THE CAPITAL CITY : LOVE, FAITH AND HOPE
Holding a candy floss in one hand and another hand is grabbed by her grandfather ; the little five year old girl jumps in happiness and unmatched joy. And they become the centre of attraction for me and a drop of tear from my right eye touches my not so pink cheek but I feel the saccharine cheerfulness near the lungs, inside my heart.
I see many mosques, temples, gurdwaras, jain temples and churches in this megalopolis and their bucolic picturesque never disappoint my eyes. The first sunshine touches the top of the temple and the moonlight shatters inside the courtyard of the mosque ; and we twirl our heads with immense satisfaction.
Beneath the big bungalows and tiny slums, the sun rises in the east and sets behind the balconies of dwellings near the pot marigolds ; and the beauty of the town never goes unnoticed by me. Then comes the nightlife where the colourful lights never fail to scribble soliloquies on Christmas tress and monasteries.
The glory of the city is written by the Keshari dynasty, Ganga dynasty, Suryavanshi Gajapati dynasty and then maratha rulers and Mughal rulers on those breezes of the rivers of my megalopolis and the zephyr scrawls some chilling sonnets in winter night with the quill of euphoria and glee.
This silver city cuddles me with its many emollient syllables of love and merriment when ennui grabs me with its clutch. The moon of my metropolis holds those tears of mine and adorn them with opulent metaphors and myriads of stars stable my unhinged soul. It always plays a fiddle inside me which never become unpleasant.
~this city loves me and lives inside me || bidya