Gypsy Jazz Suparnaa Sinha Dutta
It seemed that even the sun was in a not very conducive mood and had decided to depart early than is usually expected at the end of the February in Calcutta. The green branches slowly acquired a deeper tinge and the water of the lake became darkish as the sky turned inky blue. Trina sat at the foot of a big and bare tree at the Lake Park and tried to make up her mind once and for all. She was about to take the toughest decision of her life. She was trying hard to concentrate but the rustling of the leaves distracted her as if they were not happy with her decision and were trying to dissuade her. But she seemed determined this time. Life exasperated her, she was sick of it. She did not want to live anymore. It was as simple as that-she tried to tell the leaves scattered around her. The cool breeze too seemed to blow away the dust of despair from her mind but all the attempts of nature seemed futile. Trina stood up, took a deep breath and sloshed in the mud as she inched towards the black water. Her beautiful eyes welled up with tears and it blurred her vision. Somehow she stumbled towards the edge of the water and tried to fathom the deepest part of the lake so that she was not left with the faintest trace of survival. But a velvety carpet of moss concealed the water. Trina had faced hurdles all her life but she never thought she had to cross hurdles to face death as well. She decided to go ahead and looked around to see if anybody was watching her. She was about to make a splash when a faint music caught her attention. Her ears strained to catch the tune. It was the sound of a guitar-her favourite musical instrument. It was coming from the centre of the park. The music was magical and irresistible. She immediately recognised it. It was jazz and it sort of dragged her and she started following it as if it was the Pied Piper. The strumming of guitars clouded her mind with a potion which made her heady and she was pulled in the midst of an Indo-French open air jazz festival in the middle of the park. Trina found a happy and colourful crowd cheering the French musicians performing on the stage. She elbowed her way through the crowd and stood in the front. One of the French musicians smiled at her and shouted, “This is for you mademoiselle. My creation-Gypsy Jazz.” Trina blushed as the crowd started clapping.
Richard Edwards has a BFA in Creative Writing and Journalism from Bowling Green State University and an M.S. in Education from the University of Akron. Managing editor of Drunk Duck, poetry editor for Prairie Margins, reporter for Miscellany, Akron Journal, Lorain Journal, and The BG News. He has also worked as a professional writer and editor in the medical publishing industry for several years. For the last 15 years Richard has also taught literature and writing at the secondary and post-secondary levels. He works much of the time with at-risk students.