Blah Blah Blah & A Delhi Story

Back in a rain soaked Kolkata after 3 months is beginning to seem therapeutic for my mostly blank mind. With nothing much to do but eat, read, swim and sleep countless hours is definitely my present version of the good life. And the good life brings all sorts of urges back to the fore. Ok that doesn't sound right. But its my blog and I'm rarely right so..

I was thinking of Delhi all day, and how at the end of each working day I'd come home to find something or the other out of place. Be it a busted electric line or garbage that hasn't been cleared or no water or, worst of all, a non-functional AC. The last one's a death sentence man. Trust me. Even so Delhi has grown on me, so much so that I know presently Delhi is where I wish to find myself. Calcutta is more of a spa treatment undertaken to pamper oneself. And one does need pampering after surviving Delhi and its weather.

The city and its weather work together hand in hand to drain the life force out of the working man. There is no chi flowing through the people of Delhi. It all gets sapped out by 3pm latest. I for one often resort to lying on the floor infront of the AC just to get some semblance of energy back into me so that I can make the effort to get out again to find dinner. Hence blogging definitely goes for a toss.

But there is another side to Delhi. And that is its people. I know, especially being an ex-pat Bong in the capital, the general notion of Dilliwallahs is that of being rude and uncouth and (if you ask a Bengali Bhadrolok) uncivilised. While I personally do not give credence to any of the aforesaid, it may be admitted that the populace of Delhi are certainly more aggressive than those in most other parts of the country. It is evident from my own boss who has subjected me to the kind of abuse in 3 months that I have not experienced in 25 years on this planet!

However, in Delhi and in the same aforesaid office I also came across this gentleman called Shivkumar or Shivkumarji as I call him. Shivkumarji has been my boss's munshi (clerk) for 8 years and had been his father's clerk for 2 years before that. He hails from a Brahmin family in Western Uttar Pradesh and had come to Delhi 13 years back, then a 24 year old man with a young wife and a baby girl tagging along for they were his responsibility. Shivkumarji wasn't literate so there were no office jobs he could land. However, he had experience farming as a boy and was able to find work as a gardener at Ms. Renuka Chowdhury's (presently an elected Member of Parliament) house in Delhi. Ms. Chowdhury's gardens are still tended by Shivkumarji, whose 13 years of faithful service has been rewarded with a place to stay within Ms. Chowdhury's premises itself. But being a gardener is not enough to feed 3 mouths, especially in a city with a cost of living index as high as New Delhi. And since Shivkumarji's arrival the costs have only gone up. So Shivkumarji juggled jobs. He would tend to the gardens early in the morning, then go out and deliver newspapers, then work odd jobs at various stores and eventually also substitute for another to run a photocopy machine at Patiala House. It was here that he was introduced to the legal profession. He met clerks who had come to Delhi from diverse parts of the country, and made friends and even learnt to read in bits and pieces. Sufficient to recognize particular names of advocates on the daily cause lists and matter numbers on the display boards.

My boss's father, whom I admire greatly, is an extremely docile and learned gentleman. He speaks normally in what sounds like a loudish whisper. Shivkumarji through his new found friends and contacts heard of an opening at the aforesaid counsel's office as a peon, and the same was a lucrative offer for him at the said time. Hence he shifted from the photocopy machine at Patiala House to being a peon at a Supreme Court Advocate-on-Record's office. This brought him some extra money and some extra time to spend with his family. Unfortunately within 2 years of his joining his boss's health started deteriorating to the extent of him abandoning his practice to his foul mouthed and short tempered only child (my boss). The father's erstwhile court clerk refusing to work under such a poor specimen of the humankind, his son had no choice but to accept Shivkumarji as a clerk for by then the resourceful Shivkumarji had pretty much mastered basic English letters and numbers, sufficient for him to check the daily lists and boards required to assist an Advocate. His sweet and polite demeanor further lent him a good rapport with most people at the Section offices and Registry of the Supreme Court making him invaluable to any Advocate-on-Record.

Thus Shivkumarji quit delivering newspapers and working odd jobs at grocery stores and photocopy machines for the relatively stable position as an Advocate's peon and then found himself promoted to the position of a clerk under the said Advocate's son. He continues to live and work on Ms. Chowdhury's gardens every morning, and he further delivers cause lists to various offices in the evening after my boss leaves. His earnings, though modest by the ever increasing Delhi living standards, are presently sufficient for him further provide a stable and loving home for his wife, send his daughter to school and induct his 4 year old younger girl (who was born in Delhi) to Montessori as well.

There was this one day when I had to rush to attend to an Arbitration proceeding in the morning and I did not have the time to grab breakfast. Shivkumarji accompanied me that day for I did not know the relevant former judge's house and I could not afford to be late. After the said arbitration, upon hearing that I was hungry, Shivkumarji emotionally blackmailed me to come to his house and provided me with the most hearty breakfast I have had in my 3 months in Delhi. So much so that I chose to skip lunch later in the day.

I like reading fantasy novels and history books to know of great people and their heroic deeds. But 3 months of working and living alone in Delhi has taught me to perceive heroism in a new light. Shivkumarji has been many things (life's forced him to get versatile); namely a gardener, a shopkeeper's assistant, an illiterate peon, a semi-literate clerk and an occasional delivery man. But most of all, he's a good man and an urban hero.

In Delhi I found work alongside a man I really look upto.

Had the craziest weekend in the longest time. One of the oldest friends was in town, and well we had ourselves a boy's night out. Stag as the good old times of school when the wimmen would look at us and smile benignly with a look that unmistakably revealed their innate desire to tousle our hair and squeeze our cheeks. Yea I felt like a goddamn kid then but nowadays they simply look the other way. I'm thinking being a kid and cute was better than being an inebriated adult and a potential rapist. Anyway we were saved from our blushes outside a nightclub when a bunch of Irish women decided that they not only wanted to enter with us, but they also wanted to party with us the rest of the night. All I had said was, "I love U2 man, please could you get us inside??" Also for the first time in my life was I hailed as a "gentleman" along with my friend (often repeatedly) by the same aforesaid Irishwomen. Yeah take that all ye who look away. Take that I say!

Also belated happy birthday old friend. You know who you are. I don't think they'll have blogs where you are but there's really no other way I can say this to you now, is there. For the record, I did actually go out and raise a toast to you, so you'd better do the same for me up there.

To DVR who is a million miles away ..

Of Heartbreaks

En route to an early morning game of football, what was the first in ages, sitting in an auto with 2 other players, chatting about what was last evening's game between city rivals East Bengal and Mohunbagan and Robin Singh's two match winning strikes when our veteran auto driver turned and retorted to us young EB fanboys with disdain that "Prothom goal ta kheye toh Shilton-er book bhenge gelo, tar por dwitya goal aar ki thamabe??!? Or je mon bhenge gechche".

Literally translates to "The first goal broke Shilton's heart (Shilton = Mohunbagan goal keeper), how do you expect him to stop the second. The poor man was heartbroken".

I've been wanting to leave this city for a while. And sometimes it seems like I'll never get out. But some other times, times like these, they bring a smile to my face. For such sometimes happen only in Kolkata.

The wind burns most of my cigarette away even as dry leaves and dust particles rush headlong into my flying hair, clinging on in inanimate survival. Its been pleasantly cold all day.

Winter is here, and I feel fine!

Cheers.

Eid Mubarak and...

... another bhai is about to bite the dust. The parents are gonna be meeting tomorrow, and well you know you know. The bhai and the probable bhabi seem to like each other though. Tons. That can't be too bad except for maybe the inevitable.

That's 2 down 7 to go by circa 2011.

The only question on everyone's mind.... WHO'S NEXT??

Yesterday

A man walked into Arambagh's Food Mart and asked for a tube of Fair and Handsome face cream for men.

Calcuttans, like Calcutta, never cease to astonish.

Of Life coming to a full circle at a Govt. Office

Place : The Office of the Registrar of Firms, Societies and Non-trading Corporations at 10th Floor, Todi Mansion, Kolkata.

Time : Bright hot muggy afternoon.

So I finally stepped out of the cramped lift onto the 10th floor of Todi Mansion after having waited for over 20 minutes to get into the said lift in the first place (the queue had spilled onto the street outside). A small doorway to the left blocked by a wall of sweating visitors, queuing up for reasons best known to themselves, seemed to be the entrance to the Office. I waded my way through the barrage of bodies while profusely muttering apologies and calmly digesting the "tsk tsk(s)" and "arre dekhe moshai dekhe(s)" to finally find myself at the first desk of the said Govt. office where a bespectacled bucktooth civil servant sat signing papers while vociferously elaborating on his family's illustrous history to another sitting beside him.

I was here to file a couple of applications under the RTI Act. On inquiring as to who was the appropriate person to receive my application, I was pointed toward 'choto babu' who happened to be another bespectacled civil servant with a more sombre appearance. On repeating my question to the said 'choto babu' I was directed to a 'madam', a middle aged bespectacled (again!!) lady who spared me more time and attention than the two previous officers. However, she had no idea what the RTI was, or atleast she did a damn good job pretending not to know. She directed me to the Registrar's office itself, 'bodo babu', informing me that "uni jaanben.." (he'll know.. what you're talking about...i presume). So I met the Registrar himself who very kindly and calmly directed me to approach the desk just to the left of the entrance and submit my application and also reminded me to keep a receipt stamped photocopy for myself.

So I headed out one last time and lo! It was the bespectacled bucktooth civil servant, whom I'd met first upon entering the said office, that I had to submit my applications to. Only by this time he was going on about how they used to have 35 bigha jomeen (bigha = acre??; jomeen = zameen = plot of land) in Chottogram(Chittagong) that the dirty mullahs snatched from them.

My first real experience with the Indian bureaucracy. In retrospect it was entertaining, if nothing else. I only wish it wasn't soo bloody hot!

(FYI, I did manage to file the said application, though only after I informed our esteemed officer that I was instructed to come to him by 'bodo babu' himself)

India's Soccer City

The list of football stars that have visited Kolkata in the past is long and illustrious compared to any other Indian city. Some of the names I can recall are the likes of Lothar Matthaus, Karl Heinz Rumminege, Diego Maradona, Branco, Romario, Oliver Kahn, and Gerd Mueller. Tomorrow another great footballing talent will land in the city. While all the aforesaid greats visited us only after they'd hung up their boots, this gentleman will need to go home and iron his jersey after his stint here is done. And he's just come off playing the tournament of his life.

Europa Champion 2010, World Cup Golden Ball Awardee 2010, Diego Forlan.

And he's not coming alone. She's gonna be there too!!

Zaira Nara, Forlan's erstwhile girlfriend

Ergo, be there at Yuva Bharti Krirangan, (Salt Lake Stadium) August 1, 2010 at 1700 hrs if you can. See you there!

Pictures from here and here respectively.

Back to the cradle

Got my hands on some old Mohiner songs. I had always been fond of Mohin's material. Especially because the youngest of Mohin's horses (the band being named Mohiner Ghoraguli literally translating to mean Mohin's Horses) Mr. Abraham Mazumdar was my music teacher at school and a close friend of the family. Further the band, despite performing in obscurity right through its career in the 1970s, was arguably singlehandedly responsible for the splurge of Bangla Rock bands and artists that came to fore during the late eighties and early nineties and is an important part of the history of modern Bengali popular music.

Last night I heard the song Tomay Dilam after an eternity. I had almost forgotten it even existed. Unlike most Mohin fans, I prefer this vocal harmony and keyboard driven number over their more renowned hits such as Bhalobashi, Prithibi and Ruksana. This seems to me to be a melancholic love song to the Calcuttan in general. Its a beautiful song and I wish I could put up the song itself, but being the technological retard that I am I haven't figured out how to do that yet. In any case it isn't mine to put up.

So instead I got down to translating it. My case is hindered by my poor grasp on the English language and an even poorer understanding of my own mother tongue (I'm glad blogs don't require mandatory pictures of its administrators for I'd rather no one saw my face). Albeit the same, I hope I am able to atleast give the reader a hint of the beauty and the mellow despair in this song and do justice to its eloquent wordplay in the Bengali language. It is a sad and beautiful song that left me awake till late last night.

Tomay Dilam (I give to you)

In the city’s warmest day

of tar fueled sunlight,

a breath of rain

I give to you today.

What else could I give?

Them old rallies,

the rows of them old trams,

the balloon store on the sidewalk

whose thread knotted reds & whites

are my discordant city’s Rhododendron

I give to you today.

What else is there in the late night neon lights,

that illuminate these restaurants.

The highest roof of the tallest building

I give to you today.

I cannot give

the smell of grass, flowers and rice fields,

two palmfuls of softness.

Instead the silent reassurance of the

slightly leaking burnt diesel,

I give to you today.

All the images of the city’s verse

I give to you today.

[I give to you today] x 3

Original Lyrics by the Late Gautam Chattopadhyay

Romario comes home

Brazilian legend and Calcutta's favourite son (since most Bengali Calcuttans consider themselves Brazilians with the remaining firmly believing that they were actually born in Argentina, and that Bengal is in India today due to some sort of tectonic shift or CIA conspiracy) Romario de Souza Faria came to the city a couple of days back to encourage youngsters participating in a state-wide football tournament, the Kolkata Police Coca-Cola Friendship Cup. He is staying on to host a reality tv show on football, to be aired on Mahua Channel, alongside former team mate and fellow World Champion 1994, Branco.

It seems a tad weird to imagine how a game meant to be watched live can be any more real than it already is, but atleast its a good excuse to have one of the finest exponents of the game in your hometown. He's probably as loved here as he is at home, and probably better remembered. I can only confirm that after I have been to Brazil in 2014 ;)

Cheers, and good luck to Romario for his future exploits in the city of joy.

Picture from here.

The flags of our fathers ...

Well not really, but I've had terribly long day and its not over yet. So I'm excused.

Meanwhile finally the city has indeed woken up to the World Cup and the small lanes/bylanes of Calcutta have been rendered a Hindu bride's marriage bed with the crisscross netting of small paper flags strung across streetlights, poles, building edges or whatever else could be found convenient. Alongwith a larger version of the same hung at a central position indicating the loyalties of the said locality. Most common are Argentina and Brazil. Chingrighata presently looks like an electoral battle zone with both countries being equally represented vide such said decorations, each one trying to hide out the other only to be hidden by another.

Wnndrrr!

In other news I go to court now. Semi-regularly. However, I love it. Being in court, tedious and sweaty as it is, its still the best part of my working day. There are very few places I've come across where such comic relief and random loose talk about other people - other being everyone but the speaker - is available in such abundance.

Second Wnndrr!

I hope it doesn't fade away though.

Also waiting for friends to land up this weekend. Hope I make it till then. Its a good reason to stay alive.

Romario, Romario tumi-ee shobar priyo ...

The football world cup was my introduction to the beautiful game. Vide its 1994 edition, USA '94. I remember those days as murals filled up the old dusty walls of the city and sometimes even the front side of houses much to the annoyance of its inhabitants. I remember how the para'r chelera would perform ceremonies and pujas and pay homage to their respective idols. Those were the days of Romario, Bebeto, Batistuta, Hagi and Baggio. Good days.

You couldn't find a street crossing or an entire locality that would be devoid of the tournament fervour. It was EVERYWHERE!

My commute within the city has been an extremely restricted one of late. Home to work to chai place to home. Don't feel like hanging out much in the city. However, within this restricted route - which would be a total road distance of around 10-12 kms one way - there is not ONE sign of the world cup happening. In fact nothing has changed during the past one week in the city in terms of its scenery. Especially in terms of its scenery. Its like nothing is going on. As if the world were still the way it was a week back.

Its not, but for once no one seems to care enough. This is whats changed.

The Sky is Crying..

wailing in fact.

Finally!!

I'm getting this sudden urge to get naked and run out of office.

Someday, one day ...

Of the MARWARI

Kolkata has long ceased to be a Bengali city. This is a city which many communities share in a lazy harmony, the Bengali being one such community. However, Kolkata is essentially a Marwari city, the Marwaris being the economic pillars upon which the city rests. And it is not quaint.

Some of my closest friends hailing from the Maroo community shall testify to the fact that there is nothing quaint about being a Marwari. Which leads me to the obvious joke, "what do you call a Maroo who hates himself??"

Answer : "A Maroo with BRAINS!"

Anyway, that being said, I believe I did chance upon a truly marvelous and quaint Marwari today. In fact it is also called The Marwari!! It is the Marwari horse. Wooohooo!!

The Marwari is a rare breed of horses, that were bred by the Rathores of Marwar, well known for their peculiar inward curving ears. They are said to have descended from cross breeding between local ponies and Arabian horses and are usually used for agricultural purposes, as well as riding and packing.

They say you learn something new everyday. Wnndrrr ..

Where I vent my wisdom (or lack thereof) regarding the contemporary world

Recently the Supreme Court of India quashed 22 criminal cases filed against Tamil actress Khushboo, for her remarks supporting pre-marital sex for girls. The reason for filing such aforesaid cases had been that "her views went against Tamil culture and values". I think its time all the guardians of Tamil/Indian culture came up with The Basic Structure of Indian Culture & Values Act that cannot be compromised by the nation's populace even in the face of globalization, urban cultural homogeneity, liberalism and blah blah blah. Would save everyone a headache apart from clearly determining what exactly our culture is as we see it in the present century.

In other news Robert Zoellick, who is the president of ze World Bank, has pronounced that the expression 'Third World' is dead. In effect we are officially 'One World' henceforth. Keeping true to my nature, I would beg to differ. I think the 'mad' woman on Elgin Rd. who keeps pointing her finger and laughing at me every evening as I head home would agree. So would the junkie who sleeps between the walls of PC Chandra jewelers and bus stop right outside, if he had the vocabulary to. And if he cared enough.

It is true that India has... well got the moolah now. And with the moolah comes the power. But to whom and for whom? The power that does not come from the people does not vest in them either. Neither is there any accountability of the exercise, rather even possession, of such power to the people whose lives are innately affected by it. In this sense the Third World has just spread its wings. From the darkness of the newly independent colonies to the darkness in the street corners of every country in the world. Where it is always dark and there are no cookies either. Kels guru!

Meanwhile in brighter news, the powers that be have decided that I ought to get an appraisal in view of my *ahem* *ahem* groundbreaking work in the field of Trade Marks Law. So I got a raise, a pretty decent one at that. So yaay! Its true that the thought of more money flowing into your account at the end of the month is a good one. Yet I bitch, moan and groan. And I claim that I don't really need money. Despite that its good to have it once you do. Why?

Also I'm headed to the Capitol. To look for new work and to meet up with them old soldiers. Fun!

Of Morbid Dreams & Dirty Brits & Everything ..

Tomorrow I complete 9 months of my first employment. I really do not wish to do this work anymore. Grrr...mmphff...kkhhrkk. Patience.

Last night I dreamt I was running. Its rare of me to remember my dreams. But last night's was particularly scary. Cause well I was running away from something I was scared of, can't for the life of me recall what. And as I kept running, my skin began to peel off in thin strips leaving behind red streaks on my body. As the skin came peeling off, I got scared-er and ran faster, and the faster I ran the quicker my skin kept peeling off. I don't remember anymore but I do recall my heart pumping even in my dream. dhuk-dhuk..dhuk-dhuk..dhuk-dhuk.

The more I experience the present world, the more I believe that everyone around me needs a shrink. No one else seems to think so in my present social circle. Makes me feel these days that I might be the one who needs a shrink. Low self esteem is bloody new to me. Matter of fact it so fucking isn't ME!

I recently met this Brit guy at a party who casually left the house and walked across the parking lot barefoot right till the main road. He wasn't drunk and it genuinely never occurred to him to wear sandals. In fact he seemed flabbergasted when I tried to be a good host (read Indian) and offered him my slippers to return upstairs in. Certain women in my class had often chastised me for being dirty, and they had a point. But atleast I understood what dirty means. This bugger has no concept man.

I've decided I want to be a teleporter. Its the only way I can visit all the places I wish to and still have a job.

What's up?

Jyoti Basu is dead!!...dying..no wait dead, 'tis confirmed...false alert..dying..dead...almost dead.. better??

Lot of confusion yesterday with many at work hoping the bugger conks it cause then the city shall come to a halt unanimously in grief. An ex-Chief Minister who reigned democratically for over 26 years serves his populace even in death.

The Prime Minister is in town to meet him. Don't think they'll have much of a conversation though.

There's a Baul performance happening at Tollygunge Club this Saturday that some friends got me an invite for. However, I can't make it. My time is rented out to an organisation that takes itself too seriously.

I looked at myself in the mirror today. The hair looks smooth (almost silky*belch*), the face clean shaven, John Miller has replaced the faded chequered shirts, a pair of ironed Blackberrys where a pair of torn denims I probably bought for my 18th birthday and washed once a month since used to hang, and good ol' Bata shoes in place of chappals. Oh and socks, thats whats new with me babeh! SOCKS!!

Some people I know since school claim I look extremely "civilized" these days. The more daring venture to state that I "actually look nice". But I still look at the mirror and can't help laughing. You know a what the fuck laugh. The one thats almost a snigger but not quite.

I don't want a new life, just my old self back. Back before its too late.

Also I hope Jyoti Basu dies man. And not on the weekend. Please God let it be in the middle of the week, please please. I could use a holiday.

Of Darkness

There are places in every city where the unseen partake of activities that ought to remain unseen. For example deserted parks, river banks or a lakeside, cemeteries, marketplaces where you get fake/smuggled goods and even places of worship. Oh and railway tracks, always railway tracks, especially nearby the local stations.

A whole new world emerges after sunset. It is where the peddlers hang out, the cheaper whores whistle at cabbies, junkies smoke and chase, and gay men suck dick. There is anonymity and definite carved out spaces for all giving vent to their respective natures. All seeking a moment of sinful comfort or simply earning livelihood.

A certain kind of all, for despite the difference of activities they have something in common. Go figure what but know that those who don’t belong, stand out visibly. It’s all in the open, really. But no one watches out for it. Hence no one really sees it. Kinda becomes like I can see you, but you can’t see me. Why? Cause you don’t even know I’m here, that’s why.

And it all transpires under the watchful gaze of the night away from the eyes of the clean cut kid who’s been to college too.

It gets real lonely in a city sometimes. And it isn’t the same as being alone. I miss being alone.

Blah Blah Blah

Winter in Calcutta is like one of those albums that have withstood the test of age for an individual. The ones which are played when nothing in particular comes to mind. They're always secure, warm and often nostalgic. I'm glad its winter now. The season seems to be the only thing beautiful enough to be distracting me from my current obsession that is MYSELF.

And its always been beautiful, especially during the evenings.

Watched a lot of films this weekend. First up was Ninja Assassin. There are bad films and then there are films which are so bad that they're awesome!! NA falls in the latter category for me. Absolutely brilliant. Loved the fight sequences and the painful way in which they tried to show the emotional turmoil of the hero's early years. Was non-stop action and comedy. Plus I'm a sucker for swords and other sharp objects being used as weapons, especially against the gun touting white man.

And this one had a chain-sickle. Too-fucking-cool.

It doesn't compare to Ong Bak though. I watched the second part of the trilogy and was mesmerized. Tony Jaa is the best. And it literally kicks ass of all high budget hollywood action films due to the sheer intensity of the violence it reveals. Have a newfound admiration for Muay Thai. Must get me hands on the other Ong Baks.

I also watched The Dog Problem on TV because I had nothing better to do. Loved it. Its rare to find comedy acts that make you laugh at life and not at cheap jokes. Want to watch this one again without the intervention of dad wanting to watch the headlines every ten minutes.

Last but not the least Anari No.1. Govinda Rocks. Period.

No winter is complete without the consumption of dark rum in copious amounts. Mission was accomplished last Saturday wherein the frivolity of promises I make to myself was revealed yet again. I'd promised myself not to drink beyond 3 pegs, but then ...I lost count. But it felt good. Still I have decided not to partake liquor in any form anymore.

Atleast till Christmas.

Cheers.

Of Changes

Today is Bengal Bandh. I must say our state has come of age. Despite the fact that traffic was unusually light today during the rush hour, all private and Government offices remained open including the Trademarks Registry. At my office, which is Bong infested, we had a full house in terms of employee attendance. Triviality for those who reside outside Bengal, but major change in attitude for those who have been born and brought up in the State.

In other developments the old tree at Vien that was destroyed by the cyclone leaving behind a tree stump has now been completely uprooted by the Kolkata Municipality. The surrounding seating area under the tree’s shade, affectionately referred to as the Throne, has been destroyed and replaced with a patch of the same pavement that it was on. I miss that tree. Over the years many have sat under its shade, and then lack thereof, sipping tea while fending of flying cockroaches and big fat rats that used to reside beneath it and become friends. Now its all gone. Just like that.

I wonder if its a valid excuse that something should not be maintained simply because its become too difficult to maintain or because there is a cheaper/more practical alternative than maintaining it. Personally it isn’t cause I’m not like that, but from a state’s perspective. Practicality is important I understand, but is it fair to achieve the same at the cost of one’s identity? I’m not sure there.

One of the things I liked about this city was that people never bothered replacing the old with the new and efficient. Now things are finally changing. Attitudes, as well my favourite pavements.

Also today this space turns a year old. It was started form the offices of a tax consultancy in Bangalore. It’s first anniversary post is being typed from within an IP Firm in Kolkata. Random information.

Cheers.