She is beautiful, she is lively, eternal, her some parts exhibits good curve, though some turned rotten. And unfortunately, now-a-days, the rotten parts are unveiling their existence. Every night and day her body undergoes many pains, some wanted, many unwanted. She is like a mother to her people, but they, a shame indeed, take her as a whore, and scratch her every night and day. We are acting bastards by not being concerned. Aren’t we? Can’t we change ourselves a little and give her some respect? Can’t we gift a cover of green to a naked woman who is taking care of us just like our mother does? You know her, she is Kolkata.
1 month, almost, I spent in the City of joy. I enjoyed, I loved, I smiled. Most of the days my work kept me busy. By work, I mean, my project on automation. That is actually the reason why I went there. I met good people, spent good time. @_anamus, @sahaanirban,@sayani_m, @avii13 , all were there. Sister, brother, friend. And a must mention, Dida (‘Grandmother’), an old lady. She was a little tea-shop owner. The place where I spent most of the rainy evenings of Kolkata with a cup of tea in my hand. A poor lady with a broad heart. Time passes by, memories stay.
The ‘City of Joy’ for me was a place where for one second extravagance of malls and luxury and money entices you, but on the next, the poor, the deprived half brings you back to senses. Beauty but not without a black-spot. The city of joy and some unnoticed pain.