Darjeeling- A Love Story

I do not know from when I had fallen in love with Darjeeling.

I cannot place a precise time frame from when I had yearned for that place. It was also not the first hill station to be visited by me. In fact, I had already traveled through Jammu and Kashmir and had seen Mussorie. They were splendid hill stations but my mind somehow wandered towards Darjeeling. Blame it on the Feluda stories, which started from Darjeeling or on the wonderful songs of Anjan Dutta weaving dreamy tales about it – both are my favourites—Darjeeling always stood out. Always!!!!!

I visited Darjeeling for the first time in 1992, when I had just completed college and Darjeeling had just recovered from a rather bloody phase of unrest. The feeling of waiting to see my beloved was so overwhelming that I scarcely noticed any thing on the three and half hour journey from Siliguri.

Then after Ghoom, when the car turned one more S-curve on the road, there loomed she – the queen of the hills.

Four days of intoxication followed – intoxication of colours, smell, peace and -----, I don’t know what else. I came back happy to have whetted my thirst for the place. There was satiety in having known my beloved so closely and there was hunger for more – much more. And not even the fact that I could not get a single glimpse of Kanchenzonga during that period of stay could take away my happiness!!

I have visited Darjeeling about 8 to 10 times after that and my thirst refuses to get quenched. These days I know the curves of the Hill Cart road so well that I can even drive in the night. I have a crush on the hot chocolate and sausage breakfast of Keventers. I love the liquor chocolates of Glennarys. I have another affair with the Joeys Pub. I love to wake up early and take a walk around the Observatory hill as the Majestic Kanchenzonga looms in the front and takes a bath in the light of the rising sun. I love taking lonely walks around the tea gardens. I love watching the Blue Toy Train making its meandering progress. I love sitting upon the observatory hill, watching the sun set in the distance. But best of all, I love to sit lazily on one of the green benches in the Mall, doing absolutely nothing as hordes of people move around.

I know that crass consumerism is eating away at my beloved. I know the various struggles of recognition by various sects have eroded the Buddha like calm of the place. I know that the visiting throngs have denuded away the water reserve of the place. I know that the knowing population speaks highly of other places like Kurseong, Pelling, Ravangla and Sikkim.

But can you do away with your beloved and look for new love just because your love of your life has fallen ill? Does a love affair look into physical deformity?

No way, sir. I love my beloved Darjeeling.

MITRALAYA- My house

The first and the most lingering memory of the house is of a big iron gate with creepers over it blooming with flowers of myriad colours and a tall dark handsome gentleman with a baritone voice standing behind enquiring from us --- me and my parents--- whether the Tata Patna express was behind schedule as usual. If my memory of about 35 years back serves me right, the month must have been May.

Why that particularly non- exciting routine inquiry from my grandfather remains etched in my memory defies normal logic. For I have visited that house three times every year for the next 32 years without fail!! Whenever, I have had school vacations, we rushed of to that house in Jamshedpur. Is it possibly because that was the last time I had seen my grand father fit and walking? Maybe. Or is it possibly that I had reached that age when one tends to recognize the yearnings and love in the voice of ones grand parents? Maybe.

My grandfather, or Dabhai as I called him, died of cancer within 2 years of the above incident leaving behind his large family, a lot of difficult to emulate legacy and a lovely house, aptly named ‘Mitralaya.’

The house became part of my growing up. My father worked in another steel city and we would look forward to going to this house in during each vacation. Built around a facade supported by huge Gothic pillars, the house housed all sorts of interesting things for my growing childhood.

First of all my cousins lived here.

Then there were the circular rooms with 12 windows, a huge kitchen garden filled with fruit and vegetable trees, a flower garden with a manicured lawn and a stately Magnolia Grandiflora tree presiding over all of it. Add to the above umpteen bookcases filled to the brim, a dining table fit to serve 12 covers, a bathroom with red floors, winding marble staircases to the roof and the roof itself—from where one could see the rolling Dalma hills in the horizon.

The wonders were many and so was the flow of love and affection.

12 years back, a burgeoning family and sheer economic considerations forced the unwilling family to do away with the dream. Now, there stands a mid rise multi-storied apartment block -- very modern, updated and without any history and character.

I have an apartment there and so do each of my cousins who like me are settled all across the globe.
Each of us are successful in our little way but we all pine for that house which took away our childhood with it.

A Fiasco Named Kolkata Book Fair

The Kolkata Book Fair has been called off!!

I could not believe it the first time though perhaps everyone would say that it was always on the cards. Caught between the crossfire of an unbending arrogant Guild (people who organize the fair) and the environment protecting experts who had taken on the Book Fair as a soft target, the future of the fair was suspect. The last moment verdict by the court of law was the proverbial last straw.

Given the situation, a few questions do arise.

Who gave the guild the right to play with the emotions of the common mass of Kolkata who look forward to this annual event?

Since it is a repetition of the last year near fiasco, why did the guild not have a Plan B?

Why did the authorities allow even the initial work to start when now they are trying to avoid the blame?

Since this has got a history from the last few years, why has an alternative site not been offered? After all, last year the fair at the Salt Lake stadium had lost much of its vaunted flair!

Why has the environment experts taken on only about the Book Fair? Is it because this is a soft target, which does not have the backing of big corporate houses or political honchos? After all, when every month 10,000 new cars hit the cramped up roads of Kolkata, thousands of new polluting restaurants open up, trees are hacked mercilessly to create new skyscrapers, the Tolly Nullah or the Krishnapur Canal remain pollution personified, Kolkata gets annual floods twice as the exit route of the storm water has been damaged or blocked in the name of development, a cigarette company does not want to move out of Kolkata as the number of smokers is maximum in the state, government vehicles belch smoke with impunity , 15 year old vehicles refuse to leave the roads, why only the book fair of all things?????

We in Kolkata have lost a lot of our heritage and culture in the name of Development and Progress. When other towns do protect their heritage and yet grow at a double speed than us, then why can’t we?

The Kolkata Book Fair is a part of our heritage—a heritage for which we should be damned proud of!!!

So please Messrs. Dutta, De, Bhattacharya, et all. Stop this stupid bickering and make sure that the Book Fair is back in all its grandeur irrespective of the location --- theories be damned!!!

PASSING WINTER

If you are a resident of Kolkata, you would spend the entire year looking forward to it. Waiting with bated breath as you sweat your way to work and home, with frustration and apprehension as the monsoon drags on, with appreciative eagerness as the festive season sets it up and then it is finally on you.

WINTER.

The first signs are in the evening breeze cooling off and immediately like a waiting guerrilla army the woollens make their presence felt. Every resident worth his salt immediately brings out whatever warm clothing he/ she has and sets upon letting the world know that winter has arrived in Kolkata.

The new shopping malls display new winterware on their display cases, the local presence is in the form of Bhutias from the hills of Darjeeling and the craftsmen in the handicraft expos in the maidan.The maidan is filled up with teeming populace , the zoo is overcrowded enough to make the animals feel cranky, the cake shops glow in the hum of good business and suddenly the blazers, ties, pullovers are on you. Names like Nahoums and Flurys are bandied about.

Ironically, it is the period to flaunt. To flaunt your faux mink coat , your odd sized leather jacket, your ankle high leather boots, your branded cuff links, you pashmina, your knowledge of the hills, your capacity to sip wine , your knowledge about the authenticity of the 'Gur' , 'Mowa' and Nolen Gurer Sandesh, of handicrafts and even your love for books, theatre , films or fairs.

And people in the know do it fast, very fast. Because people know that the good times do not last. Like all good love affairs the expectancy period is much much more than the actual time of experience.

Then suddenly, when the Northern Hemisphere is still reeling under cold and new blasts of snowfall, sleeves start shortening , fans start moving and sweat reappearing in Kolkata.

Warm Memories of the cold remain to sustain the yearning for another 10 months.

10 years - like a dream

27th November 1997. A young man , escaping from the clutches of ULFA and trying to establish a foothold in the City of Kolkata, and a young woman, cheerful, ever smiling and optimistic, decided to give social recognition to a relationship which they had nurtured over the last three years.

Enter the fanfare brigade-- conch shells, streams of relatives, seven days of song and dance, unending good wishes, 36 hours of Honeymoon in Puri. It was a dream start and the hangover is still there in the the deep recesses of the mind and available on easy recall.

Reality struck. Financial strain, hard corporate pressure for survival, changing of three rented apartments/houses, buying of essential amenities - ONE BY ONE , moments of anger and frustration, occasional fights, health related complaints, occasional accidents creating permanent disabilities.

The two weathered the storm. Arguments were never carried on for long, the smiles, the laughter added the zing to the fight, supportive parents provided a base to work on, growth happened, assets grew, and the dream carried on. A trip here, a film there, a car and a music system -------- the roots have grown and continue to grow and bind the relationship in a bond which grows stronger with time.

27th November 2007. The now not so young man, pot bellied and balding and the woman still charming and smiling and maturing with age like some rare vintage wine, sit back together and look back on the past decade with a proud grin and say to each other -
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WE HAVE DONE IT AND WE ARE LOOKING GOOD FOR A FEW MORE DECADES.

My Shame- My Sorrow

I love my birth place. I love my birth state. I am proud to be a Bengali. I love poetry, films, fine arts, cricket, Sourav Ganguly, Satyajit Ray, Amartya Sen, Anjan Chatterjee, Buddhadeb Bhattacharya------------- I feel proud that I belong to a community which places culture and courtesy above all else. I feel proud that in these days of market capitalization, a shopping mall shares a pride of place with a theatre hall. I feel pride that we have time for each other. I feel proud that we have a Chief Minister who is equally adept in the cultural forum as he is in wooing corporate investors. I feel pride that he can quote poetry as fast as he can work out profitability. SORRY!

I do not feel all that any more! The Chief Minister's name no longer features in the list above. I lament and I feel let down.

Pujo- Past Perfect

This pujo we had shifted to a new apartment block. New and shining facade, new entry points, well maintained terraces, in house pujo celebrations, nice neighbours, community eating and cultural functions everyday. Good fun actually.

For once mom and wifey got the chance to be part of the arranging team. For once baba got a chance to see all the fun from the shelter of the balcony. For once one could write to friends about the own apartment pujo.

One should be have been happy and contented.

But the Lazy one was not!!!!

The lazy roads lined with trees, the huge fields with swaying 'Kash', the unending unannounced arrival of friends at ones home, the addas at the pandals of different zones , the anticipated meetings with old friends at these pandals, the erratic timings of of coming home and going out, the fun and anticipation of "going home" on Shosthi, the angst of returning to the city on Ekadoshi, the unadulterated fun of living on Phuchka, Eggroll and other such manna from Heaven, the sadness tinged fun of the Bhasan ------ were all missing.

As was the place where one got it all!!!

As was the age that appreciated all of it!!

Phirbena , Sheto ar phirbena,
Phirbena ar kono din!