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.]