The Last Few Minutes

I sit in the office

In the late evening

Trying to keep the sleep

Out of my eyes, rubbing

My fingers over them

Listlessly. The darkness

Gathers outside, waiting

To enfold my sleepy self

In its comforting embrace.

With sleepy eyes, I glance

At my watch, often,

Trying to wish away

The last few moments

Faster. For the loud

Glare of streetlights

Is waiting impatiently

Outside to welcome

Me as I emerge

From the cool interior

Into the warm, busy night.

Chitrangada

Sreeparnaa Chaudhury

Different children have different aspirations in their growing years. While a lot of my friends aspired to be doctors, some wanted to travel to the moon, a few hoped to create magic with words and become poets and yet some, fascinated by Barbie dolls, toy tanks and rubber-ducks, wanted to be toy-makers. I, too, had a dream. I dreamed of becoming a classical dancer. A puerile dream that became stronger with time and turned into a burning desire that continued to sweep over me like a flame.

Very early in my life, possibly because of the insatiable curiosity that was kindled in me when I, secretly, watched my mother practise in the bedroom, I knew I was born to explore and conquer the bewitching world of dancing – something that Amma had happily discerned about me without almost any effort. She could because she was a trained Bharatnatyam dancer herself. She had begun…

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