Baithak

Baithak was never born, it just grew.

Like the tree borne of the seed borne of the fruit borne of a tree borne of.

Some of us, who wanted to do ‘something’ and helpfully didn’t know what, mercifully found ourselves thrown together in a place we couldn’t escape. So we picked up a piece of thought and started.

Arriving at a comprehensive list of what we do, is like making the perfect menu for our mess. Incomplete, as it must be.

Among others, we do stories, no-brain-er-storming, winter evenings, set-ting, tea, fancy-dressing, memorizing, lyricism, cleaning, meet-fixing, eatables, planning, tantrums and lots of laughter.

Baithak is not intended at becoming anything on such a day. Nevertheless it should become. The refuge. The nature. The nurture. For all those who want to do something. Sing, dance, act, write, read, speak, listen, narrate, create, deconstruct, see. To cut the frills from art for art by itself is grand. So that once the arc lights are dimmed the show does not end. Small things for everybody.

To borrow Kerouac’s words, "What's your road, man? -holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, any road. It's an anywhere road for anybody, anyhow".

Baithak is a halt for pilgrim souls who don’t know where is the going, but perhaps how is the going.