The City of Joy

I had always wanted to visit Kolkata. There are many reasons for it.  From wanting to witness the exuberant and ebullient celebration of Durga Pooja to engulfing myself in the sacredness of Dakhshineshwar or just reconnoitre what magic this city weaves for the man I love.  At the end I did manage to fulfil the last one.

The moment you step on the Bengali soil, the first thing that hits you is the melange of smells in the air. It reminded me of Mumbai, where the air is thick with the sounds and smells.  Upon entering Kolkata you are thrown into a time warp. It is an amalgamation of European, Islamic and Hindu cultures. I was drawn instantly towards the bustling whirlpool of colours, smells and sounds that is Kolkata.

My stay was a short one. Although I did not get the opportunity to explore more of this city, it was enough for me to understand its magic. I walked aimlessly along the streets, tasted the local cuisine and saw the sights like any other normal tourist. I can still taste the sharp, tangy flavour of puchka and the sweetness of mishti doi on my tongue. I can still breathe in the hot, humid air and I can still feel the sun smiling down brightly at me, as if he understood my heart’s elation that I am finally here.

The city of joy is a concoction of opposites. It is a pleasant mixture of a bygone era and the modern age.  Kolkata is like a middle-aged woman with a young heart who eternally hungers for new stories and new loves. Today she has immersed my story and my love inside her. My past and my present are carefully warped inside her. As much I loved seeing the city, there was a certain emptiness inside me. I wanted to explore and the see the city through his eyes, hear through his ears and feel through his heart.  But then the past is an interpretation. The world does not move through time like a straight line instead it moves through us in endless spirals. Hence it was better for me to put the past out of my mind and live in the present.

There is certain kind of sadness I feel when I leave this city. I have fallen in love with Kolkata but I cannot call it home, I cannot belong here.  There is a name for this emotion in Welsh. It is called Hiraeth. It is homesickness for a home which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the grief for the lost places of your past.  Kolkata is special to me in more than one way. It is my city of love. As Shams of Tabriz said, “A life without love is of no account. Don’t ask yourself what kind of love you should seek, spiritual or material, divine or mundane, Eastern or Western. Divisions only lead to more divisions. Love has no labels, no definitions. It is what it is, pure and simple. Love is the water of life. And a lover is a soul of fire! The universe turns differently when fire loves water.”

Mostly because it is his city, and I will always remember it that way.