Twenty years ago, one winter afternoon, we stood by an antique store on Park Street and laughed at a misformed and funny-looking bust of Gandhi. I think Rajeev Gandhi might have been the Prime Minister then. We thought that was tragic. In those days, Kwality was the hottest thing on Park Street but I don't remember we ever went there. We used to make fun of the socialites on Park Street. USGS has an office across from the Maidan and we went upto the second floor. The library was inaccessible and it would take a week to get a copy of the paper, the man behind the counter said. We went to the staff Geologist's office and drank tea. We had these lemon-scented wet wipes with us. In the heat, we wiped our necks with it to stay cool even though that didn't seem to have helped much.
Then it started raining heavily without warning. Real Calcutta rain. We were inside a sandwich place, I was eating something, my friend was playing with the cucumber pieces from inside the sandwich. Outside, I could see rain water making a million bubbles and channels on the footpath. There was a man who was visiting from the US sitting across from us. I think he was with a few others, admiring local friends he left behind.
We had no umbrellas, but that didn't stop us from walking. On the other side of Birla Planetarium, there were sidewalk vendors. In the rain, they covered their wares in plastic and huddled under them. We speculated about death. And laughed at how the bird poop ran down the faces of the statues in the rain. What an inglorius fate!
In the metro station, there were no traces of the rain. The stations were clean and beautiful. We were so proud of the metro. We sat waiting for the train and I sketched us sitting there. We got off at Bhabanipore even though we needed to go all the way to Tolly. We walked aimlessly until it was evening. The rain had disappeared but the buildings were still drenched and the green shutters were still bleeding raindrops. After we crossed Ashutosh college, we realized we were tired and couldn't walk anymore. The college was dark and the bus stops were full of people waiting to go home. Every few minutes, a private bus would stop and the conductor would entice the passengers to get in the bus. I never liked the buses in Calcutta. We took a cab to Southern Avenue. The night had fallen and we needed to get home by nine. All the vendors were out selling vegetables and other evening wares on the streets. We crossed the street and walked silently through the lawns around the lake. There were people there, in the dark, and we could hear them talking. We had been walking for eight or nine hours by then.
We crossed the Lake Gardens station and walked home. There was a doctor's clinic on the corner. A boy on a bicycle raced by and I was told he sang Rabeendra Sangeet very well. After you went home, I walked to Jodhpur Park alone. Outside the post office, people were still milling about in the night. I was exhausted.
I wonder if that Calcutta still exists. I wonder if you could still spend eight hours walking without breathing in a lifetime of pollution. I wonder if you still saw the bhadralok making their morning constitutional in their immaculate attire. Or has it gone the way Mumbai went? I wonder if that store still displays that misformed bust of Gandhi!
Today, as I look out of the window, I see the morning sky opening up in so many colors, just like the sky in Calcutta. I wish I could be there today, taking a walk along an ordinary road, like Prince Anwarshah Road or something. Nothing spectacular, just walking along observing the night life.
I was missing that sort of nightlife so much that last night I was looking for deals to fly to Marrakech one weekend this month. Take the evening flight on a Friday and come back on Sunday. Morocco, I imagine, has similar street life to India. Who knows, may be there is an antique shop which displays deformed statues there as well.
