On a hot summer day last April, my humble Bong friend asked me to plan a trip to her hometown.
On a hot summer day last April, my humble Bong friend asked me to plan a trip to her hometown. As I heard the invitation, sipping tea and chewing on my morning dose of news, I couldn't resist but accept the offer. For long, I had heard so much about her place, its history, culture, food, art, music, literature and, above all, the magnificent cinema. So, had I declined the invitation, I might have missed out on the world, I was, somehow, fascinated with.
"Yeaahh! Calcutta," I screamed when I finally landed there and saw the yellow amby taxis. There was an unusual shine all over, maybe because it was the hottest day of the season or, maybe the lively ambience outshone the mercuric rays to let me feel the heat.
As we headed towards my friend's house in the southern part of the city, the sight of the buildings, houses, shacks, schools built in age-old architecture raced past like a flashback rolling from any of the Satyajit Ray movies. Or a gripping plot of Feluda stories being unfolded, each time I visit some street or place.
Like a true visitor, I, too, had the famous places on my wishlist. Whether it was Victoria Memorial or book lovers' paradise, College Street or Kalighat, I wanted to explore them all. And, of course, indulge in the sinful food consisting fish curry, rice, street-side kathi rolls, biryani, fuchkas, mangsho-parotha or home-cooked macher-jhol.
The modest locals, playing carom under the focus of long hanging lamps outside their homes, simply added to the bonding they shared. And, the beauty to watch the game from a near distance was like a treat on a sweet-sweat summery night. But as the morning breeze awakened me, the sepia-tinted glasses too crackled with reality.
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The sight of flashy malls, fellas with gelled hair, wannabe Katrinas, swanky cars, mammoth flyovers (not that development pricks my skin), fizzled out the romance of innocence in the air. The feeling was heart-rending to say the least. Perhaps, the ivy creepers of modernity have overshadowed the black-and-white city of Tagore.
Perhaps the pure love of simplicity has forever gone to dust. Though globalisation leaves no scope for one's culture, but to conserve the era is surely in our hands.
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