Oh Calcutta!!

Just got back from a short trip from Cal. This was after a gap of almost 18 months and I just loved it. December and January are the best time to visit Cal. The nip in the air is divine. And if you want to compare the weather with that of Bangalore, I would like you to consider an incredient that Blore sadly lacks..and you would get that if you sit on the banks on the Hoogly, with a steaming hot 'bhaar' of tea in one hand and a packet of 'jhalmuri' in the other. Bliss!

Things have changed but if you dont seek them out you will find that your nostalgia will remain intact, safe from the marauding hands of progress and growth. No one I know grew up in Rajarhaat or Eastern Bypass...so no one will feel like an alien if he decides to visit his old para, or his old dating places, or his old hangout places. These remain the same, comforting you with their ageless solidity, enabling the celluloid of your memories to remain in crystal clear DVD quality.

And as fate would have it, didi obliged her little brother with the one experience that i thought I would miss out on this trip. But, thankfully, the cruel industrialists decided to build factories that would provide jobs for a thousand families and open doors to other such elements to enter the state and spoil our culture, heritage and tradition. So didi obliged me with a bandh.

Last night, at a friends place, finishing the last peg before heading back home, and concluding the open items in our discussions on Osho, genetics, Taoism , tantrik sex and degradation of the grilled prawns in Tyangra, I thanked my stars for such a perfect experience of my roots. But...it was still not over.

After all, what would a nostalgia trip be without the women of Calcutta? You can keep your Ibizas and Rivieras and Mardi Graas or whatever provides fodder for your fantasies. If you havent experienced the Calcutta girl, your life has been one of utter wastage. So, as I was sitting alone in the share auto, my heart did 27 sumersaults, when she languidly raised her delicate fingers and signalled the auto to stop. She was like a fresh daisy, the way a daisy looks when the early morning sun passes through a dew drop resting on its petals. None of the brashness of the northern indian sisters, or the excessive conservatism of the southern sisters. She sat close to me, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder, ankle to ankle, demurely looking down, riding the speedbreakers, jumping potholes, swerving the minibuses, in perfect harmony, in a ritual dance synchronised to perfection.

She got down a couple of stops before. As she did, our eyes met for the first time, and in them i saw an answering look of ecstasy, a knowledge that what we shared will be with both of us for a long time to come.

I was walking on clouds when i got down. Can life be any more perfect? Should I finally start thinking seriously about taking a tranfer to Cal? Should I postpone my ticket tomorrow and wait at the auto stand at the same place and same time? Should I pay a 100 bucks to the auto driver?

Thoughts of money brought me back to harsh reality. The driver was waiting impatiently with palms outstretched. I aplogised and fumbled for my wallet.

It was gone.