How Bangla are you?

"Have you lived in Kolkata before?"
"No"
"Do you have family here? Relatives?"
"Nope"
"Are you Bengali?"
"No"
"Ever visited Kolkata before this?"
"Nay, madame."
"Do you know how to speak Bangla?"
Another answer in the negative, and thus concludes my first conversation with a kid here. Awe follows. I choose my adventures, and therefore am, adventurous and cautious all at once. Kolkata is one of those adventures. This is a culture, I was told, would be an altogether new experience for someone not even distantly Bengali. But being here is making me feel two things very strongly.

Indian and Human.

Human is what you are with everyone when somewhere you begin to belong without qualifying to. What I mean is, you're told you'll have nothing in common with them, and yet you feel right at home from the moment you take the first breath.

We purchased our new sim cards from an absolute hovel of a place (pardon the language). A square foot by two, possibly, and crammed with everything that you could attach to, put in, put on or add to, your mobile phone. No discomfort though. None.

In Kolkata, the people take pride in their language and legacy, without feeling the need to gloss it over. A "posh" Delhi bookstore would scarcely display visible and numerous volumes in Indian languages even within their recesses. But even mall bookstores here give Bangla literature pride of place among the British, American and diaspora confetti.

On several occasions, people will take for granted that you know the language. Apart from a few unmentionables (concerning lizards and people's behinds - i know, i'm horrible!) and the sentence "I know Bangla very well & I am a big devil", I know nothing of Bangla. But at times, its so fast, I have to wait for the torrent of words to get over before I can slip in my sheepish smile and say, "Sorry, I don't understand...". But it doesnt happen a lot. Kolkata is on its way to becoming wholly metropolitan, even if it falls a little behind now.

I caught a glimpse of the Victoria Memorial. It struck me like the Taj Mahal. White, tremendous and unreal - like a bygone era shimmering in the centre of a maidan. The Maidan is lush. We stopped at a red light and by the side of the road, grazing, were a fawn horse and a colt. In a more gracious age, one would have just gazed upon them and sighed and felt at peace. But we're not the 17th century anymore, we just have to take that fuzzy cell phone picture of all things beautiful.

The tennis court at the club here is magnificent. Wish I could say the same about the library.