"You either die a hero.....

....or you live long enough to see yourself become a villain. "

I guess he chose the former.

For once, let's just not talk. Useless words anyways.

Bhenge mor ghorer chaabi niye jaabi ke amare.

There was dust, and there was light. Moonbeams, yes. And lots of rain. Lots and lots of rain. Drenched clothes and drenched hair. And a soggy, clingy me. There was greyness. And blueness. And a general redness on the roads. There was candlelight like melted butter, groggy mornings and groggier car-rides. Drunken midnights and random, insane conversations. Rabindrasangeet had rarely made as much sense.

Shantiniketan was grey. Like Kopai. And Red. Like the roads. And Blue. Like the sky. And Yellow. Like the candles. And Black. Like the rickshaw-ride. And Fiery. Like the fireflies. And orange. Like the bauls. And heartwrenchingly, mesmerisingly beautiful.

Sometimes, you don't hanker for more,

You take what you can, and let the rest be. :)

Because, as there was shouting and singing, hugging and sleeping, eating and drinking, and generally breathtaking living - a tiny bit of magic floating aimlessly around the world finally found a foothold and settled down over eight motley people and a little, red-laned countryside.