Kalpana settled into her favourite window seat in the train. Adjusting the folds of her radiant purple sari, she pulled out her notebook and pen. She loved the romantic charm of such journeys in the last of these steam trains chugging to Bhubaneswar. From the window, she soaked in the scenes that floated by. Rice fields in endless opulent green, small mud huts, dreamy blue streams and lakes, dainty women in red, green and yellow saris hanging clothes on lines went by. These images were like dreams to fulfil. They inspired the poems and songs she wrote. Once at Bhubaneswar, she’d walk through the mud roads. Always moved by the silent cultural riches of this place, she felt it delightfully untouched by time or the busy changing world around. She felt also enthralled by the sculptures of Odissi dancers. They soared expressively above the stillness of temple walls. Here Kalpana…
