Indistinct Blabbers of a Biased Blogger

Ah! Delhi... Dilwalon ki... Is it? Or was that the line from Delhi tourism advert? Like I care...but, whatever I do, I get irritated, angered, flustered, embarrassed, ridiculously emotional, shocked or even surprised...its a sure thing that I cannot simply ignore it. Life belongs here, now... and so be it... As the city gets warmer, I shop for new shoes, the kind that won't melt as the pitched roads start fuming in a month or so... The umbrellas spring out of the bags, lady-like and masculine, with equal grace... flowery...patterned...dull black... ...frilly around the edges, double coated... heat resistant... UV protected...all imaginable variations. The evening cups of tea will soon be exchanged for "thandai" and "banta".

Now that I come to think of it, well... the place isn't all that bad, save maybe for the fact that there are more chances I'd get mugged, raped, abducted (by near-alien intelligence, and not the E.T sort), or addicted... to various unhealthy activities. Then again, its a city where I know more surprises await me... good and bad. They sort of come in pairs... one good one bad, if not worse. Although my first love will always be my only love... My Calcutta is impeccable, the sweat, grime, dirt, smog... the waking up into surrealistic pleasures brought on by Promoder cha... the hustle bustle of Dharamtalla, the biriyani of Biriyani Galli, the crazy beggar woman in front of New Empire, she's very much still there... the quickies to Shovabazar ghaat... the walks through Boi Para, and the impregnated smiles on the face of Jhantuda...the bookshop owner... I owe my Gibrans, Coelhos and an odd Perry Mason or James Hadley Chase...ones I sat and read all through the afternoons and never bought, to him! The visits to T3, one joint (as in food joint, ah! silly me) that still craves...besides Oly, the pub that beckons love even through its ever-grumpy waiters n moth-eaten couch-like things one usually sits on in there... Even Salt Lake... around and around its labyrinthine gol-chakkars, the place is dear... the parks we'd scale walls into... the school I once claimed to belong to... the crazy people I met there... the craziest things I've done there, been caught doing those... and returned to resume. It all bubbles back into my head... Those shadows I walked past, ran past... and then ultimately got swallowed by... everything is a part of me.

Everyday I wake up feeling I could be there... But I guess, there's an explanation as to why I'm not. Sometimes, life requires us to understand the meaning of things, a little differently than the usual peek into a dictionary... sometimes, understanding means to really feel what it is supposed to. I'm thankful to my fate, that I'm now able to comprehend this love, that I've perhaps never felt foe anything or anybody else. I love Calcutta, almost as if it were a person, because being in love with a person keeps the option of reciprocation open... and I feel I'm loved back, by the city.