II. Full circle in Calcutta - not this weekendDay I
Midway from airport to S's place, I get a phone call and I go - "crap, I picked up some one else's luggage!". As I ask the driver to turn back, he looks at me with empathy and I realize "Not easy to leave your baggage behind! It follows you!" So here I was, back to Kolkata. Kol (yesterday) Kat(h)a - story : yesterday's story. Life has come full circle - and what a circle it has been. You have traveled all around, thinking you were moving ahead to reach exactly where you were and that is your eureka moment - life my friend is round and goes in circles. At this point, of course, inevitably almost, the car fm radio starts blaring out - ye duniya badi gol hai. I ask the driver to turn off the air-conditioner, and roll down the window to feel the breeze and check if it is familiar. Of course, it is familiar - hot, humid and carrying with it stench and dust - no pretensions, no soft touchy-feely stuff here, this breeze is rugged and has been around. In any case, baggage duly picked up again from a not-to-pleased babu moshai, I finally reach S's place. In the middle of an expansive stretch of barren land punctuated with midget huts, stands their tall apartment proudly displaying a neon sign which says Sarachi in gaudy red letters. Almost as a last lame stand of the weak and the pre-historic, stands a sorry excuse of a shop, just outside the entrance of the building - one ancient lantern burning dimly, almost purposelessly - preserved just as a matter of pride and old glory by the owner I presume. The shop has an assortment of goods - new age kurkures and out-of-fashion orange chocolates. Their flat is on the 10th floor - good, I feel better now. I will use the staircase - funny how we find ways to escape from places we go to. The apartment is swanky. I am informed that it falls under the high income group apartments. There is a terrace too which gives a good view of the poverty all around and is an amazing place to get drunk. I approve of the terrace.
Day II
The familiar yellow taxi, smelling of sweat and petrol - takes me to the familiar Park Street. How I wish K was here! As I walk the stretch, with restaurants lined up on both sides, old buildings greet me with an understanding nod as only old buildings can. We walk into one-step-up and come out feeling it is a little cheap and downmarket. As we did in 2004, realizing it was beyond my meager salary. Only this time the doorman wasn't sniggering. Life has come a full circle. Remember when Flury's reopened - there was an unbelievable queue of people outside it - such is the power of legacy . I take in the sight of people relishing Kathi rolls and mind goes back to K's love for Kathi rolls. There are a bunch of hippies having fried noodles by the roadside. Enter one of the restaurants, with its white liveried waiters and strangely subdued lighting that always depresses me. Eat and drink and drink till we realize that one of us is drunk. Seriously drunk. So, we have a seriously drunk person with one who is drinking for fun and is not serious with a third person who is seriously sober and doesn't find any of it funny. Follow mad chases on the road, wrestling in maidan , a few tight slaps - we finally end up where we are supposed to - in Sarachi building, with the seriously sober person much weary and worse for the experience. Sobreity has its own pitfalls! 24 hrs now with barely a couple hours sleep. Emotionally drained, I do what I do at such times - find the darkest corner in the apartment (which was in the kitchen), shove my head inside one of the cupboards, curl up in a feotal position and cry myself to another couple hours of sleep. By the time I wake up, the seriously drunk friend is still serious but sober, the seriosuly sober friend is still serious and sober, and I am in a situation where I can use a few drinks. So, we head up to terrace, i drink in the view - the numerous huts around, and we start talking. What is it about Kolkata. We talk so much- everyone talks so much. Don't know when we stop and go to sleep.
Day III
Next day is bright. I feel purged and clear-headed. Head to a swanky mall. Another expensive restaurant. Expensive buffet. An expensive wine. The erstwhile seriously drunk is not in the mood. So, I have it by myself. Of course, all the while I remember that wine has calories. So, i cut down on food and have only dal and wine. Fron the swanky restaurant to a swanly mutiplex. Only the cinema is gritty. It is about love, loss, lust and power. In brief, it is about life. It is based in Rajasthan and is a story of Rajputs - that gives me a sense of being connected. Which is of course delusionary because the Rajputs I know would look like caricatures of the ones depicted in the movie. Which reminds me of this clever thing that I thought of while watching the cinema - real life and real characters are such caricatures of fiction and fictional characters. And all the while we think it is the other way around. The best parts of the movie are of course (and naturally so) lost on majority of the audience. The storyteller is defeated again! So hardly a murmur of appreciation for those references to Dinkar's poetry and Pyaasa's songs. We go back home after cinema, realize we are hungry and nobody is going to deliver and go out foraging. On the way, I get into this monologue about life and marriage which is characteristically pessimistic and outrageous. But it makes for good dinner table conversation too.
Day IV
I wake up at 4, bid good-byes and head for the airport. I guess I will have to come back here - the baggage is still very much there. But for now, the play is over. Onwards to consultancy, smart dressing, good eating, many pleasantries, elevated sense of importance, juvenile insecurities, morning flights, loungy (lousy) waits. Onwards to life.
Labels: Existential, Me
