Oh Calcutta! Morning.

Now I am a bong but haven’t really been close to the heartland of Bengalis. In Calcutta, the sun rises at 4 in the morning and likes to laze around the sky.

My boss here was generous enough to Jet cargo me to our Calcutta office. And my employers are extravagant enough to make it enjoyable. So I finally opened my dreamy eyes as the aircraft came to halt. And I saw a happy mother sky playing with the newly born dark clouds. Something you would want to see every Friday morning.

Gopal Da was at our service now with a seasoned white Ambassador. As he shifted to the fourth gear I lit my first cigarette of the day. With every exhale I saw wet streets, overwhelmed trees and a lake. The greens became more prosperous with more exhales. And when I threw the cigarette out of the window, my smoky eyes opened widely. I saw greener football grounds co-existing happily in the neighbourhood.
One of them encouraged old bones to walk peacefully.
Another such ground was caught in a practice which through my eyes looked quite festive. Energetic footballers clad in yellow jerseys and red shorts were practicing with a more energetic coach. They were all girls in their teens, and short pony tails.

The white ambassador entered a big iron gate and I knew the drive has reached its end. I was trying to recollect the visuals I saw through the half open ambassador window. But I didn’t know the city of joy had much more to offer. We drove right into a club built on a golf course. Green was the colour of the day, all shades of green.

I would like to skip the part where I went to office and started my corporate chores. But yes, the office was a small old building stuffed with warm and welcoming people. And hospitality in West Bengal has only one fundamental principle. Thou shall and will overeat.

Throughout my not so tiring day, I kept humming Bengali songs in my heart. It’s something I do when I’m at peace with myself. I felt I was in the domain of music. The air I was breathing must have come out of a distant harmonium inside a Victorian middle class house.

The songs in my heart and now in my head kept getting louder. And I realised, I am singing the songs I heard and learnt in childhood. But repeating them again and again made me feel like the musician in search of more. More words, more air to breathe.

The ‘Rabindra sangeet’ calling (as I would like to put it in words) became stronger. Through the refined hustle bustle of Park Street, I entered the Music World there and I was breathing the air again. With deeper breaths. Elated.

My next post would take off from here as I take a bow. Today, the mother sky of Delhi is singing with the wind. Waiting for her clouds to accompany her with some more instruments. And I am listening to ‘Gems from Tagore’ as I wait to breathe in the same air again.