Waterworks

The ripple as rubber meets water sounds like a series of notes in perfect harmony, like the many violins in the orchestra coming together in a singular resonance - distinct yet as one. The sight passes much faster than the sound; the blur of brown making the accompanying music sound much slower than it is.

All in all, a motorcycle splashing mud is much like the swing of a sword - it's a beautiful sight, even if only as much as a blur, and the accompanying slow-motion swoosh does have a musical quality to it. All only if it's not coming towards you…

***

I've been witness to monsoon in different parts of the country over the past few years. In Visakhapatnam, it's either hot as hell or it's pouring - there's no other alternative. Delhi's is as erratic as the city predictable. Ahmedabad isn't too far from Mumbai, and the distant relation shows up often. If it rains, it rains for at least a couple of months until every single avenue of human translocation is disturbed, at the very least, and disrupted, more usually.

Now, I've only been in Calcutta a little over three weeks, but it's bang in the middle of the rainy season, so allow me a brief dissection. The Calcuttan monsoon has a much more versatile range of behaviours, when compared to the previously mentioned cities. As the lottery is a popular pastime for the many residents of this metropolis, the rain gods above, too, (Borundeb is the Hindu one, in Bengali) indulge themselves in the passion of the hoi polloi every year. Based on how often you work in a week, which hours you work during, the colour of your pants and the amount of love for your new Hush Puppies leather shoes, you may be the recipient any of the following kinds of watery precipitation.

• The Hammer of the Gods - Zeppelin said it drove the Vikings' ships to new lands, and it is also probably how explorers in the far reaches of the Indonesian archipelago, too, could discover the inner nooks and crannies of northern Calcutta's suburbs. As the skies thunder, rumble and belch loudly above, rain water instantly convalesces into an insanely simple connection of drains, streets, footpaths, highways and the whole Hooghly river. The hordes, obviously, sing and cry: Behala, I am coming.
• Crazy Train - Winds often accompany piercingly sharp pins of rain droplets, forming a winning combination of irritants. They slide under the umbrella's weak protection, sometimes even finding the most itchy spot that is the back of the neck. They find their way through the gaps between raincoats' buttons. And most irritatingly of all, they somehow find the gumption to stop churning mind-boggling angles, and fall straight into the gap between the trousers' edges and the shoes. These socks are dripping; driving me insane!
• The blanket blowing in the wind - You see the skies darkening, and sense a moistness in the air as the bus slows down. Quick equipment check - raincoat, umbrella, small plastic bag for phone, big plastic bags for shoes, and most importantly, five rupees in coins for the grumpy auto driver. You get down, and the gods do another little number on you - there's water in the air, but it's flowing in soft, thin quilts in the air, slowly hanging for you to feel it, but not enough to rub it into your face. It's almost as if the air is sweating light beads, working out hard, upping the ante on that treadmill , but not able to break that sweat it so desperately needs to lose some weight. You let it all soak in, but are left asking a question - How many minutes in this light, pretty rain; before I can save my favourite pants?
• The birthday bumps - You know the attackers, you know their weapons, you know your weak points, but does protection really make a difference? At the end of their blitzkrieg, your butt will hurt, and some shoes will lose a few years off their lifetime. All you can do is pray you get some good food at the end of it all. But you pay for it.

***

The water runs up to my shins, it's drenched my socks, and god knows what is swimming near my toes. The cycle, after making a daredevil exit from an open gutter, has given up to a devil it can't even see in the muddy waterway that used to be the main road to the railway station. A few minutes ago, when the water ran only till my ankles, it seemed like the cycle could conquer all these obstacles, and how grateful my footwear were for that. But, just like the Elder wand, it now seems to have sensed a more powerful master. Its allegiance is slowly shifting, and about just as slowly, its faltering balance has demanded the sacrifice of my right shoe.

I gather my resolve - only two more shops need to see the light of these packs of Maggi noodles. There are kids demanding tasty morning snacks, and mothers tirelessly looking for foods with enough calcium, protein and fibre that don't taste like hospital porridge. They are probably depending on one sales trainee to get his front wheel out of that patch of mud; shoes about to be destroyed be damned.

I bend my head down, as much to show Rocky-like determination as to get enough weight down to my arms to push. Water slides off the PVC poncho I call a raincoat. God knows what is still wriggling somewhere near my toes. But the cycle begins to crawl, inch by painful inch. The hammer continues to strike. Newer drains are coming alive to join the waterway. And then I hear that beautiful musical ripple, like the swing of a sword…

Population in East are fun guy

More quick notes from another day in Kolkata. Incidentally, almost all deal with stereotypes.

1. People in Kolkata love football - well, at least during the World Cup. Everyone talks about last night's game- salesmen, shopkeepers, flatboard rickshaw drivers, flatboard rickshaw squatters, bus conductors - almost everybody I ran into today. Most watch it, too, as their droopy eyes constantly being rubbed would suggest. Contrary to most other cities in India I've seen, the sport penetrates all class barriers. Even in snaky bylanes next to ponds where kids secretly bunk school to take a dip and their mothers wash clothes at the other end of the same green mess, you know each house's loyalty by the flag sticking out on its door. Barbershops carry huge posters of Neymar or Messi, and of course, bars conveniently located next to software companies' offices offer happy hours well past midnight, too. Possibly the only flags that are as common as those of Brazil and Argentina here are those of…
2. …unions. They have offices everywhere, and their political affiliations are also pretty clear by the face or colour pasted all over these flags. It's mind-boggling how there's a union office at every single local train station. Just to give context, if you're in Mumbai, there's a union office at the end of platform 1 of not just Dadar, Ghatkopar or Churchgate, but even Bhandup, Sewri and Titwala. Or if you're in Delhi, a union office not just at Rajiv Chowk or Central Secretariat, but even at New Ashok Nagar, Jasola and GTB Nagar. Their coverage is immense, and truly awesome- something FMCG sales organisations could possibly learn a lot from. Or not - the ideal economy would possibly pave the way for them, but that's a story for another time. Speaking of paving the way and ideal economies…
3. Public transport here, save for those few aforementioned marshy stretches, not just has massive reach, but is extremely affordable, too. One thing Delhi, with a bit of political will, could pick up to ease its traffic woes could be how autos in Kolkata are strongly regulated, being allowed to run only on set routes, and registered as such. Government-managed buses do the little corners autos looking to make steady cash miss, and for everything else, there are the imitable yellow cabs, who don't mind making the most of the little space for economic rent-seeking by taking long shortcuts.
4. People often talk of Kolkata reminding them of an old-world city. Yes, the hand-pulled rickshaws are gone, but there remain carts with just flat boards behind them which act as replacements! There're the fancifully archaic names, with many roads named for past dignitaries' visits but of no other relevance today - there's probably a road named after every single visiting monarch or capital of a visiting head of state's country. Yet, there's a charm about it all - I won't go so far romantically as to feel a je ne sais quoi - but in a way one finds their grandmother's stories fascinating. In fact, if anything, Kolkata has a distinctly European feel - great public transport, the omnipresent love for football, the gaudy women, the pretty women, the omnipresent smoking, women smoking, and countless anachronisms which are just part of the city's daily hustle and bustle.

P.S. - Oh, that horrible much-exploited joke. Sorry, had to squeeze some Easterly thing in there.

East is East

Schooling in the South, undergrad in the North and postgrad in the West of India meant it was inevitable that work would at some stage take me to the East. Placing the happenstance of being posted in Kolkata for my very first stint outside my locus of control helped cope with the initial irritation at being allotted the one zone out of four I'd have least preferred. Some people like to call it force majeure, others just desserts, but I just think it's a neat idea to get these few months out of the way in an area I might either have deep misconceptions about, or was horribly right about all along.

Here's to finding out in the next six-seven months. A few quick notes from the two days shuttling between the hotel and the office:

1. I think the brief hiatus I'd taken from learning German on Duolingo has just become indefinite - I spend an inordinate amount of brain force on wrenching out words I know from the uniquely Bengali-fied English and Hindi I hear every day.
2. The Ambassador may be out of production, but Hindustan Motors better not shut down its servicing business - a few thousand more dysfunctional yellow cabs is the last thing this city needs.
3. I like to think I've more or less mastered the Mumbai locals now, especially after the almost-daily peak time fast train rides from Kurla to Thane last summer. Kolkata, let's see what you've got tomorrow.
4. Mota-moti: I think I've understood what that means, mota-moti.