Click to read the series on Facebook: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3.
"City of joy." - Dominique Lapierre"Bollocks." - Oscar Wilde
They say Calcutta grows on you. It's an acquired taste.
To start with, you might hold a hankerchief over your nose trying to avoid the morbidly foul smell as you enter the city, only to be repulsed by the smell of your own sweat, thanks to the lovely weather. But then you start appreciating the blatant mediocrity that this place is. Because, admit it: if you did have options, you would obviously not be here.
"I electrocuted myself in my balls everyday. That got me through Calcutta." - Mark Twain
Appreciating mediocrity is Calcutta's DNA. They loved their Orwellesque Commie delusion for 30 years. And right when it looked like capitalism would finally make some progress, they uninstalled Dhotiwalas to instate an even more regressive regime that called every naysayer and their daddy a Maoist. Poriborton and how!
They are intellectual people who love their carrom boards and their tobacco. Collectively orgasming over Robindro Shongit and everything else slowass, it's a wonder they love a sport as fast and furious as phutboul. Collectively fervent of the glorious past and the kaalchaar, they can't hear a word against Sotyojit Ray, Sourobh Ganguly or even Osok Dinda.
"Bring back Dada, bring back Dinda." - Every Bengali Ever.
Durga Puja is on: the biggest carnival of the year. The only 4 days when the city has a semblance of nightlife. Extraordinarily curvaceous females in cheap mascara that flows down their cheeks with gallons of sweat, draped in backless blouses disgustingly wet under their arms. Sex starved males ogling at the aforementioned curves sitting at Maddox Square, high as a kite. And groping every gropeworthy mound of flesh in gropeable distance.
Groping is an Indian art form which has been around longer than LK Advani. But what makes it special is that the chicks don't seem to mind during these days. Much like the traffic police that is so emasculated that one can't help pitying the poor sods.
"You are my chicken fry. You are my fish fry. Kabhi na kehna kudiye. Bye bye bye." - Bappi Lahiri
...to be continued.