Kolkata.......

i believe each one of us who have lived in Kolkata for a while or have visited the city for a longish span of time have found a reason to fall in love with it .  though the old buildings of the "British-amal*"( as the Bengali's put it) which dot the administrative circles of the city, render it a charm of its own...... and the tramlines and the hand-pulled rickshaws are modes of transport that are specific only to Kolkata, they do not define this city for the likes of us.... for me, Kolkata isn't one of those cities where you simply trod the streets with your camera appreciating natural beauty or the architectural layouts.....

its appeal is of a different nature....  while some streets in Kolkata are better referred to as gourmet's paradise, others are the lanes for the book lovers and hordes of "aantels*" alike.... who are ever so ready with their suggestions and opinions on art, literature, music..... and life.   and if you are in one of those streets and you are unsure of which book to buy or which CD to pick from the racks of Music World, ...... in Kolkata you can always be assured that a voice will guide you from behind... a voice who recommends with such conviction that without further ado you are driven to purchase precisely that which has been recommended.... in this city it is not unusual that introductions happen over such recommendations and end therein... it is a city where poetries by Tagore and not just graffiti adorns the walls of  metro-stations.... it is a city where the localites wait for "boi mela"(book exhibition) with the same eagerness as Durga Puja... and at any time, any place  Tagore or Shakespeare is quoted for you in some context....     these are the nuances  that sets this city aside, lending it a flavour, a life and a charm of its own ...

besides the numerous tram-rides and "phooca-treats," these short uncalled-for yet pleasant interactions with complete strangers over a book or a CD  signature off  my experiences with Kolkata, the city of joy,- the city which i now call  home !!

[photograhs by google search] 

(*amal is the Bengali word for era)
(*aantel is a derivative for intellectuals  in Bengali. it is the word that best describes the cigarette smoking ubiquitous Bangali young-stars clad in jeans-kurta and kolhapuri chappals, carrying a jhola on their lean shoulders, who spend a considerable time of their college days in addas at Coffee house..... addas that revolve around politics, philosophy, foreign films, books and poetries..... )

Acceptance .....

The other day as we walked past a narrow over-populated lane in Chennai

a friend asked  "what is it you see in their faces ?"

I replied "acceptance..."

It was apparently just the word that he had been looking for....   

for the shop-keepers, the flower-vendors, the street-kids who dotted that narrow lane did not look unhappy. neither did they seem to be complacent (as is often portrayed by the tourists-photographers or the film-makers).... for clearly their living conditions weren't the best... but over the generations they seemed to have learnt that denial or self-pity will not change the picture for them. neither will it help to be a rebel... for in our country (and possibly in most countries) rebels are always harshly suppressed... so they had adjusted to their surroundings, learnt to survive through frugality, learnt to accept life as has been catered to them and wear a moderate smile whenever asked to do so by a photographer  for his frame or a film-maker for his fame......

[i wish i had a camera that day... but i didn't. so i googled and put up the image which was closest to what we had seen in that narrow lane in Chennai that day]

Lost World

I was sleeping,

when the morn-bird cooed-

I was wandering

where the pepping sun stood.

When I awoke,

the world glittered bright and gay

ah! I missed the childhood

of a beautiful day!

 – Soumya Das

The poem is by one of my friends and colleagues Soumya Das... I love how simple and well-worded it is and so wanted to share with you ... and the photograph is from another friend's assimilated collection.  In his words this tiny little blue bird used to wait for them every morning perched on the thatched straw roof of their hut  in Dholavira, an ancient city dotted with ruins of the Indus Valley civilization ....

Wanderlusty me !

At the beach tonight I saw the moon rise...
                  and the tiding waves simmering in moon-light...

   while my friend narrated stories of his trips to the golden forts of Rajasthan, 

the hills of Darjeeling and Karshiyang...
          the hills where the clouds had descended.. touched him and his tea-cup,

             then trailed their way through his room leaving tiny dewdrops clinging to his cup

             perhaps ... so that he would not mistake their descend for a dream

and know for sure they had visited him....

And ever since my mind has been wandering into those hills, where bliss resides, clouds embrace and dreams alight to touch every being....

[the picture is from the label of cavit collection pinot noir 2008... isn't it pretty !]

beyond words....

in a country like ours

                    where dialects do not die

 and rarely unify...

it is comforting that 

                       we can speak through smiles...

and the twinkle in our eye...

[image by google search]