. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

She Cradled and cuddled in the arms of her doting mother, she grew up listening to stories of far-off lands from her grandmother. As her tiny feet danced their way through the fields of murmuring kashful, her fun-filled laughter echoed in the air. Her dreams carried the memories of ballroom dances and eternal love, adventures and picnics with friends and loved ones- these figments made their way through reading of Austen, Blyton, and Alcott. With time, as she grew, her roots spread wider and deeper into the essence of her homeland. Then one fateful day, when the soul opened to the light of becoming, without her consent, deaf to her denials, she was tied to the sacred vows of matrimony. In an untrodden land, among unknown faces, a new tongue, and queer people, lost and disoriented, uprooted and misplaced, like a fig tree, she felt utterly helpless. The rigour of customs and rituals, the bizarreness of must-dos severed her carefree wings, which once circled her lush green musings. Slowly but firmly, she learned to heal, to tend her wounds, bandage her wings. Like the seagull, she must fly, the soil shouldn't matter, the roots must thrive. Then with the wand in her hand and sprinkling of words, she inundated her pages with poetic metaphors. Her inner magic got revealed, which had been silenced for years. Yes, the words gave her might and shield to her fears; She then knew- She, herself, bore the roots, and thus gave wings to her prayers. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

"That speck of dust will remain there forever But don't dare open your mouth, ever... Words blurted out will lead to misery So please never be in a hurry. An engaging storyteller, A harbinger of delectable news, Of course, in all its colorful hues. Her attire will mock you Her latest fashion will stun you." Yes, she is none other than your maid, specially tailor-made for you, in heaven. She will knock on your door in the utmost haste, much against your taste. You'll catch a glimpse of the newest smartphone model in her hand, always perched against her ear, keeping her seamlessly connected to the world around her. You dial her up, and you will get to hear the latest Bollywood number as her ringtone. Holding onto the phone, she sweeps the floor, God forbid, where goes the dust, you really don't know. Mopping the floor is even faster, which I need to master. She would often engage in amorous conversations with her paramour, much against the knowledge of her other half. Obviously, she is the better half, in considerable demand. I often tried to eavesdrop on their babble, resulting in utter failure. One day, she entered my house in quite a distraught state as she had a fallout with her not-so-better half. She complained of fever and headache as well. That was her latest excuse for running late. Her lipstick was primly positioned in its esteemed place. Implacable demands will inundate your otherwise tranquil mind.''I need a pressure cooker on Diwali", "the suit must cost at least twelve hundred rupees. I don't accept petty stuff,'' "please give me the old refrigerator, you already have a new one''. Once, a maid even asked for my doormat. Clothes you gift her should match her taste, otherwise... They confidently hold exclusive authority over the number of holidays they will enjoy each month, ensuring a well-deserved break when needed. She will be resolute in her decision and will never waver for anything in the world--let alone we poor, pitiable employers. She is the empowered woman of our society in the real sense of the term. You overpower her, she will overthrow you. Meals you offer her should be palatable, or they will see the face of the dustbin. They are hard to appease and impossible to ignore. They have their share of fabricated tales about their co-employees, whom I pity, as they are part of the same consortium(club) where I own a seat too. They have their super-hygienic sense, which is inexplicable in many different ways. Once she served me boiled eggs, with those very precious hands she had used for cleaning the washroom. You will inculcate special immunity after eating that egg, I believe. Points to remember:1) Never ask her-''Why are you late?''(Obviously, she was busy) 2) Never break the news that your loved ones are coming over. 3) Never request her not to take a day off. (She will invariably do so) 4)Never ask -'' Why were you absent for the last two days?''---(You will get multiple contradicting answers) At the end--take a deep breath and practise pranayama for your inner peace and well-being. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

That gifted book That gifted book: the one that I gifted you on that fateful day- the day we met for the first time, when you stood by the bus stop waiting for me, one last time. In an indigo kurta and white pyjamas, decked with a captivating smile, your sombre eyes spoke of matters kept in exile. As years went by since we met and seasons ran forth- I remembered one fine day the words I couldn't utter that May: that book was written with care, with silent prayers of love; in time, you have touched those pages which I held for long. If it ever reminds you of me, remember my dear- You will meet me in my verses which I wrote without fear. As your fingers linger on those pages, if you notice, I reside in their creases. If you ever desire to inhale my presence, bring the book close by I will be there in the aroma of its pages. The book might turn old, its pages turning yellow and loose, I will still meet you in pieces if not in whole. You might forget and keep the book in a dark corner of your cupboard,  and still find me while you search in the dust adorning its fold. If you ever want to part with it the words, the memories, it is saddled with, do sell it at the old shop at the corner of your street, If ever it is sold and resold and lands in my abode, I will again keep it with love, just the way I gifted it to you. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

My loving Baba, As I write this letter, I know you are somewhere near me, reading my words...It's been over two months, and I am still processing your loss... You are not here to answer my call, Baba! Now, I talk about you in the past tense, a reality I have not come to terms with...and perhaps, I don't want to, at least for now...at least for now, I still want to believe you are somewhere near and you will call me...and I will run to you, thinking what happened?? I feel I could never really tell you how much I love you, how much I want to hear your voice, and how I miss your scolding and love... I meet you often in my dreams, we talk, discuss, and travel. I see myself going back to those childhood days when the four of us would go travelling. Yesterday, you came to my dreams, the day before yesterday as well, and many more days I have lost count of...We were on a boat- Ma, bhai, you and me. I think it was Nainital. Remember, we all went there with Jethu, how we enjoyed among the hills, how I held your hand while I was about to slip from a small hill. I know, you were in a lot of pain for the last few years- your illness - you couldn't even express what you were going through... And I was not able to look into your eyes...they wanted to say so much, yet were so helpless. I have come to know how volatile life is, how ephemeral, how transient... I couldn't write about you on Facebook, nor could I share your photo on my status to tell the world about my loss. I wanted to grieve myself- it was too personal, too intimate. But now, with the passing of days, I realize I need to keep you in my writings so that you stay forever with me. Baba, I miss you... @metaphors_of_life (My father passed away on 16th March, 2025. This letter is dedicated to Him, and written for Him.)

Cusped arch window Nestled within the gentle embrace of the Aravalli hills, where the air is infused with the enchanting fragrance of jasmine and the distant calls of peacocks resonate, Udaipur stands as a testament to resilience, vision, and understated elegance—a city waiting to be explored and appreciated. In 1559, in the aftermath of the Mughal destruction of Chittorgarh, Maharana Udai Singh II envisioned a brighter future for his people. Inspired by a hermit’s prophecy at the banks of Lake Pichola, he established a city that would embody the spirit of Mewar. Udaipur emerged not merely as a sanctuary, but as a powerful symbol of endurance. This city was designed not to erase the scars of conquest, but to thrive beyond them. "In the hills of Aravalli, rose a city from the cindering ashes of the battle of Chittorgarh, by a king who wandered in pain and built this city from battle's stain-named it Udaipur, which time cannot replace..." As you land in Udaipur and maneuver yourself through the streets, you can at once feel an idyllic character defining the city's current mood and anatomy. It still seems to hold on to the ancient courtly gestures that deftly describe any princely state(earlier). You don't need to specifically go by my words, but choose to see the city through my lens. The first thing that caught my attention was their architecture- the patterns of doors and windows of forts and old-fashioned houses, traces still discernible in certain city locales. The cusped arch(pic 1)- a hallmark of Rajput architecture- is prevalent in Udaipur's palaces, temples, and forts, enhancing their aesthetic merit. As my eyes fell on exquisite, royal, and latticed Jharokhas(ornamental overhanging balconies or windows), my imaginative prowess unleashed into the marvellous world of kingly courtrooms and celebrations...I wish I could stand in one such jharokha, all decked up and veiled, looking stealthily at the regal processions on elephants and accompanied by beating drums and blaring brass trumpets. Our hotel was a fabulous experience altogether. The view from our room was just "wow"- we could enjoy the hills, the lakes, and even saw a peahen in the garden. The garden was a breathtaking tapestry of vibrant colors, adorned with exquisite and rare plants and flowers that elevated its beauty to new heights. It truly was a scene that captured the imagination. The windows were designed keeping in mind the typical Rajasthani style of architecture. I felt nothing short of regal. The stay(3 days) was memorable in every sense. Window view from the hotel room We started with Saheliyon ki Bari, or the Garden of the Maidens, an enchanting oasis filled with vibrant greenery and soothing fountains. Created by the visionary Maharana Sangram Singh II, this exquisite retreat served as a serene escape for the women of his palace, allowing them to relax and revel in the peaceful embrace of nature's beauty. The white and pink bougainvillea overhanging the white walls took me to a whole realm of deja vu, of time immemorial, when time stops and you only inhale and seep into the beauty of the moment. Saheliyon ki Bari Cascading bougainvillea When you step into the premises of the Sajjangarh fort , you find yourself lost in the grandeur of a bygone era- a fort which served as a monsoon retreat and hunting lodge for the royals of Udaipur. To get to the palace at the top, you need to rent a cab that plies to and fro to take the visitors to the fort. The ascent to the summit is nothing short of exhilarating, much like savoring a thrilling ride through the mountains. Once you reach your destination, you get a panoramic view of the entire city- lakes, vegetation, hills, the clear blue sky, clouds, and houses. A soft, serene wind blows as you capture a beautiful photo, with your hair sweeping across your face while you try to push it away. Imagine a world where old staircases beckon you to explore stunning gardens, charming verandahs, and expansive rooms filled with light. Each step invites you to uncover the beauty that lies just beyond. After the heat, you can get a respite by having some cold drinks or coffee available at a cafe located on the premises of the fort. You can stay till dusk to get a mesmerising view of sunset from such a height( a very popular place for enjoying sunsets). View from Sajjangarh fort City Palace showcases a breathtaking architectural masterpiece, perched on a hill and overlooking the serene Pichola Lake. But we missed the opportunity to explore this beauty since the Maharaja Arvind Singh Mewar had passed away that day, and the palace was closed as a mark of respect. Another fascinating, not-to-miss spots are the lakes -scintillating, ethereal, magnanimous, and meditative- quite a romantic spot for couples who wish to search each other in the realm of golden sunsets bathing the silvery lakes. We went to Fateh Sagar Lake to soak in the calming view of the sunset. Standing under a small dome-shaped shed like those found in the palaces, a faint, cool breeze swayed my tresses over my tired face- I felt rejuvenated (a quick photo session was a must). We stayed there for quite a long time, enjoying chana bhel and masala chai - uff, what a flavour and what a taste- a moment that goes past in a jiffy!! Fateh Sagar Lake And then the next day we went for a boat ride at Lake Pichola . The experience was nothing less a magic. I felt like going back to the ages of rajas and maharajas - a majestic view of the City Palace transports you to a time which can be felt but not lived. I recorded a video trying to capture the experience, but couldn't...I've come to understand that some forms of beauty can only be truly appreciated by the naked eye; they elude the grasp of camera lenses and demand to be seen in their purest form. Boating at Lake Pichola We also sought blessings at Jagdish Temple- a quiet place where you can pray and sit for a while- a relaxing experience, a pause from otherwise hectic life. As you gear yourself for a shopping spree, you will not be disheartened...Instead, the city has a lot to offer, not only in terms of variety but also in its artistic sensibility. As I went around different shops, I got to know how talented the artisans over there are- their art is a testament to their rich glory and resilience. I can vouch for their miniature painting if you ever think of buying any singular object to carry with you as a semblance of this place. Painted on cloth and then framed, they take days to complete a piece. A connoisseur of art , I bought quite a few pieces- they encompass religious themes, animals, birds, and a royal past which includes kings, queens, and princesses, which tells a tale of wars, processions, coronations, and courtly gestures. I am still in awe of their artistic finesse and craftsmanship. If you're looking for a budget-friendly option, fridge magnets are a wonderful choice. They eloquently express the sentiment of "atithi devo bhava" and add a touch of charm to your space. Another particularly charming option for women is the bangle. The designs are appealing, detailed, colourful, and add a touch of elegance to any outfit. You must buy to know that!! At the end, I can say that Udaipur transcends its palaces, lakes, and sunsets. It speaks of a legacy shaped by hardship, softened by time, and immortalized in stone and water. A city that remembers and endures. And don't forget me while you relive these experiences in person... By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life * A cusped arch is a type of arch that has small rounded points or curves(called cusps) along the inside edge.

The Valentine's Letter- Chapter 1 His eyes were looking around for someone until he spotted her at one corner of the room. She was buried inside a book as usual, unlike others who were either busy blabbering over a glass of wine or hurriedly scrolling through their phones. Upon learning she would be attending the party, he couldn't resist coming over. It's been a year since the last Valentine. At first, he thought of approaching her, hesitated, and then kept to himself. He thought he shouldn't disturb her. He stepped onto the balcony, lit a cigarette, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a folded paper. After much thought, he put it back into his pocket. The sky was dark, only a few stars shone through. He could even name a few. He had often observed them through his telescope. "Are you still studying the stars, Ashwin?" a familiar voice spoke to him. He turned back, sighed deeply as he saw Ira staring at him. A wave of emotions, tied carefully until then, deluged his memory. He didn't know what to say. As the cinders burnt his finger, he came to his senses. He surreptitiously threw the butt outside. 'So, you have again started smoking. And on the top of it, you threw it into the garden.' Ashwin forced an awkward smile, but he still struggled to find the right words. A strikingly handsome man, Ashwin effortlessly drew the attention of pretty and not-so-pretty girls; something he enjoyed unabashedly. Last year when Ira saw Ashwin for the first time, he was busy talking to someone over his phone. It was a Valentine's Day party just like today. What caught her attention was his calm demeanor; his eyes wide and unguarded, accompanied by a smile that reflected more of sadness—a stark contrast to his otherwise casual behavior. She had heard of him from their common friends. And Ira being always the righteous one, avoided him and went to the other side of the living room. She had never enjoyed parties- always found them absurd and empty. She would efficiently find a quiet corner and read a book. Others found her strange, but she couldn't care less. She agreed to attend the event at the insistence of her friend Nitu, who wanted to introduce her to her fiancé. 'Hi, I'm Ashwin. May I ask which book you are reading?' Startled from her reverie, she looked up to answer. 'Umm...The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak,' she struggled to remember the name. Ira was unable to look away as Ashwin stared intently into her eyes. "In the eyes lie the art to steal your heart, In them lies the art to break them apart: Excuse their audacity if your good sense starts to depart..." ********* By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life

Diary Entry My adorable D, Meeting you after a long pause...was caught up with life and much more. Didn't have the time to sit and reflect. But today as I am down with a nagging headache and a runny nose, I started to miss you after a long time. So much has happened in between and a lot is buried within... But life must move on in all its shades of beauty. As I sit still, I often stare at the void for long and then I get lost into nothingness. And I love to be in this state. I know people might find this crazy. But it's normal for me. Many of my works of poetry are borne out of this state of trance- somewhere between real and unreal- a no man's land one treads into. It's easy and at the same time difficult to transcribe into words...you sort of feel liberated and yet cling to your reality--- a two-faceted state of existence...There have been times I didn't realize I was lost, and then suddenly a familiar voice woke me up from my stupor-quite embarrassing at times I must say. Lately, in one of my Spanish classes I had been caught off guard by my teacher who asked me what was I thinking of. And I had no answer because I don't have... I don't know why I am writing this today. Maybe I don't have anything worthwhile to write or maybe I wanted to write about this experience...some answers are found in between-just the way we read in between the lines of poetry, a person's words which speak of something else but mean otherwise...Life is all about this NO MAN'S LAND...We all are somewhere stuck between our words and their meanings. "words dance onto my page create a symphony with my orchestra of thoughts just the way a kind face is brought to life by the eerie darkness of charcoal..." Will return to you soon this time, with a new train of ideas and novelty of understanding. Till then I bid adieu as you miss me. By Nandini Sengupta @metaphors_of_life