Of Calcutta!!

Much has been said and written about Calcutta, so much so that the Calcuttans did not realize when it became Kolkata, not considering ofcourse the course of Kolikata becoming Calcutta during the British regime. I guess this  shows how poignant we are about the name, albeit, during the course of the time we have never realised that it does not make any sense.

No sense at all, for that smell of home cooked mutton during Sunday lunch, no sense either for that green maroon clad fan of Mohunbagan, no sense at all for that Bihari cart puller soaking in the humid sun, no sense even for the lad taking bath in the roadside hand pump.  

These pictures come flashing on my mind and they fade away before another picture replaces that. None of us ever realised that it is a city which has a mind on its own, it breathes on its own and it thrives on its people. None of us ever realized that it has become a city which has seen the Babus, the Brits and the corporate alike and has become larger than its name.

I am not being judgmental about whether the city is good or if it was good. I am not being judgmental if there has been progress made or if we left out any room for improvement. I am too minuscule a person to determine that aspect of this city. But it is the sense of a feeling which makes up the most part of it. The sense being a part of a legend called joy.

When you roam about the streets of New Market or Mirzapur Street, or go for a movie in a posh multiplex at South Calcutta, or watch a retrospective of Satyajit Ray or Uttam Kumar, or hear the recitation of Shambhu Mitra or Utpal Dutta, or see a sea of people flocking out from the Eden Gardens, you feel the sense of being part of that legend.

That for me is my city, as I see it and I welcome you to see it too.

 

Emily

**All sketches are by me and photo courtesy Som

to start with....

The thought of starting a blog was there embedded in my mind always but it didn’t really materialize till today.  Though I have completed my Post Graduation in English Language, yet I struggled with my ‘writing’. Starting from primary school days to the university fun times, I’m not at all comfortable with words when it comes to composing answers or penning letters or general blog authorship. Instead, I chose to lift pencils, charcoal, colors and paint brushes.

In that regard, my friends are always kind enough to shower my sketches with praises and sugar words but to me the creations really didn’t match my expectation. Being brought up with traditional view point of a Bengali family I too attended a neighborhood painting classes when I was able to scribble sensible words and lines, but that ended up in honing the artistic skills of my teacher, not mine as I used to roam around the room with my toys whereas she used to complete my art work just to show my parents that I’m doing something on those Sunday morning classes.

After running around for a year it was time to participate in various ‘sit and draw competitions’ and it doesn't need any mention that my horrible drawings never used to pass even the first round of selection, keeping apart getting prizes. Whereas children of my age, smilingly used to receive grand prizes like ‘tiffin boxes’, ‘ color sets’ and so many varieties of so called ‘Oscars’ of our life. The more I used to fail the more I made myself distant from the painting teacher and her classes. Then came the insulting part, when kids younger to me became the celebrities after winning local Grammy awards in painting. My mother had a tough time imagining that I hardly take interest in my studies as well as in my painting classes and so she decided to stop spending her money and stopped the painting classes. I was relieved.  Now I could peacefully watch 'Mahabharata' on television which was a popular show on Sundays, sharp at 9 in the morning.

When I reached my middle school I realized that what  I used to scribble on the last pages of the notebooks my fellow classmates appreciated it and then these appreciation which were innocent and honest led me to take major interest in sketching which resulted to paintings too.. This blog is only for honest comments and feedback and that's why I have chosen the difficult part for me, ‘Writing’. I thank God for not having me to write with pen and paper as modern technology made it easier and thanks to Microsoft's auto correct too for my clumsy fingers act on the word pad!

 P.S: Miranda, the hot Mommy and Sulagna, the hot Teacher: thanks for the support and motivation.. love u both.

Emily..