Things to Do

One thousand four Hundred and Twenty Three.

Seems to be quite a small number for the number of days I have lived in this city. That day, on the 8th of August, 2010, when I stepped into my new home, my paid hostel here in Kolkata, I was excited, nervous and somewhat sad. And then time happened. Right now I am sitting in my room,thinking about the things to do before I relinquish what I call my second home here in this city. Something inside me is making me procrastinate. Packing all the clothes and bed covers is not a big deal. Its the little things. The books that lay on the jungle that some people would recognize as my table. The numerous xeroxes that were dusted and respected only when the final bells of examination were tolling. The extraordinary balancing act of miscellaneous things on my table. The things that three of us roommates had bought together. The damp and decaying but ever vigilant Ezio Auditore on the Assassin’s Creed poster on my wall. And numerous things lost in the journey of life.

Photo Courtesy: http://2.bp.blogspot.com

This city has given me more than I could have asked for. It has given me nights bejeweled with the glimmer of the city lights and the glitter of a friend’s laugh. It has given me days full of the sunshine called hope and winds called adventure. It has given me new experiences in my daily cup of tea. The shining armor of the Howrah Bridge has shown me the intricate care and steel determination it takes to stand the ages. The pristine grandeur of Victoria Memorial has gifted me a sensibility of purity and a belief that memories, when you form them with the right person, are always the purest white they can ever be. The silence of the Park Street graveyard has given me the the knowledge of everything, that ever existed and will exist, being perishable in its own time. The hustle and bustle of Gariahat and Esplanade, the wonders of small but unique shops in Burrabazar, the pleasing beauty of Princep ghat, the passionate victories of Eden Gardens, the lush green expanse of Maidan, the deep rooted histories of North Kolkata, the ever rushing crowds at Howrah and Sealdah station, the footpaths, the fast food shops, and most importantly, the people full of life, have made me who I am now. And I couldn’t have been better.

Photo Courtesy: Animesh Ray Photography, (http://www.animeshray.com)

There are several things that I could not do, even in four years, which might make you reconsider my feelings. I could not become a member of the National Library. I could not have Golbari‘s Kosha Mangsho (for my non- bengali readers, kosha means fried for a long time with ground and whole spices over high heat until shallot/garlic/ginger have dissolved into a thick paste, which is applied to mangsho, i.e meat), Dalhousie’s delicacies, Cakes from Floury’s, and several other delicacies. I could not watch a theater show. I could not watch a match in Eden Gardens. I could not see the homes of the legends that inhabited this city, not one of them. Makes you think, “Then what did he do and what is he being so nostalgic about?”. The answer, my friends, cannot be contained in these pages.

Right now, there is only one thing to do.

Come back.