“Love does not claim possession, but gives freedom”- Rabindranath Tagore. Freedom…a seven-letter word that has always been my most prized possession. The ceaseless raindrops, slowly make their way around my sari-pleats, carrying with them streamlets of my smudged kajal, the pitter-patter of the glistening pearls whip up some unknown melody , taxis buzz past , Kolkata’s trams shove their way through the swarming crowds , ignoring the hustle and din , the sounds , the smells , the presence of an unknown , incognito soul , the presence of an eminent writer , the writer called “Charulata Chatterjee” .Life, has never been easy ,not with the waves of emotions and passion ebbing every now and then , but my belief in certain miracles , certain impossibilities and factual actualities have made it seemingly bearable. For a while , I had thought that my world had come to its end…my acquaintances , my friends , my loves no longer held faith in my existence …, my stories , my editorials , my novels no longer made the mark . Charulata Chatterjee was now, merely an identity associated with the lexicon of Tagore’s anthology and critique. My life had apparently turned into that of a frustrated “The Telegraph” newspaper’s critic’s. My thoughts would, inevitably veer towards those unforgettable fragments of memories , when those split-seconds of love hung crystalline in the momentum of the breezy air…Yet now , as these silly little dunes of water form tiny rivulets across my flesh , my skin and my psyche , I realize that I was wrong. There is undoubtedly nothing that beats the essence of freedom given by love. To have sacrificed the moments of my precious life in search of a non-existent truth , a non-existent being , a figment of my imagination called “Amol” , a man who only treaded my dreams before , has indeed been part insanity , but as Tagore had rightly said, that to have gained insanity for love is certainly the most sacred of accomplishments , I choose to delve no further on this and walk on , for I no longer fear the moving tram , the speeding vehicles or the gushing rains…I no longer dread those dull lazy hours spent at the Editorial Office…I no longer need do any of that, except look forward to an existence that lives , breathes , enjoys , sings and dances for a passing thought called Amol. To perceive and realize the true meaning of my words, my dear reader, is now up to you…