All the people and the diverse assortment of smells was overwhelming at first but falling in love with them takes no time at all. Especially when it acts as a reminder of the fact that you are actually in Kolkata.
The smell of chops and cutlets, the aroma of sweet jalebis, old uncles reading newspapers with a cup of tea in hand, the youth discussing about our sordid Didi, schoolgirls giggling on the phone, mothers scolding their children publicly, office-goers biting into their kathi-rolls and strangers jostling their way towards the bus were all the little wonders that forced nostalgia to slowly but steadily crawl into each fibre of my being as I sat on my moderately slow rickshaw.
As I saw the world go by sitting high and mighty on my rickshaw, I almost felt like a queen looking over her beloved kingdom. I was soon pulled out of my trance as the world stopped, or at least I thought it did. It is only when my mother shouted at me, I realized it is the rickshaw that had stopped but not the world. Feeling quite sheepish I hopped off the rickshaw and soon became a commoner; a part of the crowd.
I walked through narrow lanes that led to narrower lanes feeling quite lost, but never did I feel unwanted. All credit goes to the hawkers. They continuously tried to grab our attention with their peculiarly high-pitched voices.
We were almost done with all the shopping when my mother remembered that she needed to buy some oranges. We walked further and we did find an orange-seller. He sat around his mounds of glistening oranges wearing a lungi. I did, of course notice, that he was preoccupied. Not with another customer but with some car-racing game on his huge-screened smart phone. I was amused but my mother's amusement was greater. She inquired about the price of oranges but the man was visibly irritated because apparently we had interrupted his highly interesting game. On receiving no reply my mother exclaimed," Bikri korte boshechen kano? Apni nijer lebu nijei kheyneen!(Why are you even sitting here to sell these oranges? Just eat them up yourself!)." With that my mother marched off pulling me and my brother along.
My little brother smiled at me, I smiled at the toothless rickshawalla on the corner and the old fellow beamed back almost forgetting that he had no teeth to show. I cherished that little moment of joy we shared.
The way how Kolkata had managed to match its steps with the new times yet still retaining its old-world charm amazed me.
It was time to return from the bazaar so we crossed the street when suddenly the ground beneath my feet started shaking. Men ran out of their shops screaming,"Bhumikampa hochche, shobaye beriye porun!!(It's an earthquake, get out of your shops!!)." Conches were being blown in houses by agitated women, infants were so confused they couldn't cry, the sky thundered and despite all this chaos, I smiled, for I knew that the gods weren't angry, it was just Kolkata's way of showing that she, indeed agreed with me. She had changed but she still remained unchanged in many ways. Her compassion towards the less-fortunate remained undisturbed, her magic remained unvanquished, her spirit remained unbroken but above all, her love for her children remained unchanged. And that is why, she is undoubtedly "The City Of Joy."