A dark, quiet, silent night. Only sound was of the blowing wind that was sliding down by his ear softly and also there was a periodic sound from the friction of the chain of his slow moving cycle. This was a perfect night for him. He was murmuring ‘While my Guitar gently Weeps’ by his own. When he was about to reach his spot he had to stop his singing to listen to a sudden sharp tone. He listened carefully. Then he changes his song with whistling tune of the night’s strange mouthorgan to ‘Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da’. In such a calm night the song was not a fit but still it seemed sweet to him like a perfect contrast. When he reached the spot he found someone sitting on his place and playing the mouthorgan. From back, it was not clear, but the figure was of a girl with a white jacket and dark blue short jeans, a muffler of stripe design was covering her neck. She was so much lost in herself that she couldn’t spot his silent presence. As her mouthorgan stopped, he said, “Hi, there”.

She turned around with a shock but in seconds got back her nerves and replied, “Hi” with a fade smile that was probably saying instead of any company she’d rather prefer to be alone.

“You’re playing pretty fine... Beatles’ fan. Huh?” he said while coming towards her from his cycle.

“Isn’t it obvious, when someone plays their tune along in the dead of night?” she uttered in a monotonous tone gazing at the wide open field before her. He sat beside her and asked, “Yeah, sure! But why you’re here in such late hours?”

“I can ask you the same...”

“Oh, actually when I got nothing to do I came here to do something.”

Few silent seconds slipped through. Both of them kept fixing their vision towards distant stars in kinda awkward manner. The boy broke the silence, “What’s your name?”

“Is it that important? Whatever you want... well I’m Molly. And you?” she was still looking away.

“I’d say Desmond.”

She turned towards him and chuckled. A sudden soft night breeze blew through her hair. As she pulled back her soft brunette hair from her face, he just blanked for moments and did nothing but looked straight at her. He did not notice the beauty of her face earlier. It seemed like his answer about his name also did some trick. She showed interest and asked, “So Desmond, to do which of your great work you come here?”

“Umm... it depends on my mood after being here, sometimes I write few lines of poem or I sketch usually.”

“In such a little light? It’s hard even to see here.”

“When your mind’s open everything is clear. But what brings you here?”

“Actually my train... It’s delayed for some reason. And now I gotta wait till tomorrow morning.”

“Where are you gonna go from here?”

“Umm... Octopus’s Garden.” She smiled, “And you? Where you came from?”

“Strawberry Fields Forever.”

They laughed out. She said, “Desmond, you’re so funny.”

He smiled back, “So are you Molly. What do you love except Beatles? Let me guess? Singer in a band?”

“No... I sing terribly! Wish I could. I play this” she pointed to her mouthorgan, “You paint! C’mon show me your works. You got here some, right?”

He opened his bag that was lying beside him and handed over her a small copy somewhat like a notepad. She went through the pages, as she went her speed of turning page slowed down. She concentrated more on the freaky lines that he had scratched through his pages. Being like hypnotized her lips trembled, “Wow! Desmond you... you just... I dunno what to say.” After a pause of few seconds she added, “Life brings you a lot of pain?”


“Your sketches are saying so.”

“Actually life didn’t bring me that much pain, rather I search for it in life. You know I... I like to portray the face of this pain... screaming silence... death.... no, I never had that much of experience of pain but I love the pain.”

Some wrinkles surfaced on her face, “But you’re a Beatles fan!”

“Who said a Beatles fan can’t be fond of ambient black metal?”

“Oh, I see that’s why you’re full in black.” She seemed a bit irritated at his reply.

“No... I’m the blackbird... singing in dead of night...”

Folds upon her forehead reduced, she nodded her head, slowly uttered, “Yes, but... I really can’t understand how a person like you can love pain... Beatles, they always sang for love... for peace...for life...”

“You only heard the song of the blackbird, never saw the wing... its broken.... maybe you also forgot to listen to the sound of the gentle weeping of a guitar... these all are pain, Molly”

“May be... but still...” She reached the pocket of her jacket and was about to offer him a cigarette.

“What? You smoke? But it brings you closer to death, and you hate death. Don’t you?” he said.

“What do you mean? Do you mean you smoke ‘cause you love death and have hurry to reach it. Well, let me suggest you then, you needn’t smoke for that, hang up from a rope, you’ll reach your loving death. Anyway I don’t care ‘bout death, all I love is my life and smoke’s like happiness a warm-gun to me”


“What’s there to be surprised of?”

“You said just like I give people reason for smoking.” He took the cigarette from her. She lit up her smoke. Then she bent towards him helping him to get the flame.

She released a chain of smoke and asked, “So, what you say to people about why you smoke?”

“They say ‘smoking kills’, and I reply them, ‘...but everyone dies.’”

“Suppose someone argued, ‘but smoking makes you die earlier.’”

“Some people die early, but it doesn’t mean they live less.”

“Great. You’ve got a vision.”


“Well, Desmond you love pain, death. Can you explain why?”

“I think life’s most significant part is death, like the ending climax of a novel.”

“I see. Whatever. Forget this topic. Do you know there’s a great thing I saw there, just a couple blocks down. Wanna go? ”

“Umm... it’s not very far, right? I can’t walk much. Today I’ve walked a lot.”

“No... It’s just there. May be we can have your cycle.”

“Cool.” He jumped to his feet, “Let’s go.”

She took her bag and stood up. She noticed his T-shirt, “Great T-shirt. Where you get it? I’d like to have one.”

“I’m afraid you won’t get this Beatles-design wear in market” he looked back at her and smiled, “I paint it by myself.”

She awed, “Wow! Desmond you really got some talents.”

“Not really. It ain’t that hard a work, it only seems so.”

“Don’t be so polite, you’re really an amazing artist.” She said as she was adjusting herself on the front-rod of his cycle with her bag.

It was a bit difficult for him cycling as well as smoking; her bag was heavy. But her company made his work easier.

He started to sing in a low voice,

“When the world’s amidst the trouble

It’s the duty of you and me”

She looked back at him and smiled as he kept singing,

“Make a brighter tomorrow

Let it be...”

He drove down the road.

When he finished the song, she told, “Your voice is really terrible like me, but I gotta admit you’re a true artist, your words are just awesome.” He smiled, but said nothing.

“Now take the left turn” she said. That left turn was a lane narrower and darker. In fact there wasn’t any street-light, the only thing that lit the road was the sweet soft moonlight. She asked, “So, Desmond, what would disappoint you most in this journey?”

“Nothing... it seems like a perfect one.”

“Still, what the thing you hate most to see in the next turn of this journey?”

“Umm... I thing a street-light would disappoint me most in this dark path.”

She smiled in reply. They kept on chatting while going through the dark night. The Beatles were connecting the two strangers.

“Hey, stop... stop... it’s here.” He stopped the cycle as she said. She jumped off the cycle and took a deep breath, “So what do you think ‘bout the beautiful thing of this spot?”

“I don’t realise actually. What’s the thing you want to show?” he seemed a bit confused. Moreover, sudden appearance of a street light in the dark had already blown his mood off a bit. She said spontaneously, “This street-light! Don’t you like it?”

“Not actually, I told you what I would hate most.”

She smiled, “So what do you think about this whole journey? It’s all in vain?”

“Nopes... I enjoyed the whole journey, just hated this end-part. But it’s never gonna drag down the great feeling of the whole road. After all, in any case I’d love to see the glass half-full”

“So you’re contradicting yourself. This is what I tried to say to you. End is not all that matters. Like life matters and how you spend it, not the end part, death.”

“Molly... I don’t know what to say... you... you just....”

“...whatever I am you’re unique for me. We’re a perfect match.” She smiled.

He smiled back and said, “Let’s get out of this fucking light first.” And he stepped towards his cycle. She followed him and they lost in the dark.

Time slipped through the night so fast that before they knew sun went down off the horizon in the opposite side of the world.

She seemed disappointed when her alarm went off. “I have to go now” she said.

When they reached the station, both got no words left to say. Neither wanted to let go off the moment but time didn’t permit them.

The train whistled into the station and within a minute was about to go.

She stood at the gate of the train.

He couldn’t wait or resist himself.

“Won’t we ever meet again?”

“Why not?”

“But I don’t know where to find you... neither you know of me.”

“But I’ve told you where I’m going and I know where you are from. Don’t you know where to find me?”

“Octopus’s Garden.”

“Yes, Desmond, my strawberry-field-boy...” and she kissed him as the train started to move.

She kept on standing as long as she saw him standing at station staring straight to her. When the train bent out of his sight he took his cycle. She sat by a window, brought out her mouthorgan and imagining him singing a song started to play a tune. While paddling his cycle amongst the waves of human-wave he sang out,

“I’ve just seen a face

I can’t forget the time or place....”


What is the strongest feeling of all? Love? Hate? Joy? Fear? Pain? Pity? Agony?

It’s really confusing. Actually the most problematic thing is that whenever I try to decide the most powerful one I always get biased. Being biased, doesn’t mean that every time I vote for same specific feeling. In fact I get biased by the situation that’s happening all ‘round me and I become inclined to different feelings at different times.

Such as when I first saw ‘Casablanca’(1942) I found love is all around. I thought it is the most vivid feeling. Love feeds us all, takes care of us and make us breathe.

Again, when my best friend jumped out of four storied window, don’t know ‘bout her but all I felt was nothing but a sting of pain. This time my realization was that pain is the superior of all. This is the feeling that brings best creation out of us(as I wrote the best ever poem after the incident).

But all those time I was wrong. I was biased. This time I think I’m neutral. Actually now I’m drowning in one feeling and voting for supremacy of ‘nother feeling. So I think finally I’ve managed to get out from being a biased person. Through my veins the feeling that is running now is boiling agony.

The only relaxing vacation during this sem is knocking on the door. As usual like other departments we also wanted to add just two extra holidays. And here comes the problem. The ‘Hirak Raja’ of our class, the butcher teacher standing alone with his bloody axe to cut off the little link of holidays that is supposed to help the long distant students to reach their home and breathe some air of free holidays. We all the students, well, almost all, decided to do a mass bunk. Then comes another problem. This ‘Hirak Raja’ has already put few students in his ‘Jantar-Mantar’ and has done the complete brain-wash. So they’re standing with this fucking king and against us. And probably finally we all have to bow before this king and got no bunk. So there’s no emotion left on my mind except a volcano of agony.

But I realize it’s not agony the strongest one but the ‘Fear’. We actually discarding this mass bunk because we are afraid, afraid of that motherfucker ‘Hirak Raja’. It’s how strange that more than 40 students just suppress their wish for only of three. This how afraid we are. And we are not doing this by the feeling of love or hate or joy or pain or agony but by the fear. Really, this is the emotion that helps the predator to kills his prey though in fact if the prey be united and punch back in a minute predator would become prey.

But enough. I have had enough. I won’t give this fear to control my actions any more. Fear, it is the strong one not the things we are afraid of. So I gotta uproot this fear from my mind. After all I’d rather be a dead man in the necropolis of revolutionaries than be a king in the kingdom of slavery.

Now it’s your call...