I was thinking about a fleeting moment, the kind you witness when you are speeding past roads, shops & an endless throng of humanity. Just the tiniest snippet of dirty toenails, the flutter of a dupatta, maybe a giggle, or a discarded Mirinda label - the orange popping against the grey of the asphalt. It all happens so fast, and you catch a glimpse of these utterly everyday things and maybe give it some coherence in your head.
That reminds me of Calcutta buses. Huffing and puffing, I would aim for the window seat. If I got lucky that morning, the road & its people would be mine. I would shut out the angry tussle, the sleazy stares, the endless chant of "ticket ticket ticket", the very high-pitched mashimas and meshomoshais and weave the lazy patterns only a daydreamer can. After 40 minutes, I would be at the Minto Park crossing, or on Park Street, and would run to college, with my backpack swinging to and fro.
I wonder sometimes why Calcutta is such a recurrent pattern in my life. Why do I keep revisiting every detail of my beloved city so relentlessly. I know how nostalgic I am, and how home is home, after all. But can I not move on? Can I not find that feeling of wholeness anywhere else?
Then I realise that I am trying. Trying very hard to keep the image of the city alive & throbbing in my heart. I might be anywhere else, in close contact with another city, but I never really got over home. Maybe I never will get over the lazy beautiful sleepy city. It's a poetic & platonic relationship. It's the kind of love which won't be affected by everyday nuisance and the dirty palm of routine. It's the kind of love that uplifts, inspires & comforts.
It's a Amit - Labanya kind of love.
That reminds me of Calcutta buses. Huffing and puffing, I would aim for the window seat. If I got lucky that morning, the road & its people would be mine. I would shut out the angry tussle, the sleazy stares, the endless chant of "ticket ticket ticket", the very high-pitched mashimas and meshomoshais and weave the lazy patterns only a daydreamer can. After 40 minutes, I would be at the Minto Park crossing, or on Park Street, and would run to college, with my backpack swinging to and fro.
I wonder sometimes why Calcutta is such a recurrent pattern in my life. Why do I keep revisiting every detail of my beloved city so relentlessly. I know how nostalgic I am, and how home is home, after all. But can I not move on? Can I not find that feeling of wholeness anywhere else?
Then I realise that I am trying. Trying very hard to keep the image of the city alive & throbbing in my heart. I might be anywhere else, in close contact with another city, but I never really got over home. Maybe I never will get over the lazy beautiful sleepy city. It's a poetic & platonic relationship. It's the kind of love which won't be affected by everyday nuisance and the dirty palm of routine. It's the kind of love that uplifts, inspires & comforts.
It's a Amit - Labanya kind of love.
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Kites
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