One of the lame quotes I have heard, this one by Freddy Allen one of the earliest RJs of this world.... until I actually began to see a scary resemblance of this in my own life. It has been three months since my second visit to the UK and here I am sitting pointlessly on a saturday evening wondering the chaotic times I had back in kolkata.. the times I never completely admired ....not until now.
For a home grown and bred bengali from the vintage capital, who has religiously followed all the traditions of being the conventional articulate calcuttan, right from gulping down the phuckas, hanging out at the park street, strictly maintaining the sunday schedules at petercat et al, and looking the best I could for those five 'I will give up all for this' puja days, this is difficult.
And all my brothers and sisters from other mothers who are sitting as pointlessly as I am in their houses will vouch for this.
This has been always the problem with us, and not just us the Calcuttans or Bengalis but we Indians in general. We never failed to ignore the inherent sweetness in those small things back at home, the regular attendance to our adda with the gang in the coffee house, shopping at garia(or the garias of their cities), a visit to the aunts place and her mouth watering biryani, not realising the nostalgic feelings that could actually hurt us so much .
But this is what probably makes one a more grounded person, or so I hope. The next time I visit home, I would probably devise my schedule in a way that could best utilise my limited stay at home making time for each of those nostalgic experiences....... for time has never been a treasure before as it will be then.