oh, calcutta.

The best thing about Cal is that its probably the cheapest city in India.

I will MISS waiting in line to catch a 7 rupee auto. I will miss braving lethal office time crowds to catch a ride on the Metro. I'll miss clinging to the sides of an auto jam-packed with 6 people EXCLUDING the driver, hanging on for dear life; not to mention, fighting inertia in a moving bus to keep from tumbling into some poor old lady.

Not Bombay, Not Delhi, nor even Bangalore can match how pocket friendly my city is.

A bus will take you miles for under ten bucks. Autos are always swarming like bees on every route known. And my favorite, the Metro Rail, oh. I guarantee it won't cost you more than TEN rupees to go from the extreme North of Calcutta to the extreme South. A cycle rickshaw in Saltlake will probably cheat you but its still under 20 rupees, most of the time. And for those who prefer a little luxury, the minimum fare for a taxi will amount to 22 rupees, and shoot up drastically hence forth.

I will miss the bad, diluted kind of tea at 2 rs. and the decent kind at 4. I'll miss bargaining like crazy at Lindsay street as if I didn't have even 1p to spare. I'll miss pitying the gora chitta "phoreners" getting looted by our faithful team of ever-cheating hawkers. I'll miss the DELICIOUS street food that could fill you up so well and at so little that KFC and Mc'Donalds would hang their heads in shame.

The inexpensive nature of all things makes me feel so at home here it'll kill me to leave, the inborn kanjoos that I am.

I'll miss how even in the thickest and rowdiest of crowds you'll find a touch of Bengali class. I'll never forget Nandan, Shishir mancha, Rabindra Sadan and all the high class Bengali intellectuals (or Aantels, as we like to call them) swarming there, drinking tea, wearing kurtas, carrying jholas and chatting about politics, art and Satyajit Ray. I'll miss dirty, dingy Olypub, the night life at Park Street, Oxford bookstore, chocolate brownies at Flurys.

I will miss the Bengali mishtis, even though I'm not a huge fan. The rosogollas which every celebrity simply has to mention when they're in Calcutta even though they might not have even tasted one in their life.

I'll miss crossing the Laketown footbridge just to avoid the evening traffic snarl at Ultadanga.

I might even kind of miss Mamata Banerjee and her weekly Bandhs, which used to be useful during school days as a window to mid-week holidays.

And most of all, most of all I will miss Calcutta in October, the sight, smell and taste of Durga Pujo. The women in "lal paar shada saree", all-night adda at Maddox Square, the shopping, the dressing up, the dhunuchi naach, pandals and paras competing for first prize, "theme" pujas, and OH! The Dhaak! Oh, the Dhaak, how will I ever survive a Pujo without listening to a Dhaaki?

Ah, Durga Pujo. There's nothing like it. If you're a Bengali and you're not in Calcutta at the time, then get your ass back here this instant!

Because you just can't compare, and you certainly can NOT replicate the feel of the festival anywhere out of Bengal. They might try, it might be.. "fun" sometimes, but it can never come close to being the same.

Why is it that you can hate a place and take it for granted for a long, long time but when its finally time to leave, you feel like ripping your heart out? And you start thinking, Is it really that important for me to leave? Whats the point of so much studying anyway? Why not skip a year and take admission right here? And it has only been a year or two since I've truly begun to discover the flavor of this city, from knowing nothing about it other than the little during the daily ride to school in a car.

Well, leave I must. But that doesn't mean I won't be back for every single Puja. :P And when 4 years fly by in a flash, I'll be back home. Permanently. And this is where I'll stay put forever, true to my lazy Bengali blood.

people.

"people are just nosy loudmouth interferers

whose own lives are boring as hell

so they judge others to pass the time"

Hell yes, they are.

meltdown day.

There are days when EVERYTHING goes wrong.

It started after the morning show of Aisha. The movie went smoothly, but the real chaos began when we decided to explore uncharted territory i.e. when Ifra suggested we leave City Centre.

• We walk to Mani Square in the oppressive, sultry heat.
• Ifra slips thrice on the escalator.
• The ketchup packets at McD's refuse to open. Ifra's first coke glass is leaky.
• The bus to ultadanga DOES NOT stop for us, and we are forced to jump of it while it is still in motion.
• The auto to Shovabajar almost hits a car.
• In the metro, we buy tickets for Park Street, and then get on the wrong train. After one stop, we get off at Shyambajar. From Shyambajar we get on the right train, except we don't know which stop is which since they don't announce it. Somehow we manage to get off at Park Street.
• On resurfacing from the underground station, we go the wrong way and end up near Victoria Memorial. Then we turn around and walk back to Park Street.
• I almost trip and fall in front of the Park.
• I almost trip again in Oxford.
• We drink warm, dilute Cold Coffee with big chunks of ice. The ice melts later, and it gets chilled.

At this point I'm left with 10 rupees. I had left home with 500.]

Both now tired and nervous wrecks, we walk back to New market for a while, and then disperse.

I don't know about Ifra after that, but my luck continued, as after coming back I had to go to my sir's house to give him something, and my car dropped me off at Laketown. Thus I had to walk to Bangur.. and on returning I thought since I was so tired I'd take a rickshaw. THEN I realized i had LEFT MY WALLET AT HOME. And so I had to walk back again.

P.S. My pudding didn't set either. KILL ME.

chocolate pudding.

Since we don't have an oven in the house, I have had to resort to using drastic measures to create every possible kind of non-oven-requiring dessert available. First there was fudge, and now this.

I snagged this off a Youtube video and improvised on it.

You'll need:

1/4 cup - sugar

2/5 cup - cocoa powder

2 tbsp - cornstarch (cornflour)

2 cups - milk

chocolate chips (optional)

1 egg

a whisk

and a medium saucepan.

1. Add the sugar, cocoa powder and cornstarch to a medium saucepan. Whisk in the milk slowly. Dont allow the cornflour to clump.

2. In a separate bowl, whisk the egg, and temper it [tempering prevents the raw egg from turning into an omelette on exposure to quick heat]. Here's what ya do.. pour a little bit of the hot mixture into the egg and stir REALLY quick, till the entire thing is warm enough.

3. Pour the egg into the saucepan while constantly stirring.

4. Boil and whisk till thick.

5. Add the chocolate chips or pieces. After they've melted, take it off the heat and pour into small cups or ramekins.

6. Refrigerate. Voila! Delicious pudding :D

distraction.

When I need to cry but don't want to, I bite my fingers hard. It works well most of the time. And people never notice, either. I think I know the logic behind it - the hurt from my finger distracts me. Thats all I need to be to stop myself from crying - distracted. I suppose its just another method of self preservation.

the other sex.

Boys. I will never understand them. Maybe I'm cursed that way, in that I just don't get what goes on in their heads; what drives them to do what they do.

I've seen obsessive boys. Boys who keep calling you even if you hang up, who keep texting you even if you don't reply. Boys who talk about you to strangers which makes them come up and ask you for sympathy. Really messy stuff.

Possessive boys; who won't let you talk to anything male that moves and think of you as their property. Guys who try their luck everywhere. If not you, then the girl next to you! Commitment-phobic boys. Egotistic boys. And then there are the compulsive liars. Its like they can't help it. They'll wind up some completely outrageous yet convincing lie for their starry eyed 14 year old girlfriends. Girls who think they're going to marry their teenage boyfriends and start naming their future children. But thats another story.

I've seen emotionally dependant emo boys. Delicate, very. You can't fuck around with them too much or you risk them slitting their wrists at every opportunity.

The psycho lunatic jilted lover. Boys who go out of their way to annoy you and drive you crazy after you've rejected their advances. I will never understand why they do that, or to what purpose.

And I just don't see why boys have to screw it all up and fall in love with you all the friggin' time. Ever heard of friendship? Simple, undemanding, uncomplicated.

Not to say that girls are any less complicated. I don't get them either.

I just get dogs. Dogs are simple.

the south, by word of mouth.

Millions and millions of sweaty, sticky, smelly, vulgar South Indians everywhere I turn. They push and they shove and they talk loudly in that irritating language. It is simple impossible to stand 7 days of this, it is. By the time I got on the plane home I was pining for Bangalis and the sound of Bengali conversation.

Bangalore is a nice place, though. But the food is expensive, living is expensive, and transportation, very very expensive. There are no rickshaws, no shuttles, hardly any taxis, one or two buses, and mostly all autos. And the autos there are different from here. Autos in Calcutta ply on specific routes for not more than ten rupees. In bangalore, autos are like taxis. They'll take you anywhere, they'll run on meter if you're lucky or they'll name their price and you'll have to comply.

The streets are full of black belchy autos. Arrey, what happened to LPG yaar? Even Kolkata has more green autos than over there. Ironically, you also see a lot of Revas in bangalore. You know, those tiny electric cars running on battery. Cute.

M.G.Road is probably the New Market of B'lore. And Koramangla seemed really posh, like Saltlake. But thats only to draw some comparisons.

And the airport.. oof, just TOO GOOD.

Coming to Mysore. I have to say, that was the best part of the holiday. Stayed up late both nights, and toured the city during the day. Hardly got any sleep, but it was worth it. The food was alright. Although, please make a note, South Indians CANNOT, for even their own sake, make biriyani or tea. Tea. They dont know how to make liquor tea. Can you believe it?

So carrying on with my tea-less journey, we toured Mysore in the relentless blazing heat.

Never go to Bridavan Gardens. Just don't. I mean, go only if you can bear being in a crowd of hundreds of jobless, obnoxious, perspiring tetuls who god-knows-why have nothing else to do than visit their own tourist spots on a Monday evening. The fluorescent attire, the overbearing stench, their sheer behaviour will bring you close to nausea. I have seen many crowds in Calcutta, believe me, but never THIS. Never this.

Hindu temples, of course, are like money-making machines. Ten rupees for a handful of flowers shoved into your hand, which you ultimately have to throw at some earthen idol, which are later picked up and sold again to some gullible tourist - yes, thats only the least of it. They'll make you keep your shoes with people who dont give you receipts, and I nearly died worrying about my new Gladiator kicks and their fate. Luckily all shoes were recovered.

The monkeys there are satanic. One of them snatched away a banana from an unsuspecting man in front of our very eyes.

I did get to feed a little hungry puppy, and a cow. They finished off a big pack of Parle-G biscuits I'd bought for them.

Ooty was the final blow. The hotel, small, cramped, dingy, unkempt. Room service was slack. Vegetarian food everywhere. The location, in front of a dumpster. If you opened the windows, the room filled up with flies. A eunuch accosted my friend on the street.

Locals clog up the tourist spots - the boathouse, Doddabetta peak, the Botanical Gardens, you name it. Again, I have no idea why. I came back with the impression that Southerners have very little work to do and a LOT of free time on their hands. And so they frequent cheap tourist locations every day of the week.

Another interesting point - EVERYTHING in South India has a ticket. Entry free, time deposit fee, boating fee, camera fee, shoe-keeping fee, flower-throwing fee, driving fee, parking fee, air-breathing fee.. whats left? Also, the price for foreign tourists is more than ten times the fare for Indians. Beware if your hair is blond.

The service in South India is atrocious. Absolutely terrible. I have a right mind to propagate this fact and put a stop to their income from tourism. Then we shall see who dares to behave badly with guests.

All in all, when you're planning your next vacation, don't go to South India. Anywhere else is fine. Go to Nepal. Go to Sikkim, a beautiful place. Go to Puri, even. Just dont go down under near the peninsula where you'll need to plug your nose in order to survive.