This doesn't seem the end..

Howrah Bridge from Howrah Station

Every time I've come to Kolkata, it’s reluctantly. And every time I've left Kolkata it’s even more unwillingly.

The numerous trips have been for work, studies & holiday too! Notwithstanding the heat, I remember having come to Kolkata for a holiday during summers once! But, there is no particular time to be in Kolkata. It’s all the year round.

The dusty pale roads that suddenly become crowded and jam-packed during pujo seem just the place to put your feet on. The innumerable melas on every open ground. The paper-boys selling old newspapers for a Rupee to sit on the wet ground when it rains during the pandal-hopping days. The festivities do not die. “Come rain, come sun, we won’t cut down the fun!” This seems to be the motto of every Kolkata-dweller. 

Would you rather be at any place other than Park Street during the Christmas? I bet not. The festivities capture you and you just can’t go home. Nobody seems to mind the night out on the streets, stretching into the next day. The lights, fun and food beckon you.  The entire street closes to traffic from evening on, and every shop glows up in merry Christmas lights. The carnival here is a never-miss!

Calcutta University, opposite which the historic Coffee House is located

Old city Calcutta is a storehouse of historic assertions. It is full of buildings, old and dilapidated. But each of those is a heritage with some story that etches it’s connect with its past glory. I think the College Street Coffee House is probably the only place that allows smoking inside its premises. But again, it’s the only place that had the geniuses of Netaji Bose & Satyajit Ray come for a cuppa coffee too!

Inside the College Street Coffee House

The generous bus-conductors will spare you change for a 500 Rupees note even for a 6 Rupees bus ticket, if you call them “Dada”. And the smile never wipes from their faces. Every lady on the street-side chai-cigarette shop is a “Maasi”. She’ll pour steaming tea into an earthen cup from a metallic kettle that we had last seen in our alphabets book where we learnt “K for Kettle”. It is a visual delicacy. And the scent of Kolkata is undisputedly tobacco. Some person will definitely smoke on your face, to give you more than just a sniff.

The numerous puchka-walas at every street corner and the roll shops at the road-sides, every few metres provide the just right evening time snack. And every true-blooded Calcuttan will have a favourite shop in some ‘galli’ of some ‘para’.

One of my friends observed, “This city grows on you”. And rightly so. This city embraces you and doesn’t leave you. In case you still have to move on, it’ll go with you. How often in a new city have we bragged by saying- “But back in my hometown...”? For me Cuttack & Calcutta have been used interchangeably, in a complementary kind. 

Again providence has deemed it fit for me to move out of Kolkata. Still, this doesn’t seem the end. 

Of Chinese on Banana leaves..

A long bus ride through the rugged roads of Tamil Nadu had left me craving for some exquisite French cuisine. Which was natural, as I had come to the ‘Europe of India’- Pudducherry.

Instead I had to settle for a restaurant famous for its Chettinad cuisine. And it has branches in Dubai & Singapore as well! Set before me was a banana leaf. I ordered for Chinese Chicken fried rice, which the waiter promptly got me. I looked helplessly as he placed the bowl of steaming fried rice before me and walked away. I was expecting him to replace the leaf with a plate, perhaps. Looking around embarrassed, I served myself on the banana leaf. And when I saw nobody noticing the weirdness, I confidently started eating. Soon the waiter returned, offering me a side dish. I thought to myself, what had I to lose anyways? I let him suggest, to which he promptly said- Chettinad chicken was their speciality. And within no time, I was mixing the chicken gravy with my fried rice and eating from my leafy platter. And this was just the beginning of my Pondy-trip.

Pondicherry has an exciting assortment of beaches, each unique and beautiful in itself. The Rocky beach, also known as the Gandhi beach has boulders, on which the sea waves crash. And running parallel is the Promenade. It is a wonderful place by day, and more so by night, when it is closed to vehicles. People come to casually stroll there under the warm orange street lights, with the noisy dark sea on one side and fancy eateries on the other, offering the perfect way to retire for the day.

 A small motor boat takes you through a creek to the Paradise beach. And when you step on the white sand, you realise, it truly is its namesake. A board declaring-Welcome to Paradise Beach, sweeps you into the cool embrace of the deep blue waters. The dwarf coconut trees make a perfect shade to sit & picnic around. There are also some thatched cottages where people can relax. They also have some make-shift changing rooms.  A small eatery, selling cold-drinks & snacks, completes the perfect setting. Look around you and you’ll see only water. Jump into the sea for a bath. A couple of police securities, with whistles are also posted, to keep a watch that nobody swims too deep. A good long ride back to the city on the hired moped dries you of the salty sea water.

The famed Aurobindo Ashram is close to the Gandhi beach. Set amidst a tranquil neighbourhood, it is a small building. You can almost go past it without it catching your attention. As you enter through its humble doors, you instantly soak in the quietness, as the disciples show you directions about the ashram, in hushed tones. It has lots of photographs and books by Aurobindo Ghosh & the Mother, his spiritual collaborator. You come out feeling, having entered another dimension.

A long (I mean really long) ride takes you away from the city to the township of Auroville. It has settlements and dwellers and shops, and is hard to ascertain exactly from where the establishment begins. The main attraction is the much hyped, and very aptly so, the Matrimandir. This golden dome is huge and grand to the sight, but unfortunately allows only those serious about meditating. But a cultural centre gives you all the details about the inside of this mysterious structure. And it’s fascinating. It also has a huge banyan tree, which is the geographic centre of the township. And this isn’t just a tree; it has buttress roots and aerial roots covering extensive area and looks like an old, gigantic tree stooping over many barks for support. Few minutes ride from here is the Auroville beach. This is a conventional sandy beach like any of our east-Indian beaches, with hawkers selling hats and goodies on the embankment. Getting a splash here is almost mandatory, because it’s a safe beach.

Pudducherry is a calm city with friendly, cooperative people. From the typical south-Indian snacks to the tasteful Fresh cuisine, and to the evergreen Pizzas, you’ll be spoilt for choice of food. Life takes a very relaxed pace as you set your foot in Pondy! Not only for tourists, but the people there also have shaken off the hurriedness, which is such a common plague in any city.

Verdict- Must visit!

The Luxury of Indian Railway!

One thing led to another and the responsibility of getting a ticket for myself landed on me.

If you have the power to know your whereabouts after about 4 months, book your train tickets in utmost comfort without competition. But if you are like me, with out-of-the-blue plans have a fat wallet (for flight). Booking a tatkal ticket is not everybody’s piece of cake. Very recently, I joined this elite group. It cost me one and a half weeks of emotional oscillation between enthusiastic hope and utter despair.

You might wonder why I didn’t just opt for a flight. Well, you see, by looking at the subsequent week’s air fares, I realised that amount could take me on an international trip to a nearby country.

Initially the agent tried for a few days. I guess he wasn’t assured enough commission for his efforts, because (I’m sure), he tried for tatkal atleast an hour after the sale started. My patience ran out. The wait made me sick (actually). Then I was asked to step in.

Each morning the struggle began. As the days passed, strategies were devised to maximise the chances of booking, in the minimum time that’s available. Approach was decided the night before. Tactics made, tactics rejected.

Based on the trend observed, I’d like to give some pointers to newbies:

    ·         Login atleast 30 mins before Tatkal booking begins. The more you delay the more difficult it becomes to even log into your account.

    ·         If the availability has considerable reduced, don’t test your luck. You may end up paying service charges for no service at all.

    ·         When you see tickets available & proceed with booking, the website does not block a berth. There maybe atleast ‘n’ number of people booking for the same berth, at the same time!

    ·         Even if you get beyond the booking page with sufficient tickets available, there are high chances you might get stuck on that page till all tickets are sold out. I doubt the website’s increased bandwidth claims.

    ·         Form filled, ready to pay? Captcha stuck. Refresh. Reload. Refresh. Availability- waitlisted.

The demand is enormous, the supply is miserable. One of the most used websites in the country is flawed! Sometime after the railway website starts showing on your ‘most visited’ list, you’ll be lucky.

The only advice from an experienced (by implementing all strategies) is- pray before you log in. The day you will be able to successfully login, book & finally travel is already decided. :)

6 Signal Crossings

I knew what I was heading to. The weather didn’t look inviting. It was cloudy & hot. The roads were less crowded as it was a ‘bandh’. Now, a bandh in Kolkata is as common a Saturday. I smiled to myself and thought, ‘Bring it on!’

There was no more work at office, and I thought to make something of this day.

 We decided to walk from office.

 I had a friend to accompany in this crazy brainwave of mine.

Considering my previous experiences with this pragmatic friend of mine, I decided to count, not sheep, but cars! And I chose red coloured ones. Some were zooming past us and some simply moved at a lazy pace, as if enjoying the empty roads. The ones that caught my attention most were the yellow-black taxis. They would come honking from behind and slow down near to us. The driver would then peep from behind the wheel, asking if we would prefer a comfortable ride? The answer would be a smile & shaking of the head.

 The roads were wide & clean, the plants looked fresh in white & blue pots. The rout was scurrying to get back home, cursing their bosses for making them work when the government had decided to sit back.

I was convinced that the walk if nothing else, would shed a few grams off my weight. At the outset, our conversation was about work, & then it slowly drifted to the City of Joy.  The history & typical stories, rivalries, superstitions & sentiments, that only a localite can relate, I was hearing.  And we were two signals beyond where we had decided to take a public transport.

Chattering, giggling, dodging the traffic, running across signals, skipping over the potholed road, we had done it all. And after the tiresome expedition, all that we thirsted for, was an ice cream. And the joy of quenching your tiredness by an orange bar is incomparable!

The last leg of my long journey to home from office had to be completed by an auto. Period. My leg nerves were pleading for rest...& finally I thought yes, they deserved it. They had served me well today :)

The Indecent Touch.

“Hello, Ruchika here. May I know who’s speaking?  Ohh, I’m sorry. I’m waiting for the bus, will reach office in another 30 minutes.” I put down the phone. I had just been saved from being hit by a speeding taxi, which scraped past me.

Ah! There came my bus, flashing ‘K1’ in bold orange. After the 25 minute wait in the sun, I was relieved. Little did I know that my relief was soon going to turn into despair!

The bus came to a screeching halt right before my frantically waving hands. I was smiling at some grouching faces. But I dint mind, I had finally got my bus! I tried to make my way onto the first step of the bus, but I couldn’t. I waited impatiently while the driver was honking, asking me to get on board fast. Some people who were hanging from the foot-board grudgingly got down making space for me to step on.

I stepped on. But now, I had no place to move ahead. Grabbing onto my bag, I managed to climb onto the 4^th and final step. I tried to search for some place to plant my feet, because I was standing on somebody’s beautiful brown shoes. And the poor fellow wasn’t shouting or complaining. He must have been getting his shoes spoiled every day, I guessed. I quickly jumped down to take the place of someone else who inched towards the door to get down.

I tried in vain arching my neck to see if there was any place where I could stand without touching anyone. But all I could see was shirts and smell the stench of deos & sweat. Everybody was cramming around me. In that condition my mind stopped judging every touch, whether it was deliberate frottage or the desperate struggle of every other passenger to get a breathing space, literally!

I thought it safe to have a stronger hold on my bag, so I brought it close to myself & hugged it tight. I was at a loss thinking which way to angle myself so that I would fit in like a puzzle piece. But however I tried to stand, I hustled somebody or the other. Fed up, I stood like that, hanging onto the bus rod.

Precariously, I was clutching my bag with one hand, hanging onto the rod at the door with the other hand and balancing, leaning on someone else. Its at such a point that the unanticipated happened! The jam-packed bus had to take a sharp turn. My right-hand holding the rod slipped. I fell towards somebody standing on the second last step. I let out a shriek, as did the other women passengers.

But I wasn’t scared of falling out. I somehow knew that I was safely packed on all sides. Even if the misfortune happened, and I was jolted out of the bus, I would still land safely upon a heap of people, hazardously standing with hardly a place to keep their toes.

Every passing minute was a pain, trying not to come in someone’s way. But everybody had to cross me and go since I had managed to secure a place right next to the door.

The hoarse voice of the bus conductor started shouting ‘New Town namabe’. I sensed a greater relief as compared to the previous time. The bus came to another screeching halt. The braking of the bus sent shudders through my body, just as scratching nails on a blackboard gives me goose bumps!

I was pushed out of the bus, as everyone scrambled to get down. I collected myself. I was still in one piece, safe & sound. My dress wasn’t torn, nothing had been stolen from my bag & I wasn’t bleeding. Though, my feet looked as if they desperately needed pedicure.

I was finally out of what I would call a crusher. I was panting. In those 30 minutes spent in that bus, I lost all sense of touch. All those mushy romantic scenes meant nothing to me anymore.

I had always thought, how would it feel, the first time when my hand would brush against his?  Would I get butterflies in my stomach? The sudden flush of red in my face which I’d try to hide so that he doesn’t see that I’m blushing. When he comes close to speak to me & I suddenly turn to see his face close to mine.

Alas, now I wouldn’t even realise when that happens.