After 8 years I managed to make time to visit Calcutta. And what a great trip down memory lane it was!

Met dear relatives, my cousin Bhagu (who is also expecting a baby) and visited old haunts which I would visit during the 4 years I was studying at IIT Kharagpur.

I spent a half a day on Park Street with Soubhik Dawn.

We intended to meet over breakfast at Flury’s, but it was insanely crowded at 11:00 AM. So we skipped that and headed to Barista just across the road, which seems to be languishing though it’s on a high street. We recounted our lives from the time we last met, giving and taking updates, advice, and frustrations.

Post that we headed to the Oxford Book Store on Park Street. It used to be my favourite haunt while at IIT Kharagpur, as it gave me access to a world of books. I really enjoyed spending time there, sitting on the beautiful wooden benches and reading/reviewing books.

That accomplished (and after I made a customary purchase – The Big Short by Michael Lewis), we headed to Esplanade. I had wanted to check out my regular haunts such as New Empire Cinema, The Globe (it shut down some years ago), Sriram Arcade and the Dominoes inside New Empire Cinema. We took a walk around the block, all the while talking/discussing/sharing.

We then ended up at Peter Cat for lunch. After all these years, I found the experience to be lacking/hyped, possibly fed by my standards and memories of visiting it as a student.

Soubhik Dawn then proceeded onwards, and we parted at Cammac Street. I decided to walk down Cammac in search of Vardaan Market, which I found.

This place allowed me to shop to my heart’s content for Ninaad’s clothes. Got him some good indian traditional as well as western outfits.

I then took a taxi to Suresh Kaka’s place, and we got sweets and visited most of our relatives in celebration of the birth of my son, Ninaad.

The rest of the evening was spent chatting with family at home. The next morning, I left for Bangalore.

Some photos from my trip can be found in my facebook album, Calcutta Chromosome.

Even though I haven’t lived in Dubai for over 10 years, it will always have fond memories for me. I know all of us do, for places where we grow up.

As part of the Indian diaspora that settled in the Middle East, the experience of growing up is markedly different in many levels. There is a sense of belonging, yet you know this isn’t truly your land. There is the looking forward to summer vacations (which kid doesn’t?) and visits to India where we get to see cows on the road, lakes with boating, grandparents and golas!

I write about this today because my parents, who spent 60% of their life there, are returning to India for good. Today my father will wake up, look in the mirror, and wonder what lies ahead. My mother will make their last cup of tea in a city (in a country), which gave them their livelihood, son, circle of friends in a foreign land and so much more.

Even today, when I see a cow or a calf on the road, I feel very happy and content to have experienced this beauty. There is a charm and joy in this simple life experience that I cannot describe even to Shruti (my beloved wife).

I remember Dubai in various ways (not in chronological order):

• Racing on bicycles down a long slope that didn’t seem to end with Sunil Guna during our Summer breaks.
• The creek side Abra which would take us across to Deira and back to Bur Dubai.
• The hot summer afternoons spent in malls and ambling across the city on foot or on a cycle.
• The filafel from Tasty Bites apposite erstwhile She, which is now some other shop.
• My first new computer, a Micron with Pentium MMX CPU and 64MB RAM.
• Learning tennis at the Indian Sports Club, as well as swimming there with friends. I remember making many friends in the pool. God only knows how or where they are, as I never got their full names.
• Waiting for Shivu bhai at the Indian High School fountain to finish his classes so that I could go home with him when Patel bhai would come to pick him up.
• Bus rides to and from school, with all of us sweating (yes, we didn’t have AC buses then) and also enjoying the breeze from the running bus.
• Dad teaching me to cycle in Hadi building corridor.. and me picking it up on the first try, without ever falling off.
• A lot of black ants running all over my hand as I had spilled rose sherbet on the carpet next to the VCR. I remember telling mom this, and she explained that if I spilled sweet things on the carpet, this would be the outcome. I was no more than 2 or 2.5 years old then. This is, then, my first conscious memory in life, at least the one that I can recall. I vividly remember the colour of the carpet, the wooden TV stand that we had for over 2 decades and the VCR where the tape would pop out of the top.
• Standing in the balcony and looking at the world beyond. Our balcony looked out onto a Y junction in the road, and I would love seeing cars choosing one or the other road. Always reminds me of Robert Frost’s poem The Road Not Taken.
• Watching Duru Aunty come home from the hospital with baby Anil in her arms, while me and Prem were playing in the Hadi Building corridor. The first baby I remember seeing at close quarters.
• Dad always taking out time to drop me at the club/mall/whatever at any time of the day or night.
• Asadi, Al Adil and Adbdul Rehman supermarkets that we would buy everything from, before CarreFour and others came onto the scene.
• Drinking coke like it was the coolest thing to do.
• Friday evenings at Al Ghurrair, tokens at Sindbad and Samosa at Al Maya Lals within Al Ghurrair.
• School. Who forgets school. I went to the Indian High School, and loved it.
• Visiting from India once when dad was very sick.
• Dandiya nights at Al Awir (in the middle of the freaking desert!). Awesome.
• Kite flying with Dad, Ramesh uncle and Monil Ruparel at Al Awir. Did it once, but remember it always.
• Sitting at the office with Dad and watching him interact with customers and visitors. Office was a hub of activity. Boxes being opened, shelves being restocked, all desi wanderers coming in for a chat, relatives and friends dropping in for a chat with Dad, me playing Prince of Persia (thanks to Manish giving it to me on a 5.xx floppy) and ordering coke from the Malabari shop across the road.
• Visiting the Haveli, Shiv temple and the Gurudwara when time permitted.
• Visiting Fua’s house and chilling.
• Visiting other Indian family and relatives during Diwali. The sweets, the 10 dirham notes, oh the memories.
• Diwali parties at Fua’s house each year, succeeding the chopda poojan.
• Dada (Prem’s grandfather) dropping us at the bus stop each day, up until 3rd or 4th standard. He was a really nice person, and quite old school in many ways. He would pronounce Dixi Cola as Daxi Cola.

There are very many more memories, but these will have to suffice for now.

Bangalore is my home now. New beginnings and new memories.

So here I am, this is me,
there’s no other place I’d rather be!
(well actually there, but i’ll be there soon..)

I’m on the flight en-route to Los Angeles, and the blogging bug has bit me again. Haven’t written in a while, but do expect a lot of posts over the next few weeks while I am back in God’s own country. I love India, but the mere thought of this place gives me the feeling of absolute freedom. There is no one to judge me, and I can do whatever I want without worrying about the social ramifications. That’s a post for another day..

I can’t wait for a couple of things (in no particular order.. there, I said it, else I’ll face a lot of flak over it):

- Spend time with my SO, and make the best of the time that we have

- Visit Starbucks and have their heavenly hot chocolate (okay fine, it isn’t that great.. but I enjoyed it almost every day at Tech.. it’s more of a ritual)

- Visit Barnes and Nobles, and see what’s the latest on the racks (I need to keep telling my self not to buy anything, unless it’s by Sedaris.. Mayank, don’t say it..)

- Go out and enjoy some really good Tiramisu (Little Azio still rocks my world)

- Spend a day walking around a town, with no aim in mind.. and walk into the weirdest of stores, all the while taking pictures.

Oh and by the way, Um-Rica is the desi way of saying America *wink*.

.. aur guitar,
muhalle ki woh chatt, aur mere yaar..

And so began our 10th grade class reunion. We were grade 10, division K: 10th K. The guys who showed up were as follows: Beslin, Shine, Myself, Sunil and Sudhir. I was hoping for a larger turn out considering there were around 10-12 of us in the city at that point in time.

That aside, what really mattered was that we were there – together – after close to 9 years. It was our time once again, and we all returned to being the boys we once were. We were telling each other stories, laughing without a care in the world. Everyone around us was wondering if we were high on drugs or booze, but little did they know we were high on memories *wink*. We talked about everything under the sun – how each of us was either enjoying or plain hating our job, what we had planned for the future, how much fun we used to have in school, which professors we liked and hated (and why), different incidents which had left a mark in our mind, etc.

It was interesting to see the different walks of life each one of us had chosen, having been given the same opportunities in life.

God knows when I’ll see them again, but I do know we will always pick up from where we left off.

So after a long bit I got the chance to chat up Som, which was good, refreshing and enlightening as ever. Got some good news and shared some too.

That apart, it has been one big black hole of work…and then some.

So I was walking down the road talking to R on the phone, and suddenly I hear someone say something akin to “Yaar aaj kal rah chale kgpians mil jaate hain” (Man, these days I just seem to be running into KGPians on the road).

And I just had one look at the two blokes, and I literally screamed “Barbatta!” (his name). And then we got reminiscing about the good old days at Kharagpur (KGP), and how things had changed since then. Ended up exchanging information about who all got married (seems like many did), or will bite the dust soon.

Good times.

A walk in the rain,
yanking a friend’s chain,
are things that have no measures,
after all, they are life’s simple pleasures.

Conversations with a friend,
thinking about a good book after the end,
are things that have no closures,
after all, they are but life’s simple pleasures.

A smile on the face of a child,
affections shown through kisses mild,
are things that have no measures,
after all, they are life’s simple pleasures.