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."
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