I grew up in Santiniketan, an University town where most of the schools and colleges were residential. Every year when Monsoon will slowly make way to a clearer sky and white fluffy clouds will come floating, my friends living in the hostels would yearn to go home.
Nearing to Puja Maa would make a trip to Kolkata to bring us new dresses and in class we would start rehearsing for Autumn Drama Festival 'Sharodotsav'. Our evening cycle trip to Kopai, a small river outside the main town with it's banks covered in white pillowy Kashful will make us believe...pujo asche (durga puja is NEaring).
Santiniketan during any vacation means a very sad place, an unusual quietness taking over the otherwise busy university life. With all the students gone home, lesser tourists the streets would be empty of the usual cycles and rikshaws. As if to escape the loneliness, evening would come early making the uncanny silence take over the vast grounds and surroundings. The yellow street lights would flicker glumly making the shadows of the age old trees grow deep, dark and mysterious. The shops will close much earlier than usual and by late evening the small university town of ours would feel like midnight.
