And no, I'm not high..

Sometimes under the blazing blue sky, when everything seems pretty much good I wonder about my twenty-one years old relationship with this city, the city which I'm planning to leave soon.
So when I sit almost blankly my thoughts grow deeper and they take a shape of a big rain cloud and then when I'm just about to cry, I dont. And when I stroll along its road all alone, when I sip its coffee, when I kiss and pledge someone in those quaint, dimly lit alleys, when I cry stupidly over raging madness, when I keep hogging its street food, when I sit in the pubs and drink, when I laugh uncontrollably and when I read its books that are so full of literature and history my heart brims over love and affection for this city and it makes me light, as light as a feather n I go on thinking about the days, my growing up days, my wee little room with books and magazines scattered all over, mamar-bari where I spent most of my days squabbling with my maternal brother, my childhood friends with whom I lost all contacts now and the days of kurtas, jholas n bunking lectures in college. I somehow remember it all.

And so I fall in love with my city all over again as much I used to hate it once, the city which saw my emotions, dreams n regrets so close, the city which never failed to baffle me with her rich beauty, culture and history, the city which imbues me with satisfaction and happiness, the city where I met my first love, where I strolled along in the by-lanes holding his hand, where I brazenly kissed him my first kiss, where I let him go and leave me all alone among strangers. But then this city is so full of bonhomie that when you groan with pain, when you bitch in anger the rain comes and washes away the woes, giving you a strange, undying freshness.
And whenever I feel gung-ho about settling all alone in a place faraway from kolkata, of starting life fresh and independent my heart reminds me of those endless things that I will keep missing. And with a sullen despair I remember about all the roads I walked, all the memories I lived with, all the songs that I danced to and all the guys who splintered my heart again and again.
Kolkata would remain the city of loves and lovers, of couples holding hands and walking down the streets, of friends who would do anything and everything for you, of ilish, mishti doi, phuchkas n flurys, of strange readers and drunken poets, of goods and bads.

A walk down the memory lane

I went to BSS yesterday after almost four years and little did I know that the place where I spent some fourteen years would look so strange. As I scurried through the first floor corridor I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. A string of memories flashed through. It was here I was thrown out of the classrooms most often and it was here that I took the trophy for scoring highest in maths with a burgeoning happiness one Sunday evening. That was way back in class three, yes I still remember. School always brings back these mixture of feelings, tears and smiles at the same time.

I always wanted to come school, even with fevers simply because I never wanted to miss out one single thing. It was only in primary classes that I realized BSS is my second home. And why not it was here where I got my first friends, it was here that I realized that lunch breaks are not only for having lunches, but for enjoying the rides down at the park and it was here where I got some of the happiest moments like winning the 'washing day' race in class two. I simply loved the primary section, that toy library, those western music classes, Anuradha mam, Sampa mam and everything that falls within. But going to seconday is yet another thing, that excitement, that anticipation, that cold feet, that feeling of growing up.

I loved sahana mam from the very first day in class five. She used to teach us English. It was through her I realized that English is my first love and not maths. Sahana mam once read out christmas carol to the whole class and only that she didnt tell us the climax. She asked us to go through the book. It was in class five that I started reading books, feluda or blyton whatever reached my hands first. It was in class five I met my lifetime friends, Mohana and Payel. It was in class five that I actualy understood the meaning of friendship for the first time. Class five meant yet another thing, yes sports day, cheering our own houses, praying for them. That first feeling of togetherness.

As I strolled along I realized how most of the things changed, even how the wooden desks and the old blackboards got replaced. The corridors now looked shinningly beautiful, adorned with bright flowers all over. And the whole building has been painted white with pale blue border which in our times was bright red. Each floor now has a name. I stopped in front of class eleven Science B for a minute. I saw a group of girls grappling with each other and then falling into sudden childish giggle. I stayed at that moment for quite a long time staring at those girls almost blankly realizing somewhere here I belonged years back, somewhere amidst pritha mam' chemistry classes, amidst chaki mam's scoldings and among those wonderful moments with the craziest bunch of buddies, moments that one could never let go.
I recalled the last day in school, cutting that chocolate cake, dancing with the whole class, clamouring for no reason at all. But like others I did'nt cry as I knew that a part of me will always be here, somewhere in the basketball court, somewhere in Dutta mam's history classes or somewhere in these corridors. 

Then suddenly the moment got lost as I saw a very lanky girl standing behind me with sparkling eyes. Stuffing something in my hands she ran away. With curious eyes I somehow managed to check that paper and there it was with her name written underneath.  I almost went numb, some moments that probably remain priceless.  
                                                                                                                                   

NOSTALGIA OR WHAT ELSE ???

As I logged on to orkut I saw several of them with taglines such as "the last miles", " time to leave my family" and so on with everyone expressing their myriads of emotions on the last few days of BSS. To some it felt like a prisoner free ater years while to many others it seemed like the end of their so called mastis , their life ,their love.
At the beginning I was glad that yes its atlast time for us to leave that perfect hell but as time passed on I began to realize that to leave the perfect hell I have to leave my perfect abode too. Where else will I find some of my best friends and the most memorable moments? Now with all this in my mind I felt a little less happy but a little more sorrow at having to leave the place where I spent fourteen long years of my life.
Things that I miss -----
# neverending chats
# sleeping in classes
# special classes taken by special teachers
# pranks played
# english class (official off period)
# wonderful TT n Basketball matches
# assemblies, talks at the audi
# sitting at deserted corridors
# laughing away
# singing at full blast
# dancing to our hearts content
# sport meets
# last minute cramming
# pathetic internet connectivity
# lunch break
# shouting during off periods
# pp presentations
# public speaking class
# the trip to shantiniketan
# fighting for marks
# arguing with teachers
# best birthday parties
# roadside phuchhka
n what else ( I may forget some important stuff you see)
May be like , it will remain incomplete forever because I'll surely miss everything and my mind will forever be there , miss you my BSS !!!