Royals and Pigeons

The Andul Rajbari is a magnificent ruin, a short rickshaw-ride from the bus-stand. Its majestic pillars tell the old, tragic story of decay, as a sign-board Andul Sporting Club peeps out from behind. Coke chips cigarettes saris and dress material are sold in one of its corners. Next to the sporting club. I walk in through one of its tall broken doors. And pigeons trapeze through the quadrangular space inside. Long stretches of corridor look down upon me. My feet strike at piles of ruin, and upset an inner equilibrium of debris. Nostalgia meets nonchalance here. So what if this is a testimony to a long-gone moment of power and opulence, we are here now and it is our game that narrates this space. Say the pigeons. At one of the corners, petticoats of an occupant are hung out to dry. In a different quarter, quaint velvetted royal couches are obliterated by a loyal servant. No one who might be able to answer your questions is here now. Yes you can come back during the weekend.


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