Weekend Stories by Trishikh

At four every morning the severely annoying sound of a gradually intensifying, prolonged and near-deafening yawn would obliterate the tranquillity of a sleepy northern neighbourhood slowly waking up to face another day in the cosmopolitan city of Kolkata in the eastern armpit of the Indian subcontinent.

A solid ten minute of thunderous“Hh uuu aaaa wwwww hhhhhh, maaa maa ma,”by seventy-seven-year-old Paandurongo Trilokchand Ghosh, alias‘Poe-tay’would scare off dawning birds and bats perched on electric poles and tree branches.

Some covered their ears with the palms of their hands. Others tried to muffle the sound with pillows cuddled over their heads. Poetay’s legendary yawn was one of the many noises played by the septuagenarian every morning not to annoy his neighbours but to prepare himself for the day. It was a routine, which he had come to practice, absorb, and develop as second nature over the years, and…

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