Sufia Khatoon narrates a moving tale on the death of a loved one and how it can change your entire perspective towards life.
Early in the morning, the pigeons get into a territorial fight across my elevated window shed, tearing into each other. Below, the glass pane opens into a narrow alleyway between the back walls of our building and that of our neighbour, Noor Uddin, owner of clothes coloring business.
The dimly lit portion of the adjacent road follows the voice, gurgling from the house of Akhtar Chacha and his fifty-year-old wife and mother of five sons. No one knew her name; she was fondly called as Akhtar Chachi in the vast populace of Darapara, which joined the spidery lanes of Masjid bari lane, further intertwining with Kustia road, Picnic Garden and Lal Masjid Lane.
In the centre of this rough patch of existence, spiralled Kohinoor Market, a vast stretch of land always growing and accommodating those who needed a place to belong to in Kolkata.