Namma Ooru, Bengaluru

D M Prithvi

Let me tell you about a place that ripened my traits, from the streets of Cubbonpet to the heights of Kuruburahalli. I could say that I have come so far, only to know that it is just the beginning of everything. Kannada is one of the most beautiful things about my city. I still remember the first Kannada word coming out of my school rickshaw driver's mouth. The first Kannada word being an abusive word; why is it that people first learn the harsh words of any language? It surely does help me get out of trouble with authorities. Something about the way it lights up the face of cops as soon as 'Saaaaaarrr?' comes out of our mouths. Evergreen. Priceless.

How can one not talk about the moody weather? There is no such thing as seasons in Bangalore. A day can start with a clear sky and bright sun rays to gloomy skies and rain showers. We do not have seasons for the year, more like seasons each passing day. Also, let me not forget to mention the Masala dosa from CTR, idli vada from Brahmin's, and hot filter coffee from Shiv Sagar. Tempting. Delicious. The city rises early and sleeps early. And I like its silence of the night when you can indeed be in the company of your own. The pubs on the ever-modern, blinding nights of Brigade road and cobbled-stoned Church street - 'The Pub Capital of India', not boasting.

My heart skips a beat when I think about being away from Bangalore. The thought of being away for more than a year for my studies scares me. I will miss the early long drives to Nandi Hills on the weekend with the boys, the long drives to the airport parking lot just for a cup of coffee/tea. My career and goals may take me to other cities and countries, but my heart will always stay in Bangalore, and however long it may take, I will come back for my soul. Namma Ooru, Bengaluru.

বাড়ি ফিরে ভুরিভোজ / Feast Back Home

Debosmita Ray

শহর কলকাতার মধ্যে ঝগড়া বিবাদ থাকা সত্ত্বেও কোথাও একটা মিল পাওয়া যাবেই | কোথায় আবার? খাবারে | মনে মনে হাসছেনতাই না? চলুন আপনাদের শহর কলকাতা থেকে একটু ভিতরে নিয়ে যাই যেখানে আমার জন্ম | বারুইপুর|এই জায়গাটিকে গ্রাম ও বলাযায়না আবার শহর বলা যায়না | ইংরেজিতে আমরা বলি ‘sub-urban area’ (সাবার্বান এরিয়া) | বারুইপুর আমার জন্মস্থান, এখানথেকে কোথাও গেলে কিছুদিন তো ভালোলাগে কিন্তু কদিন পর থেকে মনটা কিরমযেন আনচান করে, মনেহয় যে কবে বাড়িফিরবো | কবে বাড়ি গিয়ে সেই পাড়ার মোড়ের কাকুর কাছে থেকে দশটাকার সেই অতি ঝাল ফকুচকাটা মুখ দেব|সেই মদন কাকুর ছোট্ট দোকানের আলুচপের সাধ এখনো যেন মুখে লেগে আছে | যখন কোথাও ঘুরতে যেতাম তাও আবার পুজোরসময়, খুব রাগ হতো বাবার উপর | অষ্টমীর ওই লুচি আলুরদম টা যে মিস হয়ে যেত | কিন্তু জানেন ঘুরে যখন বাড়ির দিকে রওনা দিতাম তখন বুকটা ফেতেযেত কান্নায় | বাড়ি ফিরে সেই পড়াশোনা | যখন সারাদিনের ওই ক্লান্তির পর বাড়ি ঢুকতাম তখন কারোরই আর কাজ করার ক্ষমতা থাকতোনা | কিন্তু মা কে দেখতাম ঠিক রান্নাঘরে গিয়ে আমাদের জন্য কিছু বানাচ্ছে | যখন স্নান করে ওই খিদের মুখে দেখতাম - একটা কাঁসার থালায় গরম ভাত ,তার উপর ঘি ছড়ানো সাথে একটা গোল আকারের আলু সিদ্ধর তাল শুকনো লঙ্কা আর কাঁচা সর্ষের তেল দিয়ে মাখা |একটু ডাল, সাথে একটা মোটা করে ডিম্ ভাজা, আহা! তখন শরীরের সব দুঃখ কষ্টই যেন কোথায় হারিয়ে যেত |

Translation:

Despite the incessant quarrels amidst the city of Kolkata, one can find a definite similarity within. Where? In food! You’re laughing at me, aren’t you? Come, let me take you a little further into the city where I was born. Baruipur. One can neither call this place a village nor a city. In English, we call this the ‘suburban area.’

Baruipur is my birthplace; going elsewhere seems nice for a couple of days, but I yearn immensely to go back home after a while longer. Along with the question of ‘when will I return home?’ comes another longing. When would I get to stuff my face with the ten-rupee, incredibly spicy fuchkas (Bengali panic puri) from my uncle at the corner of my neighbourhood? The taste of the aloo chop (potato cutlet) from Madan Uncle’s small shop still lingers in my mouth.

Whenever we’d travel, particularly during Durga Puja time, I’d get very mad at my father. I’d miss eating the luchi aloo dum (deep-fried puri with potato preparation), especially during Ashtami (the eighth day). Yet, you know, returning home, my chest would burst in sadness - for I’d have to resume studying, of course. After a whole day’s work and fatigue, no one fancied doing any more upon returning. Yet, I’d see my mother go straight to the kitchen to rustle up something to eat for all of us. After freshening up, I’d hungrily look at the bronze plate bedecked with food. Hot rice and boiled potato perfectly shaped like a dome - drenched in ghee, and infused with shukhno lanka (dry chillies) and raw shorshe tel (mustard oil). A little daal (lentils) along with one big, fat fried egg - oh goodness! All the troubles and worries of the body and soul would wash away.

City Where The Heart Resides

Devanshi Dewan

Delhi for me, like any city for its residents, creates an immediate feeling of identification and belongingness. However, Delhi, the city where I would always crawl my way back to, evokes so many more emotions and memories, many of which I want to hold onto sacredly and protect from the evil eye of the world, but so is my affair with this beautiful, extraordinarily charming city that I wish to let go of all of it. I have lived here all my life and whenever it strikes me that any day now, whenever that might be, I'd have to leave her behind, a piece of my soul, as she only knows how to share extreme joy and happiness. This city is the warm hug of a blanket on a cold, winter night, sheltering, nurturing whilst also filling one to the brim with tender love and care. This is Delhi for me. Lately, whenever I am out exploring the city, it is with extreme carefulness that I notice each nook and cranny, as if learning and memorising every mile of how it looks, I’ve even come to enjoy the sound that other people like to call ‘noise’, mentally mapping every bit of this city as much as I can, too scared to forget as if having to capture all its essence in my suitcase and take it away with me wherever I go. This city has given me more than I can comprehend, let alone ask for, to fit into any writeup of this sort. The Delhi Metro is like a haven for the weary, the excited, the sleepy traveller which transcends time and space like a magical wagon and minutes later you realize, it’s a whole 'nother world you have entered into, as enchanting as the one you left from. Delhi, celebrates the arts, poetry, theatre and I recount numerous cultural evenings in the heart of this breathtaking metropolis being immersed in a Dastangoi session and another time, sipping my hot cup of coffee around a bonfire after a soul stirring play. Delhi is an emotion, a feeling of love and solace that I keep longing and yearning for till the knowledge of its existence stays buried safely deep inside my heart. DIL SE DILLI.

"The streets of Delhi are not mere streets ,they are like the album of a painter. Every figure I saw there was a model of perfection."

- Mir Taqi Mir.