Good Times

                      It was low tide. The ferry was tethered to the Ghats. Passengers waited. For the clock passed another hour and half the river began to swell. The passengers boarded the ferry, pulling behind them their luggage, cattle and children. It was an absolute chaos. Yet the quarter master leaded everything and every person overboard. The diesel engine roared, gradually changed into a slowly thump-thump-thump pumping the rowing paddles. The ferry floated across the huge river. A river so wide that hardly the other bank was visible. There were sandy-silt deltas scattered across the river bed. The captain already told how risky it was to navigate through these tropical icebergs. I stood by the guard-rails basking in the early summer sun. At that point the sun was more comforting than the chaos on the roofed deck. The golden sunlight filtered through the polariser sunglass seemed to be bluish. I lit up a Marlborough. It smoothened my nerves from the irritation of the chaos. Sunderban appeared to be calmer with each drags. Thud! My peace ended soon. The quarter master shouted, “Sshala Bhata eey notun chor banailo!” ‘Bastard Ebb made a new delta!’ Moments later I deciphered. He cursed the low tide for giving birth to a new delta. Our hull got stuck in an underwater delta. The crew made desperate attempts but failed. The passengers grew restless. Women prayed and men cursed the captain. The kids cried and the goats remained same dumb. I was to catch a train from Howrah later at evening. But was now helplessly stuck in the world’s largest river-delta system. I grew restless. “Babu! Opore chole aasun” The Captain called me to the bridge. He recognised my restless urban attitude. He introduced himself as a local and boastfully said that he owns a chain of ferries. He tried to comfort me saying that within a couple of hours the water level would rise further to dislodge from the ferry. I lit up another Marlborough. I passed out to nostalgia.

                       It was the beginning of 3^rd Semester. And I was all alone again. Like the ferry I was drifted. I sailed high spirited from the school into the college by the company of two person, Udayan and Anwesha. Their friendship was strong like the currents of the high tide. Their friendship to the loner was like the swelling water to the ferry stranded at the bank. I was sailing all good when the underwater delta struck my boat. They left me. Rather I would say just as the tide lowered, our specialization branches separated. I was like the stranded ferry.

                      “Babu! O Babu! Ghat eshe poreche.” ‘Mister! O Mister! The ghats arrived.” The captain woke me up. Sheepishly I realised that I fell asleep. And climbed down to the deck making my way off the ferry.