Of Times That Rush Past ...

One does not realise much of their attachment to their hometown until they have to move out of it. It even seems cruel at times,to be pushed out of the comfort of your home. For a true Bengali, true home is where you have the most peaceful and most satisfying pooping experience.( Yes, ‘Piku’ portrayed it most aptly.)

 Be it for your education or your job, you usually have to make a very sudden departure and even before the feeling begins to sink in , the train wheels start rolling.

The last moments before leaving are particularly difficult. The key to accomplish a tear-free and undramatic goodbye without creating much scene is to shorten the duration of hugs and putting on an XL smile. Keep poor jokes handy because this is one time when people will actually laugh a lot at them, and when they do so, you know that the slightly loud laughter is to camouflage the tears that are threatening to well up and the throat that is almost choked.

You look at your father, but you make sure that you do not look too long and you see him make himself busy with counting luggage for the zillionth time, taxi and tickets.It is then that you know how their battle is probably ten thousand times more difficult than yours. When he lectures you on professionalism and how when duty calls family life does not matter, you listen to him and nod, all the while thinking to yourself of all the times he answered your calls in the middle of work.

The secret is, the tougher the person appears to be, the bigger he talks – the greater battle he is fighting within. They are so very proud of you, so worried and overwhelmed with so many indecipherable emotions.  Though they try their best to hide it, in their eyes you see the battle they are fighting- between holding on and letting go.

Calcutta is a soulful city. It is a trap for the unsuspecting. Just when you think you are not enchanted, or have managed to escape its web of “maya”, it entraps you. It is in times like these that you think of all the Bengali black magic jokes that your non-Calcutta friends crack and you realise the probable iota of truth in them.

The city is cruel. The Railway Station is positioned in such a way that you have to travel right through the heart of the city to leave it. It is like the invisible arrow which seems to go right through your heart at around this time. The taxi ride is always the most brutally beautiful . When you look out of the window it is like a live trailer that plays out – Victoria, Maidan, Dalhousie, Eden and to seal it all, a final blow of the heart wrenching passing over the Howrah Bridge. This time you look out of the window but before your father cries out about how you will catch a cold from the Ganga’s riverside winds, something manages to get into your eye and you have to take out your glasses and rub your eyes a little.

Oh, dramatic stunts that humans perform!

For one who loves to travel, the Railway Station is a shrine of pure joy. While leaving home, among so many things even this changes. Another thing that changes is New Year.You no more want it to arrive and despite yourself you almost pray for a 32^nd December.

Anurupa. 27.12.15.