Yesterday in The Telegraph, the departing political officer in Kolkata beautifully captured what it is like to live in "Calcutta," a unique city that you either fall in love with or dread. An excerpt:
"When people ask me what I will miss most about Calcutta, I have a hard time explaining the loss I already feel when I think of leaving. I will miss the dosas at Jyoti Vihar and the pan-fried momos at Blue Poppy. I will miss the slow, seemingly prehistoric rumble of the trams and the incongruous orderliness of the Metro, even at rush hour. I will miss the Hooghly, swirling chai brown in the wake of a Howrah-bound ferry boat, with the view framed by two iconic bridges and the Calcutta skyline. I will miss the orange and gold radiance of the krishnachura trees in bloom and the other-worldly colours that take over the Calcutta sky when a storm approaches. I will miss the vibrancy of Calcutta’s art, from heart-wrenching photojournalism to age-old tales retold on patachitra scrolls from the Jungle Mahal. The roaring drums and frenetic flips of chhau dancers and the saccharine tones of a sangeet recital."