In this age of critical open letters, which have become rather hackneyed in my arrogant opinion, I decided to not conform to societal norms and openly state the kind of reverence I have for the woman that you are. People, who do not possess the kind of intellect that you do, call it love. My delirious brain calls it ‘Mamata worship’. So here I am, penning down my feelings in what is supposed to be known as a love letter. I wish I had a pigeon who could deliver that piece of my heart at your doorstep, but since the times they are a changin’, so much so, that a Kolkata is turning into a London of sorts, I sought the help of the electronic media to convey my love for you. Here it goes:
My world was always sans colours; it was monotonous and was nothing but a sad black and white. And then you came and painted it in the brightest of hues. You lit it up like nobody else. Green made me happy; blue made me feel slightly under the weather, red incited the angry young girl inside of me to surface in all her glory and yellow was one colour I did not particularly like. My kindergarten lessons on the several colours known to mankind were deemed useless because you taught me their importance in a way nobody else could. It amazes me how you manage to be the glittering personality that you are and radiate an aura that is nonpareil, despite your trademark dull white sarees. It is your persona that is so replete with colours, that you could fill an entire canvas with the same. That is probably the reason why my life changed the moment I set my eyes upon you.
It was during the spring of 2011 that you painted my state green and made sure the Commies went green owing to your brilliant victory. I have to admit that I was apprehensive and paranoid. I, in all honesty, did not see how you could bring about poriborton in a state where change is met with an appalling amount of disapproval. But you possess a charm that is surreal and you sure came, saw and conquered. It seemed as if green was the colour of the blood that ran through the veins of those that called themselves the inhabitants of West Bengal. A glorious history was only waiting to be written.
My city is now blue all over and your lack of reciprocation towards my love gives me the blues. The buses, the walls, the flyovers and even the taxis- all look like they have been embraced by the baby blue sky from up above. The trees in Kolkata could easily be spouting blue leaves in a few years, I presume. I often wonder, if the city of joy is captured on celluloid by another Roland Joffe, an Anurag Basu or even a Sujoy Ghosh for that matter, the film could easily be tagged as a ‘blue film’. Pardon me madam; I know my joke was not really amusing. What else can you expect from a love-struck 20-something?
My love for you has only grown stronger with every passing day. No Dinesh or Ambikesh could or can take it away from me. You even constitute my dreams most of these nights; it is just that you do not realize the enormity of my affection. A lot of people tell me that in order to woo your object of interest, you need to tease them. I therefore came up with some wonderful plans in order to grab your attention- maybe I could ask your party members to allow me to take an interview of yours? I would come dressed in red and use words like ‘lMAO‘ and ‘roflMAO‘ throughout our conversation. It might irk you, but then it sure will aid me in getting you to pay heed to me. Life is certainly not fair, madam. When I try to justify my love for you, those imbeciles mock me. They say that you did not get married because the colour of sindoor and an Indian wedding trousseau is supposed to be red. You have always been as vocal as possible about issues that affect your people, you did not even need those anti-TMC English newspapers to support your cause, so what is it that is forcing you to keep mum here?
Lend me your ears madam, for my heart is yearning to hear from you. If love is all about making compromises, I shall never drink and go partying in our city as that might cause me to get raped, thereby defaming you and your government. I promise, I shall offer my prayers before your photograph every morning, before I leave my house, the way your party men do. It will only help in making my day all the more fruitful. I promise to never go on a diet as I do not want the dreaded dengue to attack me and take me away from you. I promise, I shall not watch Cartoon Network or lay my hands on Tinkle Digest because I have begun to detest cartoons considering your hatred for the same. I shall never drive a Tata Nano, especially a yellow one, as it is simply distasteful. Now now Mamata, we belong to the same sex, don’t we? So an open interaction between the two of us should not lead to a case of rape, right? So why are you killing me with your silence? Answer me dear lady, or this lover of yours shall die a thousand deaths.
I therefore end this billet-doux of mine, with dreams in my eyes and hopes in my heart, that one day you will comprehend the significance behind this passion that I possess for you.
P.S: Just asking- Yellow was the colour of Mao’s skin, right? Eeesh, sorry, I love you okay? Shotti.
Disclaimer: The feelings expressed by the author are as fictional as they could possibly be.