For I shamelessly fall for Kolkata and its antics, its riots and unsettling manoeuvre towards the hope of a better tomorrow.
“I have named you queen.
There are taller than you, taller.
There are purer than you, purer.
There are lovelier than you, lovelier.
But you are the queen.”
– Pablo Neruda
Kolkata is what becomes of you and remains with you. It is about the undiscovered lanes and acquired habits, of claustrophobic footpaths and unpublished poets. Kolkata is not something that hasn’t been translated into words before, yet it never seems tiring.
Last time I walked down the lanes of North Calcutta with an agenda to feed into the vintage street affair, I fell in love. Every bylane has its own story to narrate, every ghat (the area surrounding a river body) a song on its own. So, this time around I shall take you through every city dweller’s definition of the vintage city; one of Durga Puja countdowns, sultry weather and discoloured hands. The Kolkata not of dreams but of generational notions and typical pictorial representations.