Rocks and Us - Day One

"... Are we really here?" Somehow, Moumita had read my thoughts. My exact thoughts. Standing by those cold railings, holding them, looking at probably the deepest sudden-depression on dry earth with the gradually forming dark clouds in its background, when I had decided to put down the camera and had savored the sight of the Grand Canyon for just a few seconds,  this was my precise thought - Am I really here?

This was a very important trip for our little group. It was probably our last one as THE group. When we had set out to catch the flight from Louisville (packed in Asish da's Camry), we already had that sense of a little accomplishment in us - one year, three grand trips! We had a little circus of delayed flight and car rental mess at the airports, but the gang had only started to make its story on that long weekend. "But we cant stop having fun!" was the war-cry and we set out for the Grandest of all Canyons.

No, we didn't go to the sky-walk, but chose the South rim instead. People say, slant sun-rays present you with the best of scenic views. I was not lucky enough to be there at sunrise or sunset, but I was there at a rarer moment - partly dark sky with the thick cylindrical space of "its raining only there" visible at the infinity. I had not expected that. Absolutely not. (and I must tell you, yet again, my photographs have not been able to do justice to the actual feeling of being there.)... And this is where I heard Moumita giving voice to my exact thoughts.

I had never seen Asish da getting so passoinate about clicking a picture. But this time, at one of the view points, we was flat on his belly, on the soil of Arizona, in an attempt to capture the best of what his view had sparked in him. Sukanya di, was only smiling and Soumen was having it difficult to get a steady shot of Asish da in the middle of his laughter!

It was not just the vastness, but the the physical depth of  the depression and the lonliness in the air (no sound, except the air itself brushing on your ears), makes you feel a little sorry for the place. Its like a really really huge painting, which no one can take home. It feels like craving for company. Yet, in my mind, it looks beautiful. Although, not everyone has such a depressing take. Moumita, (again) was the one to voice it with some joy - "Ei Akaash Amaar Mukti" was the song which she sang (and which Soumen pretended to hum along with some "Lalala"!)

I had gotten my US driver's license only three days ago and was quite excited to drive (others were feeling a very different kind of excitment on their nerves with me behind the wheel!) But, even if an SUV was something I had only reversed a few feet, that too a whole year back, I believe I did a nice job in that rain and hail and single lane roads on our way to Antelope Canyon. And Thank God there was a hailstorm strong enough to white-out my visibility, making us stop on the shoulder and re-confirm the direction. As it turned out, we have been going in the completely wrong direction for the last 19 miles. 

And again, thankfully we were two hours late for our 1 pm appointment with the tour people. Or else we would have missed the "this 3 pm is my favorite light condition" words from our super amazing tour guide. She was from the indigenous group of people of that area and an amazing photographer. She told us all about the flash floods in the canyon, strange acoustics, pretend-blaze lights bouncing and re-bouncing on the narrow parallel walls and helped us take some startling photographs.

Undoubtedly, the Antelope Canyon was the second jewel on the crown that day. Surreal - the only word that comes out upon looking at the waves on its walls. Looking at something for real, which you have only seen as award winning photographs in those magazines, does make it worth the pain. (Although, for some unknown reason, Asish da was getting restless looking for "terra-cotta")

I don't know if sometimes some superior force listens to me wishing, but it was getting a little suspicious in my mind about the sky conditions that entire day. It was more than what I had hoped for. Soumen was driving now and the way I was looking at it, he was driving right towards the dark clouds. For some reason, it was feeling like diving into the clouds (some credit for that goes to the speed Soumen was playing with). With random lightening in the distance connecting the grasslands with the blackness in the sky, there was even a complete rainbow on the east sky. You don't get to see that in the concrete jungle.

That entire day, we were not sure in which time zone we were (Seriously! We weren't). One spot seemed to be in Pacific, one in Mountain time zone. And then again, there was a confusion if the Navajo areas followed the Daylight saving time or not. We were not very sure of the time when we reached the Monument Valley Park, again under the maintenance of the indigenous Red Indian people.

The fact that the native American people have been here since the beginning of history (and have been named "Indian" just because Mr. Columbus though anywhere he lands is India), there seems to be a very harmonious bond between the roughness of the rocks and the people living there. They worship the sun, the thunder, the sand storm, the rain, the sky, the eagle and these beautiful brown rocks. At times I feel, that human history started as nothing but a story of finding harmony in living. But somewhere, it lost the core idea - may it be on the grounds of religion, economy, power... and just remained a skeletal continuation of mere existence, not living.

The time confusion did not end till the end of that day. Syncing phone time with a central server time had almost cost us our dinner that night. The sleepy town of Moab, for some reason, denies the time zone surrounding it. Thankfully, a Subway outlet kept itself open till 9 (which we had assumed "Relax. Its only 8 now. See my mobile."). The next day I had to wake up at 4:45, so I put the alarm for 3:45 and dived to catch some sleep after 40 hours.

Rocks and Us - Day Two

As the order goes within the group, no one was late for the 530 huddle in front of our vehicle, all packed. It was again the case like Alaska, where we did not get to see how our hotel looks is daylight. But, nevertheless, we were more excited to see the Arches National Park than our nice little hotel. 

Asish da opened the driving that day and after stuffing ourselves with some good breakfast, we entered the premises of the Arches. And with so many flat vertical rocks, one standing in front of the other, you can actually see the phenomenon of sunrise till very late. The stone faces are half orange with the rays and half in dark shadows.

In this area, it is a little surprising to see wherever there is a huge rock, there are holes put through them. And if the "putting a through hole" process had gone a little too far, the rock is eroded on all its side to give a shape good enough to tickle the human imagination.

The heat was very evident that day. The area was not very high from sea level and lacked trees. Living in such conditions is an achievement in itself. This was the first time when we realized that even harshness can be home. And home is always beautiful. Soumen and I walked up to this Arch and felt like a pair of Pumas descending down the rocks to get its sunny side. Even though, we both had normal wide angle lenses (exactly the same cameras, actually), it barely fit in. Nevertheless, the task of finding the proper foot and back rest among the rocks itself felt kind of exciting.

The advantage of starting well ahead of the "convenient hours" was very evident when we saw the queue at the park entry not less than 70-80 cars long, while we had entered as a single car in that entire stretch of the road. And the feeling good had only started. Again, I was behind the wheel but this time the only excitement in the rest of the passengers was of seeing the Bryce Canyon. Although, 75 (or 70 or 65 or 60 or whatever ...) was meant to be the upper limit of the speed, it is an unwritten convention among the interstate drivers that these numbers only get a treatment of a lower limit. Hence, my speedometer was oscillating between 90 and 97. And, dude! you surely feel a rush driving an SUV through a desert, wearing a dark sunglasses (just for the sake of style!).

I wont lie. I had underestimated the Bryce Canyon looking at Google images. But when I walked up to the edge and saw what lies in front of me, I stood speechless (at a safe distance). It totally resembled the myth  which tells about people turned into stones by magic. The canyon looked like a huge (really huge) ballroom where people are standing in there own peer groups, making silent conversation, ready for the music to start. The only problem being, they seem to have been waiting since forever and the music does not promise to start anywhere in near future.

Suddenly, it came to the other four of our group to walk a trail. One and half miles, along the rim of the canyon. It was something without water and seemed never ending (afterall "Bheto Bangali Never Does Any Trail in Ayemerika"). But when the pain in the feet finally felt hopeless and became easy to ignore, the trail seemed like a good setup to talk to myself. Walk and Talk. When finally  the end came, there was a feeling of an attainment in spite of the aching calfs and gaspings for breathe... Sort of its own reward.

We were not done yet! Thanks to the amazingly analytical brains of Asish da and Soumen, we concluded that we might not reach Zion National Park in time (Bryce had taken more than expected). Soumen took the wheel now. With the route set up in the GPS and in the Google maps of our phones, we started. We didn't have the hopes to catch the shuttles to roam inside the park, but we did manage to get inside it and take a road that was perfectly suited to take us through some of the natural beauty of the park and land us in our final destination of for that day.

Like the morning, the sunset was also visible on the nearby rocks (partly orange, partly in shadows). The least attractive of all that we had seen that day, we still manage to make a story out of yet another trail Soumen, Asish da and I did. Sukanya di and Moumita decided to stay back in the car while we three went out to see a view point "only 10 mins away", starting with stairs made on the rock. We climbed and we climbed and we climbed. We were cautious not to slip off the narrow edges and when we were told by the hikers going in the opposite direction, that it is only 2/3rd of the hike, we were determined to murder that "only 10 mins away" guy. But when we finally reached the top, the sunset had yet again proved its agelessness.

It was like a vast corridor suddenly opening in front of us. We climbed on the highest rock and took some pictures and then remembered that the ladies in the vehicle are surely breathing fire. That was the quickest descent we did. And I would not like to talk about what happened when we returned. Except the exceptionally skillful driving of Soumen along those single lane roads and the deadly U-turns in the dark while coming down the park. And the dinner crisis (again) before we could spot that almost closed Chinese Restaurant on our way to Vegas.

Yupp, Vegas was our last stop of this tour. Every soul in the car was "re-happified" to see the lights of Las Vegas from Interstate-15. But Vegas-ing had to wait till the next day evening. All we needed now was sleep! A visit to one of the most hostile places in the United States awaited us the following morning.

Rocks and Us - Day Three (with Vegas)

For the first time in our vacations, we could afford to wake up like some lazy bags of sand. It was absolutely fine even if we could start by 6:45 to 7 in the morning. And that's what we did. I had been to Vegas once before and the same word came to me like it came the first time I had seen Las Vegas in daylight - dull. Seems like the entire town is in a hangover. Nevertheless, a breakfast at a McD and we were out for the hottest National Park in the United States (hottest as in temperature-wise).

With the Nevada  desert all around us, I had not expected the Death Valley National Park to appear distinctly different. But it was. The rugged and primitive land forms seem to have remained unchanged since the dinosaur age. I have always been a patron of a sky full of clouds. But this time, I did not want that to happen. I wanted to see the place like it is meant to be seen - raw. On my huge-watery-dark-eyes-like-Puss-from-Shrek-movies request, Asish da agreed to drive from there on.

When we say desert, we first think of sand and sand. This was a little different. It was rocks. It may have been the actual beauty of the place or some seriously good packaging by the US department of tourism, it looked beautiful. So hostile, so merciless, yet so beautiful. All shades of brown, sometimes bordering in the range of orange and yellow and red, different layers of rocks looked like a living document of the age and events of the earth.

It had started to appear like a constant realization - "Its a planet where we live". Quite an obvious fact, but it has been hitting me more strongly than ever, away from the distraction called civilization. The same was in Yellowstone, in Alaska and now in Death Valley (I am yet to have this feeling in other continents). While inside the Artist's Drive, the elevations and the dips and the turns and stone covers and the sudden revelation of the open landscape, it was not very difficult to gauge that even the roughest of terrains have that power to make themselves so damn attractive.

The more you see the merciless vastness, the more you begin to wonder about the "save the planet" campaigns seen everywhere these days. Do we humans have it in us to save the planet? Was it not here before we were? Will it not be here long after we are wipped out? There are believer of the fact (including me) that the planet does not need our saving, the need for saving is for us humans. Like everything else on this planet, we are a mere part of the balance. We disturb its delicateness, we get disturbed ourselves. The planet can always come up with a substitute species for humans. It doesnt bother.

For reasons to keep resembling my picture in my passport, (minus the added chubbiness over the years) I used my hand kerchief to cover the part of my face left open after wearing a cap and sunglasses. It was indeed the hottest place we have even been. The frailness of our existence was even more clear to us when we were greeted by the Devil's Golf Course. It appeared like nature has perfected barrenness here. No sign of vegetation, only salt flats for miles. To be able to stand there and soak in the sight takes a little bit of extra time, so that you can start by believing that you are actually standing alive in the place which calls itself Death Valley. The only ray of hope is that you know there is a tar-paved road less  than quarter of a mile away which you can take to get out this place.

The term "xyz meters above sea level" has always confused me a little. I am not sure, if by "above sea level" one means a distance radially outward the earth's lithosphere. If it is so, then my next theory might make sense. At a place called Badwater Basin, it was specifically marked 282 ft BELOW sea level (82 meters) - making it officially the lowest point in the entire continent. Now, when some one says "lowest", by that sea level theory in my mind, I automatically consider it closer to the core of the earth. No doubt, it was hot as hell (almost, literally).

It was a Panda Express for lunch in the town of Shoshone close to the CA-NV border. We were exhausted. Seriously exhausted. but we knew we were not yet done. Back in our hotel in Vegas, we could catch some rest before sundown. When we woke up, we were neck deep in the feeling that we deserve a memorable night out in the mad city out there. The flight delay, the sleeplessness, the early mornings, the trails, the drives, the hunt-for-food, the dehydration... but also the breath-taking-ness, the rain at the Grand Canyon, the perfect rainbow, the magnificent lights, the group fun on the road, and the silent remembrance that this might be our last time, we knew that Vegas was the perfect place to write the epilogue.

Since I had been there before, I was crowned the unofficial tour guide. For the people with similar upbringing and inhibitions as mine, I think I did not disappoint the group. There was the must see Bellagio Fountain, some gambling (only Asish da won, again!), walking inside casinos like Ceaser's Palace et cetra and experiencing the stunning "pretend sky" lighting of Venetian. I must admit that money does not startles me that much as much what people create using it does (or how people just throw it away does). Other than holding the Wonder Woman by her waist for a photograph (first time, I was not excited about Batman also being there!), there was no sin committed in that city.

We were back when it was only 1 am ("only" by Vegas standard) and were under the impression that the quota of trails is over. Well, we were wrong. When we landed in Dallas from Phoenix the next day, our connecting flight was not less than half the airport across with barely 10 mins to spare once we had alighted. We ran! Like crazy - on the moving side walks, on the escalators, on the subsequent escalators, on the floor (and I think Asish da ran inside that airport sky-link trains as well!). But when we were finally at the boarding gates, we were complimented by the attendants (announcing final calls and waiting for only the last 5 passengers) that we sure know how to fly! Once seated, all we could do was gasp fpr breath and laugh!

The drive from Louisville to Lexington too had something strange! The energy level. Somehow, it refused to die. Loud laughters, jokes, jokes about me, recalling incidents, jokes about me, narrating amazement, jokes about me, songs etc. were on full fire! 

Yes, we were not wrong about that sense of achievement four days ago. For us, it always took more than what is generally called a relaxing vacation, but it has always been equally rewarding. Every little hardship is a little story, every milestone is an inspiration, every awestruck-ness is a reward and every photograph is a reflection of that madness which we five put as "Cholo,ticket ta kete phelte hobe toh" :)

Till next time,

Cheers!

Musically Speaking

It used to mean Manna Dey, Sandhya Mukhopaddhyay, Shyamal Mitra, Debabrata Biswas in those years. That old tape-recorder and those cassettes which had become collectable classics then only. Could never learn more than a line or two of those 10 songs (side A and B), but the tunes were etched deep.

Growing up without a sibling has its own charm I guess. You have those afternoons all to yourself and a vast world of imagination spawning in between the pencil/pen chewing breaks during the "studies". Thanks to the electronic media, visuals of people singing/dancing (running/fighting/crying/saving others/reuniting with loved ones etc etc) to a song had not remained very rare. And when you have parents with some appreciation for music, every muscle in your body gradually learns to move with the rhythm - May it be a bird in the morning continuously cooing in that eucalyptus tree in front of your balcony, or the sound of the train's wheels between two stations far apart, or just a loud speaker vomiting Hindi gaan.

Then comes the age when you notice the lyrics of a song. Suddenly, all those love songs start sounding for that one person and one not-so-fine day, all the sad songs start getting dedicated to that person. The love song sad song cycle continues. This is the time when people come up with answers to slam book sections of "favorite song". You move on from the incidents, but you barely move away from the memories the songs create for you - may it be sad, may it be happy. The first time you feel the trance of music - something that is probably going to stay with you life long. An unusually dark 5 pm with a greenish tint in the setting sun (a thing before a devious storm), to see that person cry for someone else and not for you, the first petrichor and all  the ones following it, the picnic by that shallow hilly river - music starts defining these all.

photo and guitar and "how to hold a chord" courtesy: Agniswar Sen

It is not before you leave your friends, the realization dawns how strong exactly is your attachment to them. A phase where the countless metaphorical "Love vs Friendship" quotes start to make sense. And to top these all, a young new film maker makes a movie on friendship only to sweep the entire nation off its feet. Yes, a never-felt-before joy surfaces with every beats when you are with friends now. Even if you are not formally trained as a singer, you start singing with all the emotions from the song. You learn to play the guitar coz its cool and start to look at the songs as your own random outlet of feelings. In the hostel, with all sort of legal and illegal smokes, imported and locally brewed liquor, you start to firmly believe that music is something that takes you higher than anything else - capabilities especially retained by artists stating immortal quotes and sporting fashion statements which have define an entire generation, regional bands of your own city with courageous lyrics, crowd-hypnotizing melodies of international singers, crazy guitar solos of bare torso guitarists and numerous like them. By this time, you have quite a pile of memories - from home, from neighborhood, from school, from short trips, and even from college if you are in the college long enough by now. You know that your care-free youth has more or less been defined. You are never going to forget how the sound of a certain tune in a certain voice, accompanied by a certain beat, played in a certain rhythm made you feel. You are now ready to move on to the "matured" phase of life, but you are now carrying your entire youth compressed in a set of some of the most prominent pieces of music.

The money making phase spells chaos all over again. Away from home, making rent, learning to arrange food, a cosmopolitan place to live, living with people having a different lifestyle... The adjustment takes time. For the first time, you look at the future for more than just six months (or four months, depending on the semester/trimester system of the college which now seems like a pre-historic chapter). Fridays now seem to the most favorite day of the week and people start to bond more over a bus ride or over a helping hand while cooking than ever before. You party all night with the new friends (and "close acquaintances") and nothing seems very imperfect. New sounds make new memories filled with visuals of a new city. Participation in others life teach you new life lessons. But that age old nostalgia sometimes fill your empty afternoons. You lay back on your bed and stare at whatever is visible of that coconut tree behind that next compound wall and wonder "how is the view outside my own window back home right now." This is when you hear that worn out cassette tape of Manna Dey, Sandhya Mukhopaddhyay, Shyamal Mitra, Debabrata Biswas inside your head, again. No song in particular, but the sound of very familiar tunes. It sounds worn out against the new digital sound effects. You feel like having completed a circle. You feel like you are at home the most, when you are at a place far far away from it. And there is always a piece of music to attest that.

And this is probably where you stop inducing in new music. You listen and enjoy the new music - all the new soulful and foot thumping ones out there but nothing from here on becomes as memorable as that old tape, those pain ridden lyrics, the joyful friendship songs, those guitar solos, those old tapes again. As a conclusive proof I have seen people from my father's generation. They seem to have a clear demarcation of "good music" and "not-so-good music". Whatever is "good" for them seems to be nothing newer than when they were new at their first jobs. They are carrying their youth with them in form of music. They have kept those sounds as a reminder of the time when their energy was bordering recklessness - in other words, when it was at its highest.

After looking at it more like a work of art, music gradually becomes a section of your knowledge bank - genre, artists, release, originals, covers, music videos, era and tens of such classification. Then happens the exploding diversification of this knowledge - world music (which is sometime only pretentious). Irrespective of language, you listen to some of them. This part probably has less soul and more brains. By the age when you have become sure of your own personality, you create your own playlist carefully selecting from all the, ALL THE, songs that exist in your own world. And you listen to them while you are in a crowded bus, in the middle of a PNPC discussion at work, while you are driving, cooking alone in the apartment, while taking a walk, while taking a walk to the laundry, while taking a walk in a drizzle with a hoodie on. Personally speaking, it is my purest form of detachment from all that is disturbing, depressing, saddening, painful, ugly and transportation into something beautiful, rejuvenating, hopeful and magical. Every song is a strong memory of a time, a person, an incident when life was more... well, musical.

How truly it was said by Albus Dumbledore "Ah, music. A magic far beyond all we do here!"


Well,
keep sounding good! :)

Kolkata - Metamorphosis vs Romance

[A few days before my flight to Kolkata, a thing had started to worry me - Has the typical "amar priyo shohor" type Pronabesh changed? After having an easier and more dollar-laden life in the US, is he now reluctant to go back to his dusty, noisy, hot, humid Kolkata? The answer had to wait. I had no idea till when, but it just had to]

THE HOME COMING

The arrival gates of any airport are a magical place - may you be on any side of it, there is hardly any better feeling in the world than to see the open arms of someone you love. There was absolutely no difficulty in spotting Baba in that crowd of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose International Airport. The hug after fifteen and half months was filled with an unusually more number of vibration - only half of which were due to me. The taxi ride from the airport to Tollygunge had to include informing people (Maa, Mama and Soumen at Lexington) about my safe arrival in the city. And it was the very same taxi ride that reminded that the word "lane" only appears either in the building addresses of this city or in the press-release of the road specification of a new street made by the government, but definitely not in the book called "how to drive a vehicle in Kolkata". It reminded me that I have been trained better than I think to find ways, does not matter if I am in a car or just a pedestrian! In a few days my friend Pranamita was going to state it so right - "Auto te uthle amar mone hoye jeno video game khelchi".

Upon reaching home, first of all was Jhum, my cousin sister. I wont embarrass her by actually describing her face on this blog or how she held my face with her hands. I would only say that I tried to control myself by making head-on jokes and giving apparently casual answers to her numerous questions, each separated by the same "kemon achhish re dada?" enquiry.

Thamma did not care about her eyes going a little more watery than they already have become due to her age. Her skinny and wrinkled hands felt warmer on my face than I had expected. It was such an unusual feel of comfort in her touch. Later, Baba told me that she had not smiled so widely for a long time. 

Uncles were taking care of the mathematical questions like "how was the journey? what was the route? etc." (but they were already smiling really broad before I had answered with answers like "really good, Dallas, Dubai, etc"). Questions from my aunts had more variation - my health, my long absence, even my unacceptable absence during Pujas. Frankly, I was enjoying every question, coz my answers were being rewarded with one compulsory tight hug followed by more than just one gentle stroke of their hands on my cheek, forehead and shoulder.

It was sheer luck that the feeling of "I am home" was already sinking in me (an hour in taxi and a quarter more to make it through Thamma, three uncles, aunts and cousins on the ground and first floor of the house). On the final floor Maa was waiting. I don't know what I would have done if I would have seen her at the airport gates, coz, what happened at the gates with Baba (the vibrations), happened once again with Maa. It is undoubtedly the highest of all comforts when you know that Maa is holding you and there is not a thing in the whole damned world to worry about anymore.

THE SATURDAY

(10 days before my vacation)
"Hey, I just booked my flights from Lexington to Kolkata"
"Oh great! when are you coming?"
"Thursday evening."
(a Gtalk silence of about 7-10 mins)
"Booked my train tickets from Jamshedpur to Kolkata for Saturday. Steel Express"
"Wohho!" :)
"Yupp!! Will reach Howrah at 10:30 in the morning and leave at 5:30."
"You are awesome!" :)


Meera has been my safety locker and my waste-bin since we were a bunch of 13 year olds and I would not be wrong if I say that she has this weird Kyptonian super power to hear me loud and clear even if I am sitting silent as a graveyard, thousands of miles away. The meeting was important because both of us knew that it will probably be a few more years when we will be close enough to meet again. Anyway, on that Saturday afternoon, there was Peter Cat (and the obvious Chelow Kabab, check!). But before the main course, there were a two rounds of cocktails - one round with one horrible and one awesome glassful, the second round with only the awesome ones! Then, there was scribbling on the paper mats on the table, an autograph (check!), loud and obvious comments on the college kids sitting on the next table.

After a blunt hour of "what next", there was some time inside the Victoria Memorial (check!), then there was the best part of that late afternoon - Phuchka! that too outside Victoria (super check!), although there were repeated "bhaiyya, khatta kam hai" heard by the people passing by.

Then came the wretched moment when the train had to leave. It was after quite some years when I was inside a train compartment of Indian Railways - it felt kind of nice! But the fact wasn't joyful at all as in the very same train Meera will leave. I made it quite sure that I leave the Howrah station premises before I see/hear the heavy wheels of the train rolling away. "Sorry Meera! A picture of you leaving was not something I wanted my brain's memory cells to occupy. I left the scene as soon as I could and I am sure you could deduce it."

After an hour or so, I was with my bro Biki and Jamai Babu - Asit da. As tradition goes - a costly bottle has to make its way across the border, especially when you are a member of a jija-saala relation. The best out there, Jack Daniel's (Old number 7) was my first and only choice. The night went on to become 3:30 in the morning and there was absolutely no reason to fall asleep anymore. Upon my proposal, we took a cab from Ajaynagar and went to Prinsep Ghat (yupp! the same old one!). And there is was - 2nd Howrah Bridge at dawn (check!). I was painting this precise moment in my mind since the day I had gotten the confirmation of my vacation and there it was, in front of me.

Gradually, the day broke and the same cabbie took us to Babughat where we walked on the train tracks (of the Circular Railways) and jumped over walls to enter the Babughat station and then finally ducking and jumping over some more concrete structures to stand on the actual stairs of the ghaat. We were intoxicated (I was the most I guess) but the typical scene of the bathing and chanting devotees busy with their early morning ganga snaan at this ghaat with the Howrah bridge in the background made me higher than I already was - it was the state of nostalgia. The cabbie was kind enough to drive us to a nearby tea stall afterwards and all four of us had that amazing cup of tea in that foggy morning. This was the time we were all feeling sleepy (no, seriously sleepy). 

The taxi dropped me at Tollygunge and Biki and Asit da continued. The worst part was, there was no sleep for me on that Sunday either. The whole day I was in a state of complete dizziness and zig-zag motion... not the best thing to have in front of your parents or in the traffic near South City mall, but the fantabulousness of my entire Saturday was so much worth it!

THE MUST MEETS

The Sunday following that Saturday was equally a pleasure. Meeting people who are the prominent pictures of your childhood (as in single digit age childhood) is a feeling that never gets old. Sumana (with Kanchan) and Sounak (dear Mona) were kind enough to understand the crunch in my schedule and agreed to meet me on a short notice. There were repetitive coffee at different coffee joints at the mall, browsing inside shops just for the hell of it, some more coffee, everything accompanied with the age old leg pulling for no reason. One fact was re-established - Sumana is not someone who will ever change, ever. And one feeling was re-realized - One can never get enough of that ear-to-ear smile of Mona, never. The absence of another kangaroo - Mamoni - was, needless to say, quite prominent.

The Monday was about meeting some people at the office. Old project colleagues (Priya, Sugata da, Sujal, Shreyasi di, Ria) and the current offshore team (the entire DWH support team), the managers (Prasenjit da, Ranjan da, Shubhankar da), ex-Cove Lakers (Abir, Ananya, Sananda... missed Avik). Missed some of the people who were no longer in Kolkata/Wipro (Deepak, Poonam, Kamalendu, Mrigank, Swadhin, Chandrayee, Patra, Jyoti, Kusho da, Soumik da, Chandan da). 

Nearing the late hours of the afternoon, it was time for me to move a little more into the dreaded desert-ish area of Newtown Rajarhat to meet the one and only Nayana. She was busy in some day-long knowledge transfer (KT) or training or some coding issue and agreed to meet me for 30 minutes or so. But those thirty minutes had to take the "what the hell" chute down to the "dont care" garbage bin. Thankfully the desert called Rajarhat has coffee houses like CCD within the office buildings. Selfies, egg-white knock knock jokes**, old Haldia to Jamshedpur travel stories, usual leg pullings (my leg, her pulls)

Although I missed it by a close margin, I still managed to catch hold of Pranamita, Ayan, Soumyanil (my KV Ballygunge co-chuddies!) the next Wednesday. South City was again the place. Only a few weeks back the entire gang met there - Shubhs, Sarnali, Soumendu, Debapriya, Soumick (and I had only seen the pics sitting in Lexington)

While coming back, I was glad I could meet everyone I know in that geography called Kolkata. It gave me chills (not the good ones) to imagine what would have happened if I would have missed even one of them. (Eeeeehh!! just got another one!)

** How do you extract only the white from the egg? you knock the shell of an unbroken egg gently. If the yolk comes out, just request it to send the white instead! (no! I did NOT manufacture this PJ. It was Nayana, I swear it was Nayana!)

THE ANECDOTES OF THE STREETS

For numerous reasons, I was out in the streets on those 20 days. Buses (both crowded and super crowded ones), bikes, rickshaws, auto rickshaws, taxis, cars, metros and of course, on the feet. And being a firm believer in the fact that Kolkata streets have a sense of humour, I was not disappointed.

# One particular girl in her early twenties seems to be the relationship guru of the group. She is still single and that somehow makes her the best one to provide an outsider's perspective to the "its complicated" relationship status of her friends. And one particular guy seems to be the wholesale dealer of the f-word for the entire journey.

# The music systems in auto rickshaws seems to the most rebellious "music" in the streets. Even Rabindra Sangeet sounds like being sung by Kurt Cobain (sometimes the interior lights help with the green laser light feel of the concert). The super echo equalizer setting which comes with a bonus bum/back vibration feeling sure helps in massaging your "areas" after a stressful day.

# The weird feeling which creeps in upon seeing young couples near the vestibules between the two compartments of the metro. I hear some thick-mustached questions in my mind but then I hear one loud laughter after another as answers!

# Just because I have gotten used to seat belts in the cars here, does not mean that the cycle-rickshaw drivers should also install one/two in their rickshaws (not even when they are dashing on the dark empty and bumpy roads of Jadavpur, Golf Green, AzadGarh, Graham Road etc.)

# No matter how many Nordics or Americans you see, you always feels a genuine desi comfort (optically psychological) upon looking at the Bong ones (if you know what I mean!)

# The songs of Lorde (Royals, Tennis Court, Team) sound so very much out of place at 11 am IST. The zombie-ness of Lorde in her songs, I tried to experience in the crowded streets of Dharmatala, but every time it sounded only good as Mr. Bean playing Kajol's dad (Amrish Puri) in DDLJ (not sure, its an embarrassment to whom!).

# My phone happened to play "Amake Amar Moto Thakte Dao" precisely at the Jatin Das Park metro station. An old memory with Sounak and Rashmila flooded in.

Among all these, there was one common thing with me on the streets - my earphones. I was deliberately listening to those pieces of music more which I had heard in Lexington for the first time - they had the Lexington visuals associated with them. Now, listening to them over and over in the completely different set-up of Kolkata, amalgamated the visuals in my mind into a gooey lump with both the cities. Somehow, these two places were now not appearing very separate. They both were the places where I live, only 8000 miles apart.

[Guys, listen to music as much as you can. Make your own memories out of them. Its unexplainable how amazing that might turn out to be.]

THE LAZE

Bengalis are famous for their bhaat-ghoom. After a huge meal of rice and fish in the afternoon, there has to be a nap till 4:30 pm. Bigger the animal in the curry (mutton, chicken, fish - in descending order), deeper the sleep (the bhaat-ghum). Thankfully, I never had the habit (really! I dont do it), but many a times I was in the room when other people were sleeping with balish and kol-balish. Nothing beats a quiet room with an A/C at 24C and a Bengali detective short story book. My choice this time was detective Kiriti Roy.

At times Maa decided to sleep in my room (Baba got an AC installed in the bigger bedroom and moved all my stuff from the smaller room to this one - and calling it "my room".) The cool afternoons with the curtains pulled, comfy pillows and occasional low volume songs like "Kuasha Jokhon" (by Nachiketa) created the exact same memory which I had during my childhood at on a few weekends at my Phool Mashi's place.

It was always a little difficult to imagine a person like Baba without anything to work on. Problematic TVs and radios, ply woods, measuring tapes, paints, hammers, nails, screw drivers, papers, pencils, books, paints, card boards, scissors, CDs of music or cinema and what not. If nothing then at least, those files and papers and month/year end calculations at his office for the last thirty years. Now after his retirement (from his profession), he is back to Kolkata but is hardly without any household engagement. But to see him stand in the terrace every morning and feeding the pigeons does give me a sneak peek how I may want to start my days as well when I am done with all the jumping arounds.

Although, lazing around was the most extensive and important thing I did during my vacation (purpose served, big check!), I think you would understand why it will border on the concept of irony, if not stupidity, if I keep on writing about it.

THE EVENTS

Subhankar and Arnab are my college room mates and are like brothers to me. Although, Bera (Arnab) could not coincide his leaves from Bakreswar with my plans on a Saturday at Subhankar's, but we compensated his absence to some extent with piles of asterisked words sent, with love, over the phone to him (on speaker). Rumki, Subhankar's wife, had prepared the fish and Subhankar had prepared a Dhaniya Chicken. Must say, every item on the table that day was exquisite. While showing my joy upon looking at (and smelling) the lunch table that day, Subhankar took a picture and posted on Facebook with, not very true (rather disastrous) captions  - may be as a punishment to have missed their wedding last year!

If something is called a perfect timing, it was the invitation to Rupanjana's joint art exhibition that running week. It was called - Sparsh... A Touch. The first such exhibition she had in 2012, I was was able to make it. But this time I was more than glad that this 2nd invitation was during that time of the year when I was performing the rare task of being in the very city. It was an evening full of amazement with numerous "how on earth do you guys manage to paint such thing? how?" questions... I am still and probably will always remain in a state of awe, thinking about how do people actually do it! (Thanks for the invite Rups! I now know when to plan my next vacation to Kolkata!)

Then, the day when we had a grand family reunion at our home. All my uncles, aunts, cousins (firsts, seconds, even thirds may be) were there in the evening. There were grand addas, photo sessions, questions about cold this year in America, my permanent return, and numerous sounds of "Ohh! Koto din baade dekha holo apnaar sathe". But above all, the catch of the day was my surprise birthday celebration (P.S. I was not born on March 06th). Upon asking, I was given the logic that on a birthday, one can surely expect some surprise, but if it is on an unsuspecting (incorrect) day, the word 'surprise' surely shows up with its true meaning. As far as I recall, it was probably my 8th birthday when I had last cut a cake with so many of my family members surrounding me, clapping. I had never expected my 28th one [actually my (27 and 11/12) th one] would be such a memorable one too!

I was in Sweden, when I got a short compliment about my photographs of Stockholm from a person named Adity. We talked for a while, on Facbook, and recognized a connection. A lot of Malaysia-Sweden-India-Outdia-USA reasons kept us from meeting for next two and half years. Luckily, there was one thing from my checklist that was still pending till the last Saturday before the Monday when was my return flight and that thing was none other than a Kolkata Egg-Roll! The perfect time came when Adity agreed to meet me at Ranikuthi. The moment I saw her (for the first time, outside any photograph), she asked me if we can go to Jadavpur 8B instead. My prompt answer was "Chol" and I loved myself saying it. There was a bouncy auto ride, few cautious road crossing, quite some time sitting on the high sidewalks, then on stone benches, a lot of Q's and their A's and of course an egg roll (almost a foot long one). The meeting was short but became a beautiful chapter in my most priceless Kolkata story.

THE DEPARTURE

Too much of smiles is suspicious. The morning of March 10 came and I saw Baba and Maa smiling more than the whole stretch of last 18 days. Nothing I did seemed to irritate them. I did not like it that way and soon realized that the fault was completely mine. The first time I had left for US, they did not know when I will be back - 'in only a few months' was a very high probability back then which kept things hopeful. But now I had told them about my extended visa and they knew that 'more than only once a year' was just as good as fantasy expectation.

The last few days were difficult not only for them. I was again growing used to the continuous sounds of crows cawing in the morning, dogs barking at midnight, the shrill rickshaw horns and car honks throughout the day when suddenly, I had to wake up to the fact that I have to leave all of these behind, once again.

Gradually, the clock ticked, one second at a time, and the taxi arrived at the airport.
- The display board showed my flight was on schedule.
- My little luggage was on the cart.
- I double checked, my papers were in place.
- I answered a few "good bye, have a safe journey" calls then handed over my Kolkata phone to dad. I was not going to need it anymore, not for a year at least.
- I waited outside the gates, talking to my parents for a while, pointing at other people and joking.
And then finally, Baba smiled, Maa smiled...

"Bhalo Moton Thakbi"

"Tomrao Bhalo Moton Theko Kintu"

... then I pushed my cart and walked in through the door.

The Bottom View Camera of the Aircraft
[When the flight was ascending above the runway and I saw those orange sodium vapour lamps of Kolkata streets getting smaller and smaller and finally disappearing into the darkness, it was painful... very painful. And it was the very same moment I had got the answer to the doubts I had before leaving Lexington 20 days back. I was overjoyed with what I got.]