Rains and Pune... (Kolkata Kollections-III)

I manage to reach office and meet my teammates and both of them seem nice enough. The security here is unbelievable. I have 3 layers of physical access and to boot my computer I have to enter 2 passwords. By the time I am done here I will be thru with a lot of my lazy habits (like not carrying my id, wallet, phones etc).

I nod politely and seem thoughtful to most of the technical downloads which I receive from my team mates while understanding none of it, twice nodding when actually I was asked a question. I apply the necessary GSDs and wait for the day to end.

The floor has a breathtaking view of Kolkata from my floor. The skyline is absolutely devoid of any buildings and I can actually see Howrah bridge from the floor whereas actually it’s a good 30-40 KMs fom here. As the grey clouds roll in from the horizon it brings a strange kind of darkness despite the full illumination on our floor. Rolls and rolls of rain clouds tumble and jostle and spurt forward with streaks of lightening like streaking thru the grey waves. The entire floor has a glass front and I can see nothing but clouds as far as I can see. It’s like watching discovery channel specials on mute. It’s mesmerizing to see. I reluctantly peal my eyes away when I am summoned to get my PC fixed. I pick up my phone and snap pictures of the spectacle. I turn back to see absolute horror of those around me and the IT girl looks at me like I have just taken off my clothes and was doing an Zulu dance. Sanghamitra (my team mate) tut tuts and lets me know that Cams are not allowed really and are not to be used. She points to the no photography sign on the floor.

I sheepishly slipped the phone back but I resolve quietly that they would have to better break my hands before they even think of deleting those pics. The girl from IT is still staring at me. I suddenly have an overpowering urge to stick my pencil right up her nose. That brings a smile (one of those ones!) on my face and she is infuriated further.

I turn and present my butt to her and return to the spectacle in front. And strangely I am at peace, again…

This is one of the mysteries I haven’t been able to solve in my life apart from my specs which disappeared one fine day and why Vishy’s bike used to break down just when we couldn’t afford it to. While others feel morose and some hate the phenomena I never had issues with it. I remember driving my mother mad with my mud stained dresses caused by jumping into every possible puddle on my way to school. I don’t mind getting wet.

One thing different about me from normal sane people is the capacity to remain alone for unimaginable periods and one of my favorite activities was sitting on Z bridge in Pune along other evening revelers, mostly couples and oldies during my lonely evenings. I remember once when it started raining (those beautiful sudden unexpected Pune showers) people started hurrying off. I don’t know what came over me, but somehow I kept my butt planted. For a while I was the only one on the bridge with people staring with emotions ranging from plane incredulity, surprise to mild derision. In some time I was totally lost and looking at the lightning flashes on the horizon somewhere far down the horizon with the rain gently falling down. Gradually, first a gang of giggling girls, then some couples actually came over back and sat on the bridge. After 10-15 minutes half of the original populace was back on the bridge from the tiny encampment meant to serve as a bus stop. All soaking in the rain…

Some time people forget the simple joys of feeling the rain falling on the skin and really drenching you down. For me rain has the power to clear the mental cobwebs and somehow make me carefree. That’s when I am dangerously close to getting out of control. My friends have had the pain of bearing with me on these moments. I still remember screaming my favorite songs while Vishy/ Niru/ Sameer drove on their bikes carrying me along possibly embarrassed. I was difficult to reason with and I don’t think I remember even if they complained. I never intentionally did it. It just that I used to go cranky at the first hint of gray…

I have sobered since then, matured in the eyes of my world, friends and parents. But the scene which I was a part of in office was special. Its funny how small events can bring all your memories swirling in a matter of moments….Like a giant flash flood.. Memories you never even thought existed. Memories you never attached any importance to or considered worthwhile enough to store and archive… And suddenly you remember how peaceful you were then and how peaceful you are right now. For me this is happiness, bliss and all that is good in this world.

It rains here a lot.

I am beginning to like Kolkata….

For I dipped into the Future, far as the human eye could see; saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be.....
- Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1842

The abominable bong man: Kokata Kollections II

Its actually taking me time to get adjusted. The very idea of people driving with caution, not squeezing their vehicles into every possible nook and cranny and not screaming abuses at every possible moment is difficult. Gurgaon has its own charms…
I arrive at the guest house and I am attacked by an onslaught of Bengali from everywhere. As I am beginning to discover it is not very hard and you can guess the basics if the person on other end goes slow with it. I share my room with somebody who introduced himself as “myself Mr Apoorba Das”. That at least cleared any lingering doubts about his gender if any in the minds of those who had the pleasure of being introduced by him. He gets tremendously excited on hearing I am mallu. He’s been apparently to Cochin and thereabouts and shares his love for mallu sea food and cuisine.
“Man what great fish man you have (As if we had something to do with it..). Amazing, and what tasty food.”
“I tell you nearly as good a Bongla cooking (I am supposed to be grateful to him for raising us minions mallus to the same level) and the Prawn curry is amazing man”
Thanks to the good show put forward by Mallu fishes I have the esteemed friendship of Mr. Apoorba. He assures me that h will show me around Salt Lake.
I like the colony, it reminds me of Prabhat or Boat club road in Pune and is systematically planned. Rows of rowhouses and is really a quiet neighborhood. I am told it’s one of the posh areas in Cal. The whole of Salt lake is shaped like a regular octagon (some polygon at least) with regular public transport and neat tidy streets. Bang in the middle of all this is a giant Central Park which according to a hyperventilating Apoorba is apparently a lover’s spot.
Apoorba suggests going over and taking in some ‘sights’. I wriggle out of it. The idea of roaming around with a rotund ogling Panda is something I plan to avoid. He told me that Kolkata is the cheapest Metro for any foodie, and quoted plain and buttered chapatti prices for 6-7 major cities as comparison to seal the deal. One thing you have to give him is that he is a walking encyclopedia of Restaurant prices and modestly admits that he has traveled quite a bit.
He is a new joinee and plans to move on to a flat he has located. Having nothing better to do I help him shift his stuff while getting a thorough knowledge about the comparative auto rates across the many cities Apoorba had a chance set his foot in. This guy is special.
He extends a open invite to join him in his flat if I decide to make Kolkata permanent base and tells me that he normally doesn’t extend that kind of courtesy to everybody.
He then recounts how he has genocide plans for Sindhis if he has his way. “Sindi aur Saanp mile raste mein to pehle Sindhi ko maro”. Some guy apparently wiped 100 bucks from him. Doing this to someone who remembers chapatti prices throughout the length and breadth of this country is definitely not wise.
But Mallus are honest and hardworking in his experience and almost as good as inscrutable bongs and the special variety ones found in Asansol area. I avoid telling him that the miniature Sandalwood Ganesha worth a bargain price of 2000 bucks that he brought in Trivandrum is worth couple 100 bucks really. But he seems enamored with mallus (next only to Kannadigas in his preference list). Mallu fishes are really something. Maybe I should try them too…
Despite all his vices, that guy is really nice. Tomorrow he will move on completely… I finally will be able to sink my teeth into the novels I lugged into Kolkata I guess….

Here I go again...: (Kolkata Kollections I)

Here I go again...

This time literally. I am on the move again. This time Calcutta adds itself to a list of Cities where I have had the privilege of spending time with.

By now I am convinced totally that the notion of being a vagabond actually excites me. Like a restless Bedouin who itches to kick his Camel's badass butt at the first ray of the Sun. Itching to get a move on, see the sand dunes on the other end of Sahara… It may be pointless but it is me.

The only exception this time being that I am totally on my own. No friends, no relatives (Thank God!), no familiar Tree or Rock. I have some college friends based in Cal but they are somewhere else

Trying to earn their living. Or as in modern times, trying to fend off their credit card bills. The idea is funny. Here is a mallu, based out of Nagpur educated in Pune and Kanpur so that he can earn a living in Del moves to Kolkata for a continuance of it. While the couple of Bong friends I mentioned earlier are stationed in Cochin! The world is truly flat at least in this neck of woods.

This actually open up the opportunity of touring NW which is something I always wanted to do because A) I have always wanted it B) its there (To quote Mallory). And to counter the solitude of the looming months in front of me I plan to spend time blogging my experiences here. Now you see the point in the title.

I am in my flight. I actually like Jet lite (Sorry Mr. Mallya) because there is this concept of free gifts and then buying food and beverage menu that will actually not flatten your pockets.

The attendants and the hostesses have just finished their cute little safety dance and we are off...

I actually look towards the take off. For me it's a culmination of an engineering miracle. It's a testimony to the stubbornness of Mother Nature's most persistent creation to date (that is man, after females of course…). Breaking the shackles, trespassing into a domain where Nature never intended us to go. From Kitty Hawk to Airbus 320, some trip indeed! The Wheels leave the ground the engineering voyeur in me delights, and I become conscious of the fact that I am grinning like an idiot.

As the plane banks steeply and makes a turn I can see recognize only the Qutub Minar down below. Like a giant Phallus it stands out in the scenery below. Beautiful!

I have the entire three aisle seat to me and I have finished ordering my favorite Nachos and Salsa. The plane slowly comes to life. Few babies announce their presence, somewhere back a lively debate on whether Ganguly retired too early is going on. Funny it ‘sounds’ like a debate but they all seem to be agreeing with each other. I guess I will have more of it in Cal.

But there is something interesting going on across my seat. A gentleman (definitely a Bong with a trademark Jhola) has started an elaborate eating ceremony. He has 2 tomatoes, 4 potatoes and some cucumber pieces arranged in a stone henge formation on his tray. He now picks up a cloth and starts wiping them with mathematical precision.

Somewhere in front a kid has absolutely massacred a sandwich and is judiciously using the fork to dispatch the remnants of sandwich to all parts of the plane. Bravo! He’s scored a hit. He manages to hit a distinguished gentleman in suit. The gentleman gamely picks up piece off his suit and even manages to offer a smile. The baby encouraged by the smile proceeds to send further missiles the gentleman’s way.

Meanwhile Mr. Bong-across-the-seat has finished wiping his meal. The tomatoes glint like his moon head and he is obviously happy with his work. Then he swallows a full Tomato raw in one go and chews contently. Next the Potatoes line up for their judgment day. Reminds me of a tale where I read some Spanish sailors being decorated, fed and pampered before some Sumerians ate them.

The gentleman in suit has an absolute murderous look on his face. A piece of mutilated tomato lands on the bridge of his nose. And finally Mommy calls an end to the game with a resounding Thwack strategically placed to the Kid’s rear.

Glug glug glug… Our Mr. Moonshine is now proceeding chugging down water after the ritual feast to Tomatoes and potatoes and follows up with a contented burp that resonates for a while. A few babies get frightened. You may accuse Indians for their many vices but no sir, subtlety is not one of them.

I finish my Nachos and Salsa and resist the temptation of licking the remnants of the wrapper. Damn thing’s delicious! And it takes all my will power to avoid ordering another packet.

The plane is hovering over Kolkata it’s time to shut my laptop. Rest of the tale in next installment….