The 28th death.
[Text by Saon Gupta; photo by Dwaipayan Bhattacharya]
She retreated into a time warp.
If you have ever chanced upon it, there is this seedy back-alley tucked between 22-1B Parliament Street and Platform 3 at the Central Secretariat Metro Station in central Delhi. Now, here is the insider’s tip that Saon Gupta was in on — courtesy her pathetic peddler of psychedelic dreams. It led off to a wormhole housed within a ramshackle haveli of yore.
Built during the same decade they put up poor Dara Shikoh’s library by the Gate that possibly led to Kashmeer, the haveli has been taken over by weeds, as cobwebbed and decrepit as the tomes in the latter. From the last ecstasy-induced glimpse the peddler had of her, Ms Gupta had disappeared around the bend that led to the crumbling mansion within the said seedy back-whathaveyou.
They say Ms Gupta was smitten by the great ‘oiti-hash-ik’ bug ever since she could place her Bimbisara before her Ajatashatru, and her Jane Seymour after her Anne Boleyn. Mayhap she was put to good use by Clive’s rascally bunch at Plassey or was carried away by the whimsy of Tansen’s Megh Malhar… no one is really sure.
A Harappan seal was unearthed the other day, announcing that Ms Gupta had steadily made her way upstream the mighty Indus; but then no one can rightly decipher these thingamajigs yet, you see.
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