Almost all the members of my family have lived the majority
of their lives a tad dramatically. I would say this is an interesting case
study on cause and effect -- one can never really be certain if prime time Bengali
soap operas are more based on their way of living, or the way of living is essentially
inspired by these soap operas. It's quite a vicious cycle overall.
Be that as it may, the usual dramatization of everything in
our household ensured that nobody was too surprised when Baba said to Ma one
regular evening with red-tinted eyes 'Don't get too used to him. It will break
your heart when he leaves', the reference being to my imminent departure to the
US and the last two months being spent super-energetically with family, friends
and girlfriend.
I, on the contrary, consider myself to be exceedingly
practical and rational. It is possible that I avoid emotions, but I don’t
consider it likely (judging from the number of times my girlfriend hears my
howl in a month). So while I do miss everyone I left back at home, Skype
sessions ease things a lot, and I am, at present, having enough fun here to
ensure that the emptiness of long evenings aren’t filled with depressing
nostalgia. Thus, one of my best friends’ omen
‘Stop acting so super cool about the partings. You shall cry for full
days when you are alone out there’ has not transpired yet.
Rationality can tell you that relationships don’t break
unless you stop desiring them, that comfort zones are lost only if you lose the
courage to trust, that technology can indeed ensure togetherness if you’re
willing, notwithstanding 5000 miles of geographical distance. In fact, I see
the love of my life in person around ten times more often than when we used to live
in the same continent! But for some things, rationality will only teach you
what irreplaceability means. These are the things that you get ‘used to’ in the
true sense (which is probably where Baba’s Ekta Kapoor-ish lines were bang on).
These are the things that Skype can never bring to you.
I remember sweat filled metro rides. I remember gold flake
sticks for Rs. 4 with a ‘bhnaar' of tea, Rs. 4 too. I remember traffic jams. I
remember taxis whose drivers I adorned with the choicest of expletives as they
refused to take me where I wanted. I remember shopping malls filled with our
suburban neighbors, who got a nearly equal share of the same expletives for
crowding the hangout. I remember autos, bus tickets, khuchro, black water laden
footpaths, mini bus races. I remember the pissed office goer, the ‘bhikhiri’
girl offering roses for Rs. 10, the constable banging on your car with a ‘lathi’,
the masala thumbs-up maker, the super fake cool bro in CCD, the aantel with a
guitar in Nandan, the ice-cream wala who sells a Rs. 7 orange stick for Rs. 10
on account of the price of the ice, the amazed newly-wed visiting her husband’s
city from a quiet village in either of the two parganas, the crowd of people on
Midnapore Local, all about to descend ‘ei ektu agei’ (just a little further) 10
stations away at Bagnan. I miss so much more, and this is getting so goddamned clichéd,
that I shall stop.
Another friend of mine had once asked ‘Just food and dirt
and crowds? Don’t you miss people? What if they are no longer the same when you
return?’ I do not know if I am a fool or super lucky or heartless, but no, I do
not think that will happen. Each of the really precious people I left behind is
with me always, and will be, too, as long as we both stay alive. And there are
new people here who are, well, just as much like ‘people’. So it’s all pretty
cool if you keep your head straight and avoid momentary indiscretions.
But Kolkata—you don’t carry Kolkata around on Skype. . You
don’t stay unchanged for Kolkata and ask Kolkata to not change for you. You don’t
fall in love with a different city and apologize to Kolkata. You never replace
Kolkata, and you never have a pseudo-Kolkata experience when you are not in
Kolkata (although pseudo-bong experiences are pretty common and very irritating).
Kolkata is too cool for all that shit.
I miss you, Kolkata. So mind-fucking much.
