Longing

Ishita hadn't found her favourite teabags in the nearest grocery store, so she opted for a brand she had never tried before.

Just after coming home, she checked on her sleeping son and then, walking into the kitchen, she took a teabag from the packet she had just purchased. She transformed it into a steaming cup of tea and walked into the living room. Turning on the television, she flew from one channel to another, staring at the screen and paying attention to nothing.

She sipped on the tea she had just made. The teabags were new to her, but they didn't betray her after all. There was nothing wrong in trying something new every now and then. She had made much more serious choices in her life. Had she not chosen to try a new life when she decided to leave her beloved country all those years ago?

She sighed. It was Sunday. Her son wouldn't wake up before 11 am, having watched television all night, and it was only 9 now. Weekends were peaceful. But peace was no longer synonymous with happiness. Had she ever thought peace and loneliness could actually coexist?

She turned off the television and closed her eyes. Memories came floating back to her. She smiled thinking of her childhood, of the academic bubble she had spent her earliest years in. Both her parents were professors at a university in a small town of Bangladesh and she grew up on the campus, socialising only with the children of her parents' colleagues. The evenings were delightful. The beautiful words from Tagore's songs would fill every single nook of their little house. Their parents' friends would gather in their house and they would all take part in the songs. Wide-eyed and mesmerised, the children would listen to them sing. Those were indeed the days.

She took another sip of the tea. It would be wonderful if she could sip on her morning tea sitting on an armchair on the balcony of her father's house in Bangladesh and marvel at the many different trees that adorned the front yard. She would breathe in the fresh air and listen to the magpies and swallows that would bejewel the distant clouds. But would she ever get to live this life?

Here, in New York, she had made a life for herself, a career she deeply cherished. She would never choose to abandon 25 years of hard work. Where would she, however, find the fresh air and fragrant soil that one found only in Bengal? Here in this city, in these box-shaped houses, people relied on air conditioners and table fans for ventilation and knew nothing of the fresh air one could find only in the home she had left behind.

Her brother had visited her the previous year. When she told him of her dreams, smiling from time to time as though those would actually come true, he had laughed at her. ''Ishita,'' he told her, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and pity, ''Enjoy the life you have. Our country has changed. The idyllic life you are thinking of is a thing of the past. Life has changed for the people, too. They stay so busy with everything that they hardly get to let their worries take a back seat. The little spare time they do get is spent on phones.''

But Ishita found it easy to dream and hard to accept the reality. Going to the kitchen, she washed the cup and looked out the window. Clouds had gathered in the sky and it would probably rain soon. The humidity would be gone for a while but then it would be back again. The weather and life were so similar in the unpredictability of their flows, displaying one wonder after another.

She caught sight of her mobile phone on the kitchen table. Her hand reached for it and almost intuitively she dialed her father's number. It rang thrice before her father picked up. ''Hello, Maa?'' her father said in his deep, warm voice, honed by years of singing and recitation.

''Abbu, are you still awake?'' Ishita asked him, trying her best to control her tears.

''Yes, Maa. It's only 7:30 pm here. Is anything wrong?'' Her father managed sense the pain in her voice.

''No, no, Abbu. I am fine. I know it's really sudden but could you sing me a Tagore song over the phone?''

''Of course, Maa, of course.''

He never asked questions. He knew his daughter too well. After pausing for a second, he started singing.

Longing

Ishita hadnt found her favourite teabags in the nearest grocery store, so she opted for a brand she had never tried before. Just after coming home, she checked on her sleeping son and then, walking into the kitchen, she took a teabag from the packet she had just purchased. She transformed it into a steaming cup of tea and walked into the living room. Turning on the television, she flew from one channel to another, staring at the screen and paying attention to nothing. She sipped on the tea she had just made. The teabags were new to her, but they didnt betray her after all. There was nothing wrong in trying something new every now and then. She had made much more serious choices in her life. Had she not chosen to try a new life when she decided to leave her beloved country all those years ago? She sighed. It was Sunday. Her son wouldnt wake up before 11 am, having watched television all night, and it was only 9 now. Weekends were peaceful. But peace was no longer synonymous with happiness. Had she ever thought peace and loneliness could actually coexist? She turned off the television and closed her eyes. Memories came floating back to her. She smiled thinking of her childhood, of the academic bubble she had spent her earliest years in. Both her parents were professors at a university in a small town of Bangladesh and she grew up on the campus, socialising only with the children of her parents colleagues. The evenings were delightful. The beautiful words from Tagores songs would fill every single nook of their little house. Their parents friends would gather in their house and they would all take part in the songs. Wide-eyed and mesmerised, the children would listen to them sing. Those were indeed the days. She took another sip of the tea. It would be wonderful if she could sip on her morning tea sitting on an armchair on the balcony of her fathers house in Bangladesh and marvel at the many different trees that adorned the front yard. She would breathe in the fresh air and listen to the magpies and swallows that would bejewel the distant clouds. But would she ever get to live this life? Here, in New York, she had made a life for herself, a career she deeply cherished. She would never choose to abandon 25 years of hard work. Where would she, however, find the fresh air and fragrant soil that one found only in Bengal? Here in this city, in these box-shaped houses, people relied on air conditioners and table fans for ventilation and knew nothing of the fresh air one could find only in the home she had left behind. Her brother had visited her the previous year. When she told him of her dreams, smiling from time to time as though those would actually come true, he had laughed at her. Ishita, he told her, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and pity, Enjoy the life you have. Our country has changed. The idyllic life you are thinking of is a thing of the past. Life has changed for the people, too. They stay so busy with everything that they hardly get to let their worries take a back seat. The little spare time they do get is spent on phones. But Ishita found it easy to dream and hard to accept the reality. Going to the kitchen, she washed the cup and looked out the window. Clouds had gathered in the sky and it would probably rain soon. The humidity would be gone for a while but then it would be back again. The weather and life were so similar in the unpredictability of their flows, displaying one wonder after another. She caught sight of her mobile phone on the kitchen table. Her hand reached for it and almost intuitively she dialed her fathers number. It rang thrice before her father picked up. Hello, Maa? her father said in his deep, warm voice, honed by years of singing and recitation. Abbu, are you still awake? Ishita asked him, trying her best to control her tears. Yes, Maa. Its only 7:30 pm here. Is anything wrong? Her father managed sense the pain in her voice. No, no, Abbu. I am fine. I know its really sudden but could you sing me a Tagore song over the phone? Of course, Maa, of course. He never asked questions. He knew his daughter too well. After pausing for a second, he started singing.