While I sat down to write this article, I kept on wondering that how could I appositely write something about Kolkata which will not sound cliched, so I kept on writing and deleting until I felt that I could do justice. The first time when I shifted to Calcutta (yes! it will forever be Calcutta for me), I was in tears, as for someone who has grown up in north-eastern India, Calcutta summers were torture beyond words could explain. However, slowly but steadily I started to like the city….yes only like the ‘City Of Joy’ as the city had still not given a plausible reason to love it. I hated the crowd, the smoke, the humidity but I was glad that I was putting up, not sure if was keeping up. The city rain was something which got on my nerves as most of the times it rained I used to be out which resulted in dirty shoes, dresses spoilt, mud and sewage water galore. One morning I woke up early, as early as 4 in the morning and it was raining, and this was when I fell in love with the drops of water falling from the sky on my window pane and transcending into heavenly music, the feeling of raindrops on my face and that was the moment when I wrote my first poem.
Now I live out of Calcutta, but when I had left the city for my new destination for next couple of years the city had bid me a teary farewell, it was monsoon when took a last look of the city which had become much like a abhorred but doting lover. The city which gave me love, gave me wisdom and all could give it was looks of disdain. It was raining when I boarded my train, it had to rain. For a person like me whose life and thoughts thrive on drama, it had to rain when I left the city. So I did something which might not raise any eyebrows but was surprising for me. I took my hand out and caught a few drops of rains and splattered them on my face. Surprising because I HATE RAIN!
I returned to the city after a few months on a whirlwind vacation. It was almost autumn but the city welcomed me with a drizzle. It was the quintessential last rain of the year, the air had a morbid humidity but the festivities did not care nor did I. It felt as if it was the city’s way to say, ‘I Love You’ it was as if in spite of knowing that I hate rain the city teased me with it. It was a private game which we played. It would rain the moment I stepped out and would stop even if I secretly cancelled the plan for the day in my head. The city my animated lover showed me its love in its own way. It was as if if kind of punished me in its own sweet and loving way for hating it for all these years and now leaving it for another city.