Just imagine, Imagination leaves her home, everyday, at 5:30 in the morning, and takes a 15min rickshaw ride to the nearest train station.
Then she takes the overcrowded one and a half hour train ride to Ballygunge station. She takes another auto and reaches a house exactly at 8am. The forgotten elderly gentleman in the house depends on her care for the next twelve hours.
Imagination has been caring for this gentleman for the last twelve years.
She leaves the house at 8 in the evening, takes the same harrowing two and a half hour return journey via auto, train, rickshaw and reaches her home by 10:30 in the night. She has a disabled husband, a son and a daughter at home. Her home is almost dilapidated, she has a few birds in one corner often attacked by snakes, and the family all stay together somehow with the roof over their head. At night, mosquitoes from the ponds attack full fledged – her children have already suffered through several bouts of dengue, malaria, encephalitis.
The old man timed his day on Imagination’s arrival and departure. His whole day depended on her reaching his house. Through rain, sun, thunder, strikes, Imagination always arrives on time, every single day. No calamity, natural or man made, ever stopped her.
Imagination is old now. She is unable to work anymore. The old gentleman in the Ballygunge house is no more either.
For all Imaginations across our country, there’s no pension, no subsidy. Regimes changed, political parties rose and fell, no one considered these innumerable “Imaginations”. There’s no workers’ union for them, no one ever protested for them.
Early morning “Aya” trains from Canning, Lakshmikanthapur, Ghutiyari, Dhopdopi, Suryanagar, Jaynagar, Mazilpur, Sonarpur reaches Jadavpur, Dhakuria, New Garia, Sealdah and brings countless ayas as if slaves. These women work their entire lives, but there is no place for them in our protests or in our hearts. No one cares where they live, how they live, how their children are growing up.
Imagination cares, everyday, all day, but we don’t bother to care for them. We are too busy caring about religion, caste, creed, color.
This is a sad pathetic yet absolutely true and happening chapter of our Bengal and Bengali way of life.
In fact, the entire country is like this.


Do I exist? Do I matter? — No, this is not a philosophical, abstract question.
It is a very critical, ominous time.
Next week, America will decide whether or not this country will go down on a permanent path to fascism, violence, and white supremacy.
The bomb suspect’s van was plastered with Trump stickers.
A quick analysis that very few will pay attention to.
I have total support for Christine Blasey Ford. This man Kavanaugh does not deserve to be a U.S. Supreme Court judge.