My city is perhaps the most imperfect of all cities. It is not Mumbai - the City of Opportunities. It is not Delhi - the Posh City. Neither is it Bangalore - the Global City. My city is a simple city - the City of Joy.
I am not a hopeless nostalgic in my twenties, because I yet have a lot to live and a lot to know before I can sink into nostalgia. And I am not unaware of the many faults that my city suffers from. And yet, I love this place.
With a severe lack of respectable resting places for lovers, the love in this city still blooms every season. In the 70's and the 80's, may be it blossomed through handwritten letters, sometimes smeared with aator by some over enthusiastic lover. In these days, love blossoms through adda at CCD, text messages and FB status updates. Yet, we find joy in love.
We shout at the top of our voices, and we enjoy the silly fights on the road. The most recent blackening of the city has been the molestation of women, and it leaves many of us grieving. And yet, we love this city.
This city pays less, works even lesser and enjoys lyadh the most. Every alternate person I know is leaving the city for other cities, or even other countries. Someday, even I might, in my wander-thirst. But while I was having a text-conversation with N, a college friend long lost and recently reconnected with, I realized that I am not really as gaga over Kolkata as I think myself to be. Things are bad here, and I accept it completely. The politics, the lack of job opportunities, the roads, the transport system, the bandhs, the humid weather, the pnpc (poro-ninda-poro-chorcha), the mosquitoes... the list doesn't end anywhere soon.
Yet, just as a mother loves her wayward son as much as her perfect one, or perhaps a little more, I love this city. With all its incompetencies and flaws, bad-and-getting-worse politics, lagging behind work culture - everything. Even if I move out and go anywhere, my heart will be here - my home, my Kolkata.
I guess I am just passionate about my love for it like the city itself...
I am not a hopeless nostalgic in my twenties, because I yet have a lot to live and a lot to know before I can sink into nostalgia. And I am not unaware of the many faults that my city suffers from. And yet, I love this place.
With a severe lack of respectable resting places for lovers, the love in this city still blooms every season. In the 70's and the 80's, may be it blossomed through handwritten letters, sometimes smeared with aator by some over enthusiastic lover. In these days, love blossoms through adda at CCD, text messages and FB status updates. Yet, we find joy in love.
We shout at the top of our voices, and we enjoy the silly fights on the road. The most recent blackening of the city has been the molestation of women, and it leaves many of us grieving. And yet, we love this city.
This city pays less, works even lesser and enjoys lyadh the most. Every alternate person I know is leaving the city for other cities, or even other countries. Someday, even I might, in my wander-thirst. But while I was having a text-conversation with N, a college friend long lost and recently reconnected with, I realized that I am not really as gaga over Kolkata as I think myself to be. Things are bad here, and I accept it completely. The politics, the lack of job opportunities, the roads, the transport system, the bandhs, the humid weather, the pnpc (poro-ninda-poro-chorcha), the mosquitoes... the list doesn't end anywhere soon.
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| Kolkata transport |
Yet, just as a mother loves her wayward son as much as her perfect one, or perhaps a little more, I love this city. With all its incompetencies and flaws, bad-and-getting-worse politics, lagging behind work culture - everything. Even if I move out and go anywhere, my heart will be here - my home, my Kolkata.
I guess I am just passionate about my love for it like the city itself...
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