He was named after the untamed passion that his parents shared. The untamed love that they didn’t give words to, but spoke of, with their eyes.
He was named after his father’s valour, the warlord with wild eyes who had not come off his high horse till all contenders were vanquished. Who’d slay a dozen with a stroke of his sword.
He was named after the many musk roses that lined the fence of their kitchen garden, infusing their sweet, overwhelming smell through the lengths of the house. The kind of smell that would leave you in a frenzy and make your senses hungry.
He was named after the night that’d shroud everything in its own black, leaving no stone untouched leaving behind silhouettes.
He was named after the overpowering silence of dawn. The sound of dew drops falling on a watering- can kept below the rose plants that pierced through the dead-pan silence.
He was named after fearlessness in his steps. The flamboyance in his moves. He was named after these movements and gestures that ensured no one could take their eyes off him.
He was named after that demure smile he always wore on his lips when he looked at his audience from underneath his thick lashes before swirling away to land of ecstasy. He twisted his waist and twirled his hand while the onlookers would watch.
He was named after all the miracles he performed on stage each day. He united tears and smiles on each face with his grace. He waltzed about telling stories, with the lights glaring at him hungrily, while he let the music seduce him.
He was named after the radiance that he bought along to dark halls and spread them to dingy lanes in far away corners of human minds.
He was named after himself.
He was Panache.
– Nilanjana Bhattacharjee