The Rain of Revolution

They take their politics very seriously here (or is it 'we' now?). I mean rallies and protests on the university campus when the year has barely started.

We had, armed with dream cake and chocolate cake (ahem), emerged from the little canteen opposite the International Relations when we came face to face with an SFI march. They bore an anti-establishment message, naturally and roared with slogans in chaste Bangla. Well, it could've been pidgin Bangla, but what do I know. They carried effigies of straw to burn, no doubt.

It was only for a moment that we struggled with the dilemma of attending class versus joining the rally. Attending a Global Politics lecture wasn't what we were going to discuss around the fireplace when we retired. We would fondly reminisce about how fiery and political we were and how deeply moved by the idea of revolution. So we decided to ditch academia and follow. Actually, most of us just wanted to see the effigy being burnt. So off we tip toed. But then the march left the campus and disappeared into the oblivion of the city. So we did end up attending class.

The march was protesting the Indo-US Nuclear deal. The American student in my class commented wisely upon this, "I'll just pretend I'm French" and ducked away from sight.

Bengalis have the most fascinating expressions for describing cowards. Really. I've forgotten the one I learned today, but it had something to do with getting hit by flowers.

The Dhoklas everywhere in Kolkata are fabulous. And it isn't as if yours truly hasn't had a lot of those in Gujarat. Kolkata seems to be good with all kinds of food. For those less familiar with Dhoklas, I would implore them to think of cheery yellow fluffy cubes, like moist and airy brittle sponges, with a flavour sweet, salty and tinge-y at the same time. And chillies.

I have finally been witness to the mad ruckus and utter celebration this city goes into when it pours. Not rains. Pours.

Think of traffic bumper to bumper - gigantic buses, monstrous Ambassador taxis, autos, a whole amalgam of brown, blue and yellow honking relentlessly. The thick shower of rain clapping against windows, walls and the earth. The dark steel sky and the thunder loudly from it. Water puddles, and the soaked wet-ness of narrow lanes and city spaces. Umbrellas, watery shoes, deep ponds by the side of the roads, the dark green overhead becoming darker green. You're so close to the splash, whoosh and spatter wherever you may be.

Like politics, rain here - it rains absolutely; touches everyone.