Oh Kolkata!

Kolkata has never been my city of residence. Though my ration card, my voting card and driver's license all have an address in Kolkata as my permanent address. I have always been a visitor to Kolkata. Towards the begining of my life, we would head towards the city for my summer vacations. My memories of the city are defined by the countless stories that I heard from my grandparents and by the short ferry rides over the Hugli. One of the most exciting moments of my life would be to get off at Howrah station and hail a cab to go to my grandparent's house. I would eagerly watch out of the window and gasp in admiration seeing the Howrah bridge in its full grandeur welcoming visitors into the city. 

After I started going to college, I would visit Kolkata more often to see my parents. Visiting Kolkata meant getting pampered by my parents and nice home cooked meals. It would mean having endless conversations with my grandparents and cousins. It would mean visiting relatives and distant cousins and telling people for the one thousandth time what I was doing. It would mean going to closest sweet shop and buying some sandesh and shingara. Spending winters in Kolkata has always been a mystic experience. With the sun setting as early as 5 in the evening, one can see that life in Kolkata in winter after sunset becomes even more exciting. It was as if to compensate for the early departure of day light. And when I say life after sunset, I don't mean night life in its more metropolitan interpretation. No, we are not talking about bars and discos, we are talking about restaurants and shops and road side food stalls, book fairs and dance performances and theater. There is something special about walking down to Rabindra Sarobar metro station on a mild winter night to catch a metro to watch a play at Nandan. There is something magical about walking down the streets of Kolkata on a winter evening with fragrance of rajnigandha and chicken rolls slowly holding onto your light woolens.

No Kolkata has never been my city of residence. But the culture of Kolkata is embedded in my subconscious. It is the city where change and revolution seem to co exist with extreme poverty. It is the city where you will learn more from standing at a tea stall and listening to two random people discuss and debate about politics and world affairs than watching FOX news for hours. It is the city where intellectual honesty and political dishonesty co habitat. It is the city of left wing politics and Durga pujo. It is not the city of dreams or the city of hope, but it is a city of optimism, a city of intellectual progress, a city of heart warming poetry, a city of debates, a city of passion. It is the city where Karl Marx is still taught in economics classes. It is a city where you are defined by the kind of books you read and not by the kind of clothes you wear. It is a city where fish is eaten 7 days a week. It is a city where you will never be forced to learn Bengali, but you will learn it anyways. It is a city where taxis and buses are out to kill you on the road and a city of pedestrians who are ready to kill the bus drivers and taxi drivers who are out to kill you. It is a city where people know a lot about football but get foreigners to come and play for their clubs. It is a city with limited international flights from its airport, but connected to the world through knowledge and ideas. It is not a city of pretension, with bright lights and skylines. It is a city of subtle people with loud voices. It is not a city of glitz and glamour, but a city of quiet splendor. 

No Kolkata has never been my city of residence, but it is a part of me. It is like the sea you stand next to, the sea you can feel, the sea you see and the sea you can taste, the sea you love but never actually swim in.