Facelift

I live in a city, once called Calcutta. And I reside in Salt Lake, one of the ex-exteriors of the city, now an up-market residential area. Having shifted here from the tea-land of Dibrugarh, Assam, bred in convent education, breathing in the finest of organic air around, I landed here at a time where the mind is perhaps, most impressionable. Kolkata, as it is in the books now, was only a land of relatives and cousins for me. Slowly, as I began residing here for good, it turned out to be more. Like pages of a thick, undusted book, it began opening up to more light, more misery.

The first shock came in the addressing of every peer as 'tui', and making each middle-aged person your own by calling them the endearing 'kaku-kakima'. In doing so, I struggled. Heavily. It just did not come naturally to me -- the daaks -- so, finally, after intending to try for about three weeks, I gave up. I resorted to Uncle-Aunty. Well, the greater shock awaited me. The people, who, according to Vir Sangvi's much loved article on Calcutta, make Calcutta the city it is, have this gaze, which I daresay, is not comfortable. They could not understand Uncle-Aunty, in spite of calling their school teachers Aunty! This was the inauguration of a cultural gap I am afraid I have not yet been able to bridge. 

The next came in with the newspapers. Again, Sangvi's article points out how even a lower income group family would have subscribed to at least two newspapers and go on to opine about the day's headlines while they travelled to work. Yes, I find it problematic. This over-intellectualizing, over-articulating, over-sympathizing and absolutely under-doing Bengali. S/he is enriched with a point of view where every finger points at others, while not choosing to look within oneself to begin with. Speaking of gazes, a Delhi or Mumbai actually has higher rates of rapes and sexual violence, but they also offer higher rate of 'open' comfort. A woman in sleeveless is not so much glared at, to be made sufficiently uncomfortable here, as in any of the other metros. And that is where the complexity begins. The gaze is befitting of hundreds of lustful emotions, and pro-violation feelings, yet it does not end in the act. It ends in, once again, 'the right opinion'. "Women these days! How they come out to streets and in such clothes!" Yes, women in Calcutta smoke more than anywhere in India, but where? Which circle? Either the humanities section of a premium educational institution, or in clubs or the lavish living rooms of the privilege classes. Which brings me to another thing about this city. Why are people here so angry with the rich?

I named the article 'Facelift' because I am having a difficult time on the roads these days. It is almost Durga Puja. Everyone has become unmaad. A collective frenzy has captivated the city. While inside my auto, stuck to the odoured arm-pit of a co-passenger, I was wondering what would happen if the people one year suddenly decide to have only x number of puja pandals. One each borough. Or something. Or, even better -- nothing. Like a typical Calcuttan, even I am only thinking. But reader, I differ because I act. Since I detest this madness, I leave the city.

I leave you wondering how the city would be if there was to be no celebration next year. The roads would take in the nip of the October air, and have travelers ply like every other day of the year, their new clothes could be flaunted at family or friends' gathering, which could be reached inside a human-time, and nobody would get the 'right' to claim more money, because it is Puja.

Some age gracefully. That is their natural facelift. Unfortunately, I do not see Calcutta doing so. It will have wrinkles, and sagging skin, yet, people will glorify the annual twinkle in the eye. Next year, I will visit Europe again, may be.