Ballygunge
Neither war and partition nor any complication of spirituality has brought me here. Perhaps a sheer act of will, followed by pleasures rarely found elsewhere in the same harmonious proportions.
Part of the lure is music: the flute for blue Krishna’s lila, the expectorating noises in the passageway whisked into the monsoon rains, the sound of the conch shell once the puja finishes, the barber’s scissors, an orchestra of crickets, or the cats on heat. This music knits itself tightly in my ear in the same way that this neighbourhood knits itself like a galaxy: a precious bracelet beaming in the dark. Leer el resto de esta entrada »
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