Back to Kolkata

My plane has left Dumdum, and I’m on my way to Istanbul, where I’ll be joining my team. We have a contract to make a documentary on Turkey, Iraq, Israel, and Saudi Arabia. But this time, something feels different.

It's the fifth time I've left Kolkata, my hometown, to go on a tour, and every time before, I've been excited and eager to explore the world. But now, something is pulling me back. I can't quite put my finger on it, but there's definitely something precious I've left behind in Kolkata.

For a long time, I've wanted to be in Istanbul, the city where East meets West, where Catholics and Protestants coexist, where ancient and modern ideas blend seamlessly. So what on earth is stopping me from diving into such mesmerizing beauty?

Today happens to be Saptami, the seventh day of Durga Puja. The streets of Kolkata must be lit up, and the crowds are likely filling the roads by now, making it a tough time for traffic controllers. It’s 3:20 PM here, so in Kolkata, the streets must be buzzing with the deafening happiness of the madding crowds. The city of joy is, in fact, living up to its name, full of joy and people engulfed in the myriad colors of the season. And here I am, sitting thousands of kilometers away, where all this fun and happiness seems so distant and almost unreal.

In my home in Shyambazar, where we have our own Durga Puja, the house must be bustling with people; if only I could hear the drums, see the smoke of the dhunuchi, taste the many sweets, and smell the fragrant flowers used to decorate the house. Is it the Puja that is pulling me back, or is it something else? I have no clue.

As for my family, they must be very busy handling guests, both important and not so important. Let me guess: Dad is probably busy with the arrangements, especially in the kitchen, while sneaking rasgullas into his mouth; Mum is likely in the Puja department with my grandma and numerous aunts, while also keeping an eye on my sister; Grandpa is surely sitting on his old armchair, surrounded by his friends and the other elder members of the family, each with a cup of tea in their hands, reminiscing about our family history; my elder brother is probably flirting with the young girls around, or maybe he's out with his friends. And how could I forget about… No, I won't say her name; she asked me not to mention her name in my blogs or books, and I will respect her wish. So, I'll just call her S.

S must be in the Puja department too, but Dad probably calls her every now and then for various reasons. She’s my sister's favorite playmate, she's giving my brother tips on what to say and what not to say to girls, and I can almost hear my grandpa calling her name, asking for another cup of tea. In every event, in every corner of the house, she is there, everywhere, with everyone, asking nothing but love and a smile in return.

She had been my playmate and best friend since childhood, and our bond remains strong, or maybe not, because since I left home, we've talked very little. Even the last time I was home, just a week ago, she was the shyest person I encountered. And I don’t understand why, all of a sudden, I started talking about her so much. Perhaps the magic of this city, where East and West meet, reminds me of her – her modern ideas with an old-fashioned mindset.

It was Panchami. The house was full of our relatives who came for the Puja. Everyone was in a jovial and relaxed mood. Naturally, I attracted much attention, being the only photographer-cum-shooter for Fox Travels in a family of professors and lawyers.

When I felt that my parents and grandparents were overpraising me in front of our relatives, I took the opportunity to escape, as the situation was getting uncomfortable for me. I went to the kitchen, where S was alone. She was making tea with her back to the door, and I silently watched her work from the doorway. She was more or less the same, with her somewhat chubby physique – although she seemed to have gained a bit more weight – her complexion was fair, but her uncovered parts were darker, possibly from traveling in the heat often. She was still short, but the one thing I noticed was her hair. It was long, very long in fact, even though she always preferred short hair. It was in a bun on her head, but due to lack of proper care, the bun loosened, and her hair fell.

It was then that she turned around to fix it, and she saw me. For a moment, we both were startled as our eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. And as always, it was S who broke the awkward silence.

She simply smiled at me, followed by a tiny “Hey!”
She turned around and resumed her work. I walked over to her and sat on the kitchen counter.

“You seem to have completely forgotten me,” I said, trying to start a conversation.

“Obviously,” she replied quickly, as she poured tea into the cups.

“So, how did you manage to successfully forget me?”

“I just didn’t think about you,” she said, now adding milk and sugar to the tea.

I was thinking of what to say next, as she didn’t seem to be in a chatty mood when she said, “You know, the wind is really nice on the terrace right now.”

I went upstairs to the terrace, beside the Thakurghar where the women of the house were gathered. I climbed to the upper terrace and sat there. It was a clear night with a cool autumn breeze blowing, and a faint sound of chatter and laughter was coming from downstairs.

S came and sat some distance away from me, leaning against the parapet and stretching out her thick legs. A long silence followed. I was struggling to think of a topic to talk about with her, but then I got an idea: I could ask her about her studies, even though I already knew everything about them!

“So, you’re doing a BA in History, right?” I asked.

“Again, that same question, Avi. Even last time you asked me the same thing. Why do you always lack topics to chat about?”

How does she understand me so well? I just don’t get it.

“You haven’t changed,” I said, playing it safe. “But why are you always so hyper with your work?”

“I’m not hyper. I just have a lot of work to do.”

“What work?” I asked, moving closer to her.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re very confused, you know,” I laughed. “You’re more confused than the Malaysians and Indonesians who don’t know whether they are Muslim, Hindu, Christian, or Buddhist!” I thought stories about foreign countries might interest her.

“Tell me more about the outside world,” she said, intrigued.

“The people I met there are really cool, you know. Just the opposite of you, actually. They don’t have that work-work-work attitude. They do their work wholeheartedly but enjoy the rest of their time just as much.”

“What do you think we lack that the Americans and Europeans have?”

“The thing we lack is discipline and proper management. Here, everyone is focused on making money; there, everyone is focused on progress. Here, people compete; there, people cooperate. And the mindset is a big issue. Even in the 21st century, many conservative Indians still consider sex a taboo.”

“Stop it, stop saying those words, please,” S said, covering her ears with her hands.

“It’s natural, S. There’s nothing bad about it.”

“Do you always talk about these things abroad?”

“Not always, but these topics do come up in conversations, and people take it lightly. For example, I have a friend named Rupert from Mexico. He has two sons but no wife.”

“What?” S’s eyes widened in shock. “Is his wife dead?”

“No. He has a girlfriend, and that’s it.”

“Do you have girlfriends too?”

“I had, but they were all temporary relationships.”

“And do you have children too?” S’s hands were trembling.

“Oh, come on, of course not. Listen, S, I respect India and Indian culture and traditions. You’re a student of History, so you’d know better. From time immemorial, many different people belonging to different races came to India – starting from the Aryans to the British. They brought their own cultures and religions, which mixed with Indian culture, but India never lost her own ancient traditions, and that’s what makes her unique. I still hold on to my roots, but my mindset has been updated.”

S smiled, seeming pleased.

“The foreign winds have matured you, Avi. You’ve grown up.”

I smiled, or rather blushed. It was a compliment that meant something, especially coming from someone so important in my life.

“Okay, tell me,” S said, sitting up, “have you seen the Eiffel Tower?”

“Yes.”

“The Colosseum?”

“Yes.”

“The Rhine River?”

“Yes.”

Now it was getting boring.

“Stop it,” I said, “I feel shy.”

S laughed, a clear, ringing laugh from deep within. Finally, I recognized my old friend again.

“You feel shy? Why?” she laughed again.

“I don’t like to brag about where I’ve been. It feels like boasting, and I don’t like to boast, you know that.”

“Okay, so now tell me, Mr. Boaster,” she laughed again, “which is the best place you’ve been to?”

The best place…I strained my mind. There were so many places flooding my thoughts.

“If you’re talking about natural beauty, I’d say the drive from Buffalo to Chicago. For spiritual beauty, I’d say Assisi. And for the best city, I’d say Paris and Cape Town.”

“And actually, there’s another kind of beauty – the beauty of war. I saw it in Kabul. I was there for two nights, and I want to visit Afghanistan again.”

“War? What’s beautiful about war? Why would anyone want war in the first place?”

“When they get bored with peace, they want war,” I said sarcastically.

S gave me a you-can’t-be-right-all-the-time look and gazed up at the starry sky. I looked up too. It was such a blissful night, so silent, so mystic, so dark, yet so bright. I didn’t feel alone at that moment; I felt like someone had arranged this whole beautiful scene just for me, so that I could appreciate it, so that I could feel relaxed.

Intoxicated by the beauty, I stared at the stars. The scientific explanations of Earth’s revolution and constellations seemed irrelevant then. The only thing that came to my mind was magic – the magic of creation. No God, no devil, no good, no bad – it was just me and everything that was mine in that moment. I let myself go and felt my head rest on something soft. Now I could see the sky even better, and I felt more snug.

There must be someone else, I thought – maybe a hot girl, a depressed guy, a beggar, or a business magnate – maybe even a terrorist or a struggling artist, who is looking up at the sky right now and admiring the beauty of the night just like I am. I was sinking deeper into my thoughts when, from somewhere far away, a sweet voice called my name and said, “You are so lucky to go out there and see the world. How I wish I could come with you!”

“Then why don’t you come along?” I asked, my voice muffled.

“What would I do there? I don’t know their ways, nor their language, and I don’t know how to use your professional cameras.”

“Why don’t you try using them?”

“No, I’d damage them.”

“If you don’t make mistakes, how can you learn?”

“Those cameras are your life, Avi. Remember how you used to play with your dad’s old broken camera in childhood and tell me stories of the outside world that you learned from books and TV?” she said, caressing my hair on her lap. “Your hair isn’t oily anymore. Which shampoo do you use abroad?” she laughed again.

I smiled and looked up at her face. There was something in her eyes, in her smile, in the way she looked at me, in the way she caressed my hair – a kind of magic that I found nowhere else. S is the proud owner of this magic. No money, no wealth, no joy in life can match the affection in her eyes.

“Is there nothing I can do abroad?” she asked in a sad tone.

“Well, let me see. I’m very untidy, as you must know, and I always lose my things. So, you can just come with me and help keep my things in order,” I said, teasing her.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. This work will suit me because I always used to organize your things in childhood, remember?”

“Tell me, S, it’s so nice to be here with your family and friends, your own people, people who speak your language, who eat your food, whom you know, whom you are familiar with. So why do you want to go abroad? Here you are safe; here you know what to do and when to do it. But there, it’s completely different; you’ll always have to be ready for the most hostile situations.”

“When you become bored with a peaceful life, you long for some adventure,” S replied.

She smiled, and I smiled back. That moment felt like an eternity. Then S said, “I really want to do something with my life. Since my father’s death, your dad kept me in this house and took care of my education. So now, I really want to do something to help your family. It’s my biggest wish in life.”

She looked away, and I stared up at the sky again. It was a bit reddish then, and the starry beauty was fading. S had fallen silent, and it was a long pause. I wasn’t struggling with finding a topic to talk about anymore; I just couldn’t decide whether to ask her a question or not. It was about her hair. In childhood, she used to be very possessive about her hair and wouldn’t tolerate any jokes about it. After much debate with myself, I dared to ask, “Why are you keeping your hair long? I mean, you liked short hair, right?”

She smiled, or rather blushed, and I knew I had asked a safe question.

“It’s for someone,” she replied shyly.

Wow! This was something new and interesting. I sat up beside her and teasingly asked, “So, did you get yourself a boyfriend while I was away?”

“No, no, no, no,” she said hysterically, waving her hands in front of her. “How dirty-minded you are, Avi! I’m not that kind of girl.”

Now, what was dirty about that? I thought it was a safe remark.

“Oh, come on, I’m your best friend. Tell me, at least, who it is?”

She said nothing. She just covered her face with her palms and started laughing. I don’t know why, but her laughter made me laugh too. That was a moment to cherish – we were laughing again, just like two children playing. I thought that was something lost, but it wasn’t. Nothing is lost as long as you have it within you. I realized that the toughest challenge in life is to keep your love and passion alive even in the most hostile situations. And when that laughter made me realize that the funny little kid in me was still alive, even after all my travels, I felt a strange bliss in my heart.

“Anyway, leave it, Avi. You won’t understand this love of mine.”

I understand, S, I understand. I bet no one understands you better than I do. Still, I softly asked her, “Tell me, I’ll understand.”

“Do you know me?” she asked.

Now, that was a tough question. Of course, I knew her, and she knew that I knew her, so…?

“I guess I do,” I answered, confused.

“No, you don’t,” she said. “If you knew me, then you’d understand.”

It was getting rather complex then. “Tell me what to understand, at least.”

“Without you, Avi, I have no one to talk to freely. People here are nice, very nice, in fact, but I feel kind of reserved when talking to them openly about my feelings. It was all fine when you were here, but now you come once or twice a year, and even then, only for a short time. Without you, I feel very lonely here.”

“So, are you angry because I’m not staying with you?” I asked softly.

“Not really. I’m happy that you’re living your dream.”

I looked at her; her face looked tired and sad. Suddenly, I felt a strange urge, a strong urge, as if my mind was controlled by someone else. I moved closer to S. Her scent grew stronger as my lips touched her soft cheeks. Her cheeks seemed to sink in as my lips pressed against them. My eyes and nose felt her smooth hair, and before I could pull away, she withdrew and ran downstairs.

I never talked to her freely after that.

Even today, in the morning, as I was leaving, I saw the dusk settling on S’s face. As the drums started beating, the conch shell sounded, and the smoke from the dhunuchi spread its gray blanket over the guests, my plane took off for Istanbul. Back home, amid the joy of the festive season, someone must have locked herself in a room upstairs, staring up at the sky. Yes, I can see that person with deep eyes, made even deeper by the kajal smudged by tears, and a beautifully curved lip, with long, smooth hair flowing freely.

Now I know what is pulling me back.

The pilot just announced that we will be arriving in Istanbul in half an hour. A tough day lies ahead, made even tougher by this sleepless night.

I’ve noticed for a while now that a girl sitting a few seats ahead of me keeps catching my attention. But why? She hasn’t looked at me once, and I haven’t seen her face. Then what is it about her that draws me in? All I can see of her is her hair and sometimes her hand. Her hair… hang on, her hair, yes, it’s really beautiful and smooth. And then it struck me like a lightning bolt – S kept her hair long, even though she used to like it short when we were kids. And I like girls with long, beautiful hair. So was it for me that S kept her hair long?

All I can do now is laugh and appreciate how well S knows me.