Kolkata Report #3
There is gritty charcoal like feel to the air. It might be particulate pollution we read about, but I remember this precise feel back in the days when pollution was not even a problem. There is an underlying heat of sizeable proportions.You get this feel when you emerge from the airport, after its cool air conditioned relatively dust free environment. It announced that you were in India again.
Along with this, you hear car horns, people talking excitedly, the sound of childrens' voices- some peevish despite being in the sweetest voices in the world- 'Kothay?! Dadubhai toh ashchhei na!'(Where is he? Grandpa just isn't coming yet!), or a bit whiny
'Bari jaabo...' (I want to go home) or รก plaintive 'Plane kothay? bolechhiley na ekhaney anek plane ashey?'(where are the planes? Didn't you told me that there were lots of planes here?)..
Then one's ride materializes and one is off to one's destination.
The sky is a murky khaki color, the clouds have piled on thick.
Not that long ago, the plane was in the sky, above the bumpy cloud layer, and the air was crystalline in clarity. There the sky was a wonderful cerulean blue. Perspectives change as one shifts position. But of course- always, and in every facet of life.
Long journeys make one philosophical at their end, as blood begins to flow through one's limbs and cranium once again.
Speeding over the new roads and flyovers, one feels a mixture of love for the old city, a bit of guilt for those standing by the bus stops, a sense of hopelessness for the tangles of wires and posters and ramshackle tarpaulin covered pavement stalls and also a tiny sense of relief, that not too much has changed.
One can resume ones mental agenda as to how one can restore this city to its elegant past.
The rain starts with a sharp thunderclap. Big fat raindrops beat down on every surface, stinging on bare limbs. Lightning strikes something and then there is a huge crackling sound as the sky was being ripped like a strong fabric. The water gathers quickly in the gutters and the raindrops on that water look as though someone was frying pakoras. Ah! Pakoras, singaras and machh bhaja.
Yes, yes- one's mind is never far from food.
After the shower passes- there is a cleaner feel to the air but also a whiff of odor of urine and mould.
The next day, the sun rises and within a few hours that gritty feel to the air is back.
April 30th, 2018
There is gritty charcoal like feel to the air. It might be particulate pollution we read about, but I remember this precise feel back in the days when pollution was not even a problem. There is an underlying heat of sizeable proportions.You get this feel when you emerge from the airport, after its cool air conditioned relatively dust free environment. It announced that you were in India again.
Along with this, you hear car horns, people talking excitedly, the sound of childrens' voices- some peevish despite being in the sweetest voices in the world- 'Kothay?! Dadubhai toh ashchhei na!'(Where is he? Grandpa just isn't coming yet!), or a bit whiny
'Bari jaabo...' (I want to go home) or รก plaintive 'Plane kothay? bolechhiley na ekhaney anek plane ashey?'(where are the planes? Didn't you told me that there were lots of planes here?)..
Then one's ride materializes and one is off to one's destination.
The sky is a murky khaki color, the clouds have piled on thick.
Not that long ago, the plane was in the sky, above the bumpy cloud layer, and the air was crystalline in clarity. There the sky was a wonderful cerulean blue. Perspectives change as one shifts position. But of course- always, and in every facet of life.
Long journeys make one philosophical at their end, as blood begins to flow through one's limbs and cranium once again.
Speeding over the new roads and flyovers, one feels a mixture of love for the old city, a bit of guilt for those standing by the bus stops, a sense of hopelessness for the tangles of wires and posters and ramshackle tarpaulin covered pavement stalls and also a tiny sense of relief, that not too much has changed.
One can resume ones mental agenda as to how one can restore this city to its elegant past.
The rain starts with a sharp thunderclap. Big fat raindrops beat down on every surface, stinging on bare limbs. Lightning strikes something and then there is a huge crackling sound as the sky was being ripped like a strong fabric. The water gathers quickly in the gutters and the raindrops on that water look as though someone was frying pakoras. Ah! Pakoras, singaras and machh bhaja.
Yes, yes- one's mind is never far from food.
After the shower passes- there is a cleaner feel to the air but also a whiff of odor of urine and mould.
The next day, the sun rises and within a few hours that gritty feel to the air is back.
April 30th, 2018
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