memoirs of a gutted house

We have lost many of our townspeople at the heart of our city of joys. Still we can't avoid blaming others. The pictures of the Stephen Court (the 150-year old heritage building) show the sheer callousness over life from time immemorial. We have playfully forgotten to rise above all sorts of political clashes and come to this understanding that saving life is less important than saving political armchair. It is no longer a political issue, but so long as the grievance is concerned, it is dragged on a political platform. The political parties, following the same awful track, have been at loggerheads with one another. As part of a political play, one blames to be blamed by others. We couldn't save the 24 lives from being burnt to death. However, we could have saved the house from being on fire. The ill-equipped firefighters were summoned. They say, they fell through to seize the fiery tongues. As a consequence, fire continued its fiery soccer, licked with its tongues the upper floors and made black-blood-swamped fleshes come out of living beings.

The City of Joy changed into a City of Sorrows, when Stephen Court resigned to the bulging fire. Many houses are vulnerable still. They seldom enjoy industrial/commercial fire protection/prevention systems. Measures are taken when things go beyond the time of taking measures. Still our tolerance knows no measure, and some of us, are still in support of the present West Bengal Government – the jocund firefly sitting on all griefs.

This blog is paying tribute to the souls who were burnt alive in the dancing fire and commemorating our insensibility as well.