There were no fireflies to belittle themselves in front of the morning sun all gone. After all, that?s what the sun promises, to hide the weakest under his light.? – (Womb of Fireflies) What is Sundarbans, and those scattered islands to you? Amidst all the known and unknown voices, the single sound came out to be that of a green, mysterious forest, grooming with Sundari trees, the roar of the Royal Bengal Tiger, noises of Pankouri, and the beautiful color of sun diving deep inside the waters. But this wasn’t my Sundarbans. My Sundarbans was all about those humans, the people living, surviving, bearing their pains, yet loving each other from their hearts. These 22 years of living, so far, yet so close to the heart of the Sundarbans, compelled me to write all about them. This is all they had, could have or could never have as I still take the shadow of my people, my roots and my Sundarbans to Delhi. Read the journey of Alok, his beloved Snehalata, the pains of his mother and tales of child-biases born out of marriage done at an age where what marriage meant didn’t make sense to her.