amar shohor

No matter how hard you try to break free from all bondages, one will always bind you to it with an invisible chain from which you can never free yourself and that is the bondage toyour roots,-no matter how hard you try the roots will always bind you firmly to them.

At times I do try not to think of my dear kolkata(my roots), not to miss it, but in vain. And the more I miss it the more I get homesick and the more it gets difficult for me to adjust in a new city which is so different from my dear city of joy.

I miss its roads, its roadside shacks selling hot samosas fried in some cheap quality oil (but believe me which will never give you a stomach ache), the small dingy lanes and bi-lanes, the honking of the rickshaw, the roadside quarrels, the ting-a-ling of the trams-in short every god damn thing that belongs to my shohor named kolkata.

If I have to compare between my dear kolkata and other cities like Delhi, Mumbai,
Bangalore I have to admit that kolkata is still very backward in terms of modernism and in terms of upgrading itself.

The kolkatan’s still conservative and their all time favourite pastime is gossiping about various stuff over a cup of goroom chai.

The weather’s not good, the traffic’s horrifying, everywhere u go the vendors are screaming at the top of their voices but still its surprising to see the spark of happiness and never ending enthu the people has . I think it’s the magical spirit of the city.

These lovers of mohanbagan and east Bengal, whose Sundays start with fulko luchis and ends with illisher jhaal are the only ones I know who makes mach khaoa special .infact you may call me partial but seriously I think Bengalis are the finest cooks in this whole wide world.

My happiness knows no bound when I think of going back to this wonderland, going back to my roots, the place I belong to, the place who has witnessed all those wonder years of growing up. I love you my dear city of joy.