My friend, Disha, who is a extremely talented girl and thrice as crazy as me gave me a gift today. This. Yes, she gifted me this wonderful write-up.
And since it is a gift, it is now mine to publish it on my blog whether she likes it or not. (She is standing next to me reading this as I type and grinning ear to ear.) So here I publish it as a guest post because this (the write-up and the gesture) has really touched my heart.
I could never convince myself to call this city Kolkata.
North Calcutta and its mystical lanes with so many stories. Ageing.
South Kolkata blooming like new leaves.
Central Kolkata conveniently lost in the hustle.
The Joy of having cha in a mati bhaanr (clay pot) with a group of friends , colleagues or alone.
Brishti was unaware of it. All of it. She turned six this June.
She has been accompanying her Moneesh Mamu through out the FIFA matches. She recognises Suarez and loves the crowd on TV. Her house is at the end of an "S" shaped lane. Which has forks on both the ends. The lane is thin and at every 100 metres there's a plasma tv. The remaining walls have Kali Ma and Maradonna painted on it.
Brishti asks Moneesh Mamu, "shouldn't Bholenath be next to Kali ma, why is Maradonna there?"
The TV has two things always close to it , garlands and a howling crowd. She knew that even if she left home for her Manipuri dance classes, she wouldn't miss the thrills of the match.
Brishti and Moneesh Mamu would daily go to the Lake. She would be always ecstatic to see the rowers , birds and the tall trees. She had even named few of the trees. She would claim that the trunks are the faces of these trees which change expressions with the changing seasons. She liked the tangy and pepper filled fragrance of the lebu cha.
Brishti found it unbelievably exciting when she could remember the complicated lanes of North Kolkata.
She had once gone to see the idol making with her Moneesh Mamu. He was a freelance photo journalist. He was an exceptional cartoonist. He read Ray, Dahl and sang Beatles.
Brishti wished to see the city the way her Mamoo saw through the lenses of his DSLR. She couldn't wait to grow up.
Wish I could tell her. Don't try to grow up. The city is not the same when you are all grown up.