Though I keep visiting the city for work, I visited my home city (Calcutta) for a vacation after a long time with my family (sadly Princess Aurora, my Rottie was in a pet hostel for the period) - and the overwhelming feeling that I had during this period was one of sadness... I am not sure if the feeling was one of regret, possibly not - but definitely a profound sadness for all those moments which are gone, never to return. Here are some of the thoughts that filled my senses during this week...
The moments with my father... talking, walking, or just in silence during the long period of his illness. His calling out to me, when he could not walk any more. His waiting up for me and restlessly walking up and down the street in front of our house when I was back late from college. His silent pride when I scored high in the JEE; his disappointment when he realized that I did not inherit the religious bent of the family, did not bother about rituals, and stayed away from temples... his apprehension that I would never fulfill my religious duties as a son after he passed away...
Rushing out in the early evening to play in the fields (at that time Calcutta still had some open spaces left) - usually Soccer (which I was not good at), and sometimes Cricket (in which I could manage). Trying to dodge my tutor who invariably chose that time to make an appearance and sometimes succeeding in stopping me and diverting my attention to Maths, Physics or Chemistry... Sometimes going for long walks with my friend Babu, or playing cricket in the gully with a set of kids in the locality...
The hectic days of the Durga Puja when the entire family got together to celebrate - particularly the time when we stayed in Bhubneshwar and came to Calcutta once a year duirng this time. Going with my kaka (uncle) to the Bazaar to get fish and vegetables, stopping by on the shop in Fern Road for some sweets for the offerings in the Pandal, diving into my Boropishi's (aunt) bag to see what goodies she had for us, eating our dinner standing up on the Verendah windows to watch the immersion procession on Dashami. The fading impression of my Granddad in the Puja room, my Chhotokaka (youngest uncle) who was specially fond of Comic books and died young at the age of 32...
Walking on the roads during the Kal Baisakhi - the seasonal storm which used to hit us in the month of April with unusual ferocity, specially in the evenings - alone... daring the storms to do its worst... revelling at the sudden flashes of lighting that lit up the entire locality once the electricity went out in the first few moments... returning home drenched to the usual admonishments of my irate Mother, who never tired of telling us to stay indoors during this time...
The first stirrings of adolescent emotions... initally tentative... sometimes powerful...The silent pinings of first love(s) (or infatuations)... Waiting through the day for a few moments with the object of your frustration or desire, the usual poetry so typical of the lovelorn Bengali teenager.... the awkward struggle that is so much a part of your growing up years... mixed up feelings that leave you befuddled and grappling for a way out of confusion...
The pure unadulterated joy of achieving anything, however small, in life, the first few seeds of confidence in yourself that so typically grows in you as you grow up... as you become YOU...
Calcutta means all that to me.... and more.... a place which is the sacred treasure house of innumerable feelings that I have felt, thoughts that I have thought, and ideas that I have accumulated. I still love the City - but it is a different kind of love - not the tempestuous first love of an adolescent, nor the passionate love of a young adult... it has somehow matured into more of a long loved companion who is always there for you when you choose the return... always holding you in her embrace, and never demanding anything in return...
Lovely! Loved it.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful!
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