Cities do breathe with life as well!

The other day, I was flipping through the November issue of the newly-launched Nat-Geo Traveller India. An extremely unique story, an article about the amount of life and soul that exist in cities- notwithstanding all the 'squalor' and 'corruption' people complain of- really caught my fancy. I wondered, indeed so. I was born and have lived in a city all my life, but I never came to realize this. Maybe because a city- especially an Indian one- doesn't have all the Switzerland-esque qualities that makes all the world's tourists and film crews rush to those spots. But these 'spots of life and soul' in cities not-so-beautiful do exist- in pockets that is. It may be a lake, an open parkland, a promenade, a coffee shop- but you always end up finding one of such spots, no matter wherever you are.

In the aforementioned issue, there was a mention of Bhopal's Iqbal Maidan, named after the Urdu poet Allama Iqbal. A small square in one of the more congested areas of Bhopal. The level of activity out there really caught my fancy. Chessboards are kept spread out- anyone interested may sit down for a game with a local resident, discuss about the game and other worldly affairs, enjoy a cup of tea provided by your host, meet people, talk, discuss, interact, laugh- all of which reminded me of a Bengali phrase, 'manusher milonmela' (a congregation of humanity), no less. Plus the lanes around the square with a perennial aroma of betel leaves and Biriyani- irresistible!

All of which takes me back to my hometown- Calcutta. A city where the British colonial culture rings aloud to this day, perhaps more than anywhere else in India. Where the bourgeoisie still prefer to call taxis as 'cabs', keeping with British traditions. A walk down the Park Street is a perfect testimony to the fact. It still is one of my favourite haunts in the whole of Calcutta. Not that the colonial air attracted me, but the food did, considering the glutton I am. Walking down the left side of the street, at first you shall encounter the modest looking facade of the Park Hotel, the ground floor of which hosts a phenomenal amount of activity. The Trincas, almost a century old restaurant, with its pool tables, where, never mind the cops sniffing around, matches at high stakes are played out almost everyday, and the jazz and blues played live surely shall take one back to the 60s and 70s, where you can almost imagine a young Anjan Dutt or a fledgling Usha Uthup enthralling audiences. Then there exists the iconic Indian Coffee House at College Street- albeit notorious for an underbelly of Left-wing extremism since the 1960s- where people would sit around square-shaped tables and discuss and argue for hours, with a cup of tea or coffee for company. Never mind the topics of discussion, though. They may range anything from Sachin Tendulkar's footwork to a recent political hot potato. But be rest assured of one thing- all arguments will end on an amicable note.

When we the city dwellers learn to discover this sweet focus of energy, the warmth, and ultimately, a sweet fragrance amongst all the squalor, we shall feel connected to this huge urban organism, and shall instinctively understand the giddy and amazing joyfulness of being in a city..