The Death of Dusk

My childhood days passed through a time when life used to be slow. There used to be time to breath and look up to the sky. As the day declares its end and the sun sets in the horizon, we move out from our house for the last two hours of a day. Yes, those two hours of the day were eventful in our life. Whether it was on the football playground of our local club, or on the bank of river Ganga, those two hours were the hours of freedom. And without any reason, we don’t waste those two hours. As we returned from school, we just threw our bags and uniforms and rushed to taste the hours of dusk. As we grow old that taste also got changed unconsciously.

I can still hear the whistle of steamer sailing on the river and see that the darkness is gradually engulfing the other side of the river. As the cold breeze started blowing, we light up our cigarette. As the discussion brew up, the cigarette was passed from one hand to the other and with its every smoke we find ourselves elevated. Sometimes while discussing about a newly released movie or about the final match of IFA shield, we got interrupted by the ‘Hari Nam’ recitation of the people carrying corpse in the burial ground which was on the bank of the river. For a moment, we were stopped by those grave, faded faces of the people who came there to perform the last rite of their near and dear one. For a moment we felt empty within ourselves; but later we fulfill it with the color of youth.

During monsoon, dark clouds used to loom over the river and huge waves strikes on the bank near the shade where we used to sit. The same river looked quite dreadful to me at that instant. Sometimes when there was no option for getting out of house, then it was the terrace where I spent my most delightful hours of day. As time passed by, the terraces of the surrounding houses get wrapped by dark veil. Sometimes the twilight because of clouds in the sky becomes yellow everywhere. And then it becomes orange and gradually turned to dark. It was just wonderful to witness that magical mural. The woman of the house after their days work, use this hours of day to chit chat with their neighbor. Some of them used to look at the street waiting for their man to return home as the hours of dusk quietly passed by. 

Those days are now lost amidst the fast lane of life. The twilight saga no longer remain part of modern city life. It fails to enter the envelope of neon and halogen vapor. After working for whole day, people get time only at night. Slowly they open their laptop and try to find their freedom in Facebook, Gtalk and Skype and link up with every corners of the world. They talk, they laugh, they share yet they are so lonely at their home. The freedom in dusk is now a thing of past. It is now night that soothes and heals the day to day scar of our life. Help you to find yourself, know yourself and prepare you for the day to come.