As I take a sip from my morning cup of tea, I can hear the sounds of a city arising from its overnight slumber. The mixed cacophony of sounds and smells pierces every pore of my being, and gently nudges me to awake from my own. I am back home in the land of my birth. They say that even after a baby is freed of the moorings of it’s mother’s umbilical cord, there remains an invisible bond of sorts with its birth mother that lasts for its lifetime. That is what I feel about Kolkata — my umbilical cord is still intact after more than two decades of living abroad. Every time I am home, I feel this bond grow stronger and stronger.
I have been visiting with friends and family for the past week or so that I have been home. As I navigate the streets of Kolkata with my trusted chauffeur, or hop on an auto-rickshaw (a three-wheeled wonder vehicle), or travel on a bus that is busting from its seams with passengers, I am reminded of my days as a school-kid, navigating the same streets with my mom or dad, taking in the same sights and sounds of a megapolis on steroids.
Kolkata is a mix of antediluvian relics and monuments from the British Raj and a more modern framework of byzantine malls, skyscrapers, and street-side vendors. In the city, the old mixes with the new in an effortless tapestry. No more is this more evident than the Lake Mall area, which retains the old world charm of a street market, and the newer variant of a full-fledged shopping mall with a rooftop cinema hall. Street hawkers line the sides of the road selling everything from teacups to fresh vegetables and fruits, while the mall stands in the background in a majestic display of fluorescent lights and passionate sounds of eager teenagers on their first or second date. This is what encapsulates the city in a nutshell — the old and new coming together for a common good.
Another aspect of Kolkata life that is very unique from other cities that I have visited is the culture built around food. I have never seen, smelt, tasted, or gagged on so many gustatory delights anywhere in the world. Kolkata food has everything that any budding foodie can ask for — starters, main courses, desserts, appetizers, salads, antipasti, street food, Chinese, Italian, Mongolian, Thai, African, really any type or ethnic variety of food baked, steamed, grilled, cooked, or fried in a very Kolkataesque way of presentation. And Kolkatans seem to revel in this culinary megalomania. It is not just food, it is a religion that one has to actually experience to believe.
I would be remiss not to mention the music scene in Kolkata. Here too, karaoke bars and open concert halls present a seamless picture of the familiar sounds and rhythms of music that cuts across all genres and musical variants — Sufi, Eastern and Western classical, pop, rhythm and blues, acid rock, rap, etc. The musical medley is pulsatingly popular among college-goers, millennials and middle-aged inhabitants alike. Be it Christmas or New Year’s eve, Durga Pujo or Navratri, Kolkata comes alive in all its musical splendor amid festivities.
I could go on and on about other aspects of this great city, but that would require a different piece. Suffice it to say that my birth city is a mystery to me even after all these years of living away from her. I can feel the agonizing pain of separation every time I leave her shores, and the ecstatic anticipation of joy of being able to see her again every time my flight lands on the asphalt of the Dum Dum International airport. She is my first love, and to my last dying breath, she will always remain my shining star in the east.