Calcutta: Where time stops by for a cup of chai

I was gliding across the endless sands that form my realm.

I came across a river, a river in the midst of nowhere. A thousand beautiful stars sparkled in its calm rippling waters. I walked along its silent shores.

I saw a small shanty. An old man came up to me as I reached it.

“Cha Dadasaheb?”

I had a sip of the golden liquid. I sat there by the shores of the river and I watched.

I saw destiny. I saw three lost ships create ripples on the quiet river waters. I saw a different race come onto the tranquil shores. I saw a new age being created. I saw the foundations of a marvel in the heart of a village.

I saw destruction. I saw the ancients of the East clash with the guns of the West. I saw blood spill. I saw brothers kill as a forced annulment separated they who had been at peace. I saw the homeless weep with the endless.

I saw death. I saw a whole nation weep as one man died in his quest for freedom in a land far far away. I saw the death of a patriot who had dared to dream. I saw the death of a million hopes with him. I saw denial.

I saw delight turn into delirium, as a hundred thousand strong ocean of humanity come together to make the heavens reverberate with their emphatic roar. I saw modernity meld into the primeval as the carnal emotions of a repressed race vent their passions on the splendid greens.

I saw despair. I saw generations lost in the quest of the meaning. I saw the tears and the blood as unrest dwelt. I saw a sea of misguided souls come back home.

I saw desire. I saw the desire in the faces of hungry children. I saw the desire in the eyes of visitors in the face of a delectable cuisine. I saw the desire reflected in the eyes of young disciples, I saw the desire sparkle in the eyes of old docents. I saw the desire to succeed, to leave behind a past of destruction.

And I saw a dream. I saw a city that accepts all that beg for its shelter. I saw a city of immaculate timing. I saw a city of green. I saw a city of the future in the shadow of the marble monuments of the past. I saw modernity blend with the coffee and pakodas of the roadside rok.

“Dada, aar ekta cha?”

I was woken from my reverie by the same old man. I looked around. I was in a white room, its walls decorated with pictures of many of the faces I had seen.

I smiled.

“Na.”

As I walked out of the India Coffee House, the hot dusty wind of summertime Calcutta stung me.

It’s good to be home.