At the cost of being controversial, let me say this upfront: It doesn't get more majestic than riding in a yellow Ambassador taxi of Kolkata!!! Mumbai's kaali-peeli taxi doesn't even come close. The mighty Delhi has auto-rickshaws (trying to suppress my laughter).

Also, no other city in India provides a grander entrance than Kolkata, if you are entering the city through Howrah Bridge, of course. I kept staring in disbelief at this magnificent engineering marvel every time I crossed.

Remember seeing a live tiger for the first time??? It's arguably one of the most humbling experiences!!! The poise, the gait, and the sheer presence of the largest member of the 'Cat' family are both captivating and intimidating.

During school vacations, visit to Calcutta was an accepted ritual. At the Alipore Zoo, alongside other animals and birds, I saw a live Royal Bengal Tiger for the first time. Boy, wasn't it absolutely impressive!!!! One can easily gauge the excitement. We didn't have access to the likes of Discovery Channels and National Geographics back then. And jungle safaris (costly affair) were beyond imagination. All I had seen till then were photographs of the apex predator in magazines, and library and school textbooks. Hence, the transition from paper to reality was overwhelming, to say the least!!!

However, it was equally sad to see such a force of nature in a cage.

There's a reason why Holi is described as the Festival of Colours (mind you, Colours, and not Colour). In today's context, a bit of introspection won't hurt. Food for thought, perhaps...

During my childhood days, we didn't have to worry about organic/inorganic colours... Back then, even the harmful chemicals used to prepare colours were less harmful... We used to start celebrating with bright colours... Red, pink, purple, green, yellow. Then, some punk kid (me sometimes 😬) used to turn up with that dreadful black colour, which eventually turned every bucket water and every face abysmally black!!!
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The bathing session (rather sessions) that followed was indeed painful - with all the scrubbing, and paints running down your face, entering your eyes, blackening your teeth, etc. Turning up in school the next day with colourful/ black palms was commonplace... In fact, it was considered pretty cool... More the darkness of colour, more the cool quotient!!!

If there is one mode of public transport in Calcutta that is the uncrowned monarch of nostalgia, it's the tram!!! By now, we all know that it can be found only in the City of Joy. But for how long???

Trademark metallic, clanking sounds (due to friction between the track and the wheels), ringing of bells to announce arrival or warn pedestrians / vehicles coming on its path, occasional sparks on the wire above, and the sluggish, yet steady movement are some of the most iconic features one associate with this rapidly vanishing transportation system.

I don't claim I had been a frequent user of tram, during my stay in Calcutta. But whenever I did, it was nothing less than unique and enriching. My favourite route was "Tollygunge - BBD Bag", via Kalighat, Hazra, Kidderpore, Maidan, and Esplanade. It would seem that tram is among the slowest modes, but if you calculate the total time taken, you'd be surprised that it's just as efficient as a bus, if not more. It's a shame that these are being phased out systematically. I guess, a part of Calcutta's soul would be lost. Forever.

Did you ever take a tram ride in Calcutta? If not, I would definitely recommend this rustic slow-mo transport, all the while soaking in the charms that the city offers. If yes, do let me know what is your favourite memory of going around in the tram in the comments below. Would love to hear them.

Remember the prepwork just before Saraswati Pujo???

Cutting down those colourful Kite paper sheets to form ribbons, which were then joined in series to create long paper-chains... Hanging those paper-chains on walls around the deity in wave-like forms, by utilising cello tape or already-existing nails on the wall... Cello tapes sucked; used to come off now and then... Witnessing grandmother and mother in action, cutting down tonnes of fruits, and stacking them neatly on plates... Touching those freshly-cut fruits was strictly forbidden, until the rituals were over... Especially 'Kul'... Keeping school books on subjects such Physics and Mathematics, that required Maa Saraswati's special intervention, at the feet of the deity... All these while the radio (and later, the cassette player) kept humming in the background...

​The best part was obviously the Khichdi-bhog... Have you noticed, that khichdi made for religious occasions tastes a thousand times better, any day... Divine intervention, perhaps...

In today’s world, distrust and religious extremism are on the rise, fuelled by the spewing of rampant hatred and venomous propaganda. And for what? Ah yes, for shallow political gains. As a result, the world is burning. This already is bad and sad enough.

However, there is a far more dangerous and disturbing trend that is gaining momentum at an alarming rate. What these shallow-minded bigots are desperate to achieve is to poison the evolving, impressionable minds of our nation’s future generations. I need not stress enough, this will have a devastating impact, if left unchecked. Nothing short of Apocalypse. Something no one in the right frame of mind would ever want. I sincerely hope that, by the time people realise this, it is not too late.

Like that saying goes “সবার উপর মানুষ সত্য, তাহার উপরে নাই।“ Above all is humanity, none else.
All religions preach love, brotherhood, and peace. What have gone terribly wrong are the translations.

Anyway, let me take this opportunity to wish all of you Merry Christmas. May sanity and conscience return. Amen!!!

Note: That's a sunset, not sunrise. Those who know me know the reason.

As the sun sets on the last day of the year and the decade, one cannot help but look back at all the wonderful things that have had happened - met so many wonderful people, made friends with some awesome ones, visited some breathtaking destinations, rekindled my love for painting!!! Lost touch with quite a few as well. Part of life, I guess...

May this new year usher in loads of prosperity, health, happiness, and hope in your lives... Let bygones be bygones...

DISCLAIMER: THE RIGHT FOOT IS NOT INSIDE THE STOVE. IT'S ON THE OTHER SIDE. YOUR MIND IS PLAYING TRICKS. NOW ON TO THE MAIN STORY. THANK YOU.

As a kid, I had always hated doing household chores. Like my family members said, the reluctance was pretty much visible: on my face, in my body language, and by the response time. However, like the silver lining of a cloud, there was one thing I thoroughly enjoyed. Lighting up a desi stove or 'chulha' ('unoon' in Bengali). This I did with a lot of alacrity in my heart. The 'chulha' especially came in handy during the winter days, when hot water was needed in large quantities for bathing.

I just loved the different phases. First came the preparation phase: ransacking the store room to locate the stove, bringing it out in the open, getting rid of cobwebs (if not regularly used), gathering the items (cow dung cakes, dry wood / sticks, a bunch of newspapers, little bit of kerosene oil, match box, and, of course, a hand fan). A metallic rod or a decent length of wood was also required to stoke the fire once in a while. Then came the decoration phase: placing layers of dung cakes in the top chamber (not too densely packed, mind you), and pieces of wood and twisted paper below. And finally came the ignition phase. The trick was to keep the air flowing, using a hand fan. After the initial smoke (which I loved, but my eyes did not), when the dung cakes turned glowing-red, it was time to place the aluminium utensil on top.

Washing the hands (not only with water, but with soap as well) after the marathon was mandatory. Rules were rules. Like they say, the house always wins.

My grandmother (called her 'Thamma') was quite an awesome lady. She couldn't complete her schooling because of the turmoils caused by the Partition (millions of people got uprooted from their ancestral homes and forced to settle elsewhere). But that didn't stop her from being wise. She had the stamina of an athlete, and the determination of a mountaineer. However, one thing she was absolutely petrified of is snakes.

It is said that perseverance pays off. Although my mother was and still is (rightfully so) totally against wasting food items, once in a while, due to my constant nagging, she had to hand over small pieces of wheat dough. Using that, I could've sculpted anything: tiger, dinosaur, rat, gorilla, you name it. But what did I create? That's right. Dough snakes!!! Approaching from behind, I used to place the doughy forms on her shoulder, and scream "Grandma, Snake!!!!". It used to scare her to death. Every time.

I know. I know. I won't be allowed to enter through the gates of Heaven.

When it comes to street foods, Kolkata arguably packs the meanest punch. No other city in India provides a wider variety of gastronomic wonders, right from ‘Jhalmuri’, ‘Ghhoti gorom’, ‘Phuchka’, ‘Aalu Kabli’ to ‘Mughlai Porota’ and ‘Chowmein’. Not to forget the legendary ‘Chop’ (Aalo / vegetable / mocha, etc.) and the ‘Beguni’ and the ‘Phuluri’. However, my all-time favourite has always been the ‘Chicken Roll’. Here’s the secret of the best Kolkata ‘Roll’: it has more to do with the outer, crispy coating (i.e. the ‘Porota’) than the content inside (meat, egg, onion, lemon juice, ketchup, etc.).

The town I grew up in had limited number of food joints. Hence, whenever I visited Kolkata, one of the things I eagerly looked forward to was the ‘Roll’. Be it Shiraz or Bedouin or Bawarchi, every mouthful was pure bliss. To this day, I haven’t come across tastier Rolls in any other city.

"কোথাও আমার হারিয়ে যাওয়ার নেই মানা...
মনে মনে..."

which roughly translates to "My imagination knows no bounds" (Pardon me, O Rabindranath Tagore, for the audacity to even attempt the translation of just one line of yours)...

An idol-making workshop (be it the legendary ones of Kumortuli or in any small town) can be a fascinating place for a kid. To witness magic unfold in front of your eyes, wherein wooden frames, straw bundles and layers of clay are manoeuvred to give form to the divine, is indeed something!!!!

I remember visiting the local workshops just before Durga Pujo, and stare in disbelief at the workmanship. I mean, don't they all deserve awards and immense recognition for their craft?? Especially for the finesse with which they paint the eyes. Simply mind-boggling.

Hitting someone was, is, and always will be something one should refrain from, especially from behind, which is truly dishonourable. However, using handkerchief as a whip was too much fun!!! And the best part was that it only made sense (and maximum impact) when the posterior was targeted.

"Get busy living, or get busy dying" said Ellis Boy "Red" Redding (of 'The Shawshank Redemption' fame).

"It's good to get busy studying. But one should always find time to get cracking" was my philosophy.

Back in the 90's, communication device was a shared family asset. For those who didn't have access to landline phones at home, STD-ISD-PCO-cum-Xerox centres came in handy. Remember that creaking sound of small bills being printed on tiny rolls of paper the moment the receiver was put down???

We had a dial-pad landline phone at home. I thought this was pretty cool, until I chanced upon a rotary-dial model at a neighbour's place. It was love-at-first-sight!!! Every now and then, I used to find excuses to go to uncle's house, just to get a chance to play with those magical, rotary dials. Most of the times, the need to make calls from someone else's phone was genuine. However, occasionally, I used to cook up bogus excuses such as "Our landline is not working, have to call dad. Urgent", which worked just fine. Instant access. I used to pretend calling a number, and then say "Line is busy" and leave. In doing so, the primary aim was achieved, without any collateral damage. White lies.
Sometimes, when uncle /aunty was outside earshot distance, busy with their chores, I used to do miniature role-plays, pretending to be a grown-up, dealing with some office work!!

Reminiscent of a by-gone era, these landline phones provided sound exercise for the mind. Didn't we all remember half of the numbers by heart? For everything else, there was that diary, which had all the numbers, written alphabetically. Any wrong entry, upon discovery, fetched much rebuke and ridicule.

The style quotient of these archaic devices was taken for granted then. In hindsight, I must admit the product design exuded oomph and class, which can put all the Galaxies and the iPhone to shame. Any day!!!

This faulty device called 'Fountain Pen' was nuisance objectified during school days. Remember those stains on school uniform?? Had to dig out new excuses everytime, in order to avoid parental wrath; excuses such as: "What can I do? Pen was leaking", "I lost the pen cap", "Had to write a lot during a surprise test", "Two boys were fighting, one of them had a fountain pen in his hand, and when I intervened, he did this to me", "Lost my handkerchief, so smudged the ink on shirt".

All said and done, wasn't it fun writing with a fountain pen???

Some wanted to become doctors. Others aspired tobecome cricketers or astronauts. I wanted to become a Palaeontologist.

The year was 1994. The movie 'Jurassic Park' had hit the big screen. And it found a die-hard fan in me!!! The influence was so profound that even my parents got irritated. I painted pictures of dinosaurs and pasted them on walls and doors. This used to drive my mom crazy. Hence, I had to take the activities outdoors. Believe it or not, I did try digging up a dinosaur fossil in my backyard, using gardening tools and a toothbrush.

Growing up in a small town, away from the madness of cities, the options for fancy recreational activities were indeed limited. We neither had access to the Appu Ghars, nor the Nicco Parks, or the Water Kingdoms. We had to resort to all sorts of low-tech options, involving people and day-to-day items.

One such activity was pretending to ride a parked scooter, wearing a over-sized helment (dad's), and legs dangling high up in the air. Remember all the ingenious sounds we used to make, pretending to race through busy streets? My personal favourite was the sound of the horn, clear and loud enough to scare a buffalo!!

How many of you played with millipedes or centipede, the insect version of a “Touch-me-not” plant?? I sure did. Honestly speaking, it was indeed fun. Upon application of external force (in this case, a slight nudge), to witness a crawling insect coil instantly into a button-like form was intriguing enough.

The millipedes (the reddish ones) were in fact much more appealing than the centipedes (the shiny, black ones), because of two reasons: firstly, these remained coiled for a longer duration, and secondly, looked far less intimidating. The black ones were stockier and far swifter, and hence commanded relatively higher degree of fear.

Those were indeed moments of privilege when my grandfather insisted on taking me to the local market. First of all, I just loved the experience of sitting on a bicycle with a nylon bag in my hand, with cool breeze brushing my face. Back then, we hardly came across polythene bags (Thank God!!!). Most importantly, one could sit with one's eyes closed, if someone else was riding.

The most exciting part, however, was to witness the hustle-bustle at the fish market. That entire setup was heavenly - such chaos, yet full of life!!! There was always a cat somewhere around - either coldly observing from a distance, or trying to seduce with the hope of getting some fish tit-bits. With elderly people around, even the fishmongers couldn't object to my exploratory activites.

Can you guess the no. 1 medicine that invariably increases your height? I'll give you a hint: Highly recommended by young and old alike. That's right. Hanging from a pull-up bar.

When I realised that the likes of Horlicks and the Bournvitas (among the most horrible things I've ever gulped) were not doing their job, I had to resort to the ultimate saviour. Boy, didn't I hang around for a while!!! And it did start showing results. For a while. Until lateral growth took over. And the rest is history.

I had to make peace with 5' 10.5".

It's a fact that, with the arrival of mobile phones, a number of household items have become redundant. The list is endless: torch, calculator, map, compass, radio, clock, book, and so on. One special gadget, very dear to my heart, has also gone missing. Good ol' magnifying glass. It can be assumed that people use their phone cameras to do the zooming exercise nowadays. Or perhaps, in this super-busy world, there is hardly any spare time to patiently observe and savour the details of an object, be it a postage stamp or an antique vase.

I remember using a magnifying glass for focussing the sun-rays to burn paper, dry leaves, and sometimes, insects. Is it the combined Karma of a lot of people (who have burned insects like me) that the global temperature is rising, and humanity might get burnt to a crisp eventually??