Kolkata Capsule

I was spending two weeks in Kolkata and had to take my father for a post surgery check up before heading out of the city for a weekend trip to Taki. With an enthusiastic thumbs up from the doctor , we were all set to drive to Taki - a sleepy little village on the banks of the river Icchamati, a few hours away from the city. I had cajoled my parents, aunt and cousin for the trip which I thought would be a welcome change from the humdrum of our daily lives. Bordering the two nations of India and Bangladesh , Taki was once home to the phenomenally wealthy Zamindars or landlords of Bengal. While now mostly in ruins , it offers a glimpse into the long bygone era. We left Kolkata in the morning and soon reached the highway. The expected 2 hours drive turned into a longer one thanks to a stranded truck which blocked access and we had to take a longer detour to reach the Sonar Bangla resort. Situated right on the banks of Icchamati , its a pristine getaway - all my cajoling for a weekend trip bore fruit as I saw all of them beaming at the sight of the clear blue skies and the river flowing through , despite the sweltering heat. We quickly freshened up and spend time on the river bank before returning back to our rooms for a sumptous lunch and reserving a boat for a tour of the river in the afternoon. The river tour was definitely the highlight of the trip  - separating the borders of India and Bangladesh , the gushing river is lined with lush greenery on both sides of the river bank. One can also see the river branching into tributaries - one heading into Bangladesh and the other heading into Sunderbans. During the Durga Puja , idols from both the countries glide on boats to the centre of this river , where they are immersed together. After the boatride , we spent the evening over tea and adda and retired to our rooms after dinner and a walk in the resort property.  We left for Kolkata back the next morning with a bunch of fond memories.

For the remaining time in Kolkata , the Bangalorean in me was holed up inside our home, wary of stepping out in the sultry Kolkata heat , until a bout of rainshowers brought down the temperatures. I headed out for a run one early morning and enjoyed the lush greenery along the running route at Rabindra Sarovar lake. I decided to head out to explore one of the oldest heritage buildings in Kolkata on Strand Road - Metcalfe Hall. Named after Charles Metcalfe , the then Governor General of India , the building is an actual replica of the Towers of  Winds in Athens, Greece and faces the Hooghly river. It also houses a unique museum called Ami Kolkata ( I am Calcutta) which displays the vibrant artistic , literary and multi cultural heritage of the city which has thrived across the years.It was a visual treat to walk through the galleries and a reminder to the rich history and culture that the city holds within itself.

My research on the internet also revealed other interesting architectures in the vicinity including two of the oldest synagogues and an Armenian church. I hailed a cab back home just in time before it started pouring , but adequately pleased with my explorations and the possibility of creating my own walking tour around Strand Road the next time I am visiting home. See you around Kolkata!

Flashback@Presidency

I was in Calcutta for a day and decided to make a trip to Presidency College where I spent my graduation years. I landed in the midst of familiar chaos at College Street – narrow footpaths cramped with bookstores selling old books, hawkers, buses, trams and rickshaws all jostling for space on the road. As I arrive at the college gate, I can’t stop grinning – a Che poster welcoming the freshers greets me on the portico wall. Quintessential Presidency! For a lot of outsiders I have spoken to, the Presidency environment seems highly politicised and somewhat inimical. For me and I guess a lot of other Presidencians as well, it is an integral part of what Presidency is – a virtual melting point of everything. From the moment you step into the college, it throws you into a vibrant chaos with no inhibitions. You may end up spending your college days slogging it out at the lecture theatres, sloganeering as a leftist leader or discussing philosophy in the canteen high on grass for all you know. The college does not promise a textbook education, it lets you choose (no archaic attendance enforcement rules exist), makes you question why and yet lends everyone a space for individuality.
Each department in the college had it’s place in a percieved value chain born out of past history and the college grapevine. Eco was quite high up with a certain element of glamour ( I am not sure why, probably the girls :), I wouldn’t believe if someone told me it was because of the guys, except for two batches senior:)). Batch sizes were typically small and an incredible student teacher camaraderie existed. Sadly enough, the college has been a victim of the state’s poor education policy, a reason why it falls short of good infrastructure and fails to retain the best faculty.

I turn left from the portico.I notice Derozio has been coloured a disappointing blue and stands a tad incongruously now. Inside the department, things are pretty much the same except for a new computer lab which occupies part of the erstwhile office. I stand around in the corridors for a while , how it just seems like yesterday!! The library looks better organised. I meet Balmiki da, our favourite assistant librarian and saviour to many an errant student. He tells me most of the old faculty has left and laments at what many think Presidency needs the most – good teachers. There is a new lady librarian in the EPL library. She looks up to me and asks “ Ei, first year? Library card nebe?”( First year?, looking for your library card?). I nod, murmur a soft no and walk out. There is something I must absolutely check before I go back. I walk into one of the lecture rooms, where a couple of young students are vociferously discussing Harris Todaro. I wave a hi and walk straight to the last row. My eyes look searchingly for that one last bench. Ah, there it is! I run my fingers on the rough inscription on it: “This bench is dedicated to the memory of those who died waiting for the bell to ring”. I look around the scores of names till I find mine etched somewhere in the corner. Atleast somethings in life remain just the way you remember when you left them last:). I smile to myself and walk away.

Hasta La Vista Delhi

I came down to Delhi for my postgraduation 6 years back. Ever since it has been a love hate relationship with this city – a place mired in history, power and a struggle to survive. I am not exactly sure right now what I love about the city (except for the truly amazing roads) or whether I have a sense of belonging but there is something about the city which exudes power – as the political capital of the country or the fact that historically it has been the centre of all battles to the seat of power, and there is something which induces a necessary dose of aggression for everyone who comes to create a space of his/her own.

As a child, I used to move places quite often since my father had a transferable job. There was always a sense of sadness of leaving behind places and friends but the thrill of moving to a new place and meeting new people more than made up for the farewell blues. I also had an extremely quirky habit of saying goodbye to all pieces of furniture (I am not sure why I had an inexplicable sense of emotional connection with furniture) and would roam around the house saying my goodbyes to every single piece of furniture till my parents were forced to drag me outside. As I leave Delhi , I thought I would say my random goodbyes and thank yous to few places ,people and events which will always be a huge part of my Dilli memories (no , not to furniture this time, age has made me saner I think):

JNU Campus days, night outs at PSR rocks watching the planes fly overhead and wishing that life would just stop; Sarojini Nagar, Janpath,Lajpat for all the street shopping and lessons in the art of haggling (Delhi autowalas deserve special mention here); the drives around India gate at night and the sudden rush of pride; the noises, crowds and smells of Parathe wali Gali and Chandni Chowk, the Galotis,Burras and kebabs at Karims’ and Al Kauser (you made me realise the true sense of gastronomic pleasure); fruit beers at Dilli Haat ; Connaught Place (for the eternal knowledge that no matter how well you know this place, it takes a minimum of two rounds to locate any damn thing, four if you are with Ankita) ; the nip in the air as winter approaches; the nights spent at Silver Oaks playing the same boardgames over and over again (I realised I suck at drawing, I lose all my money in Monopoly, I can hardly get over my laughter fits to be able to act remotely for Dumbcharade and I have the highest tendency to cheat) ; Ronnie,Babu, Tanuj, Buddha (I know you are smiling), Peejay, Adi, Shweta, Varun,Boru for the amazing weekend times ; Garga, Joy, Anal, Ankit and all the kids for the birthday surprises and the party sessions;Tanuj and Babu for converting me to Alcoholics Anonymous; Babu for the drives down Faridabad Highway (sorry for err..puking in the car) and my first camera lessons.

So untill next time Delhi..see you! Mmuah:)