Orissan Rhapsody

My original stay here was supposed to be for 3 days- and then a trip back. It was Ritu’s birthday on the 1st. Instead, now, I am going back on the 10th- a day before Mantosh’s arrival to Kolkata. When I came here, I carried with me The Bancroft Strategy and little else. Luckily Antz came down here, and I went across to her place to meet her. There, I procured two books (borrowed feathers) which are not available in Bhubaneshwar as far as the eye can see- Wodehouse’s Empress of Blandings, and another of Jeeves’ inimitable adventures with his sidekick Bertie (so I’d like to think).
Never did I think that re-reading about that exquisite porcine creature called the Empress of Blandings would give me so much pleasure. It filled out the little voids that I was feeling everyday- of going back to my hotel room and surfing through a multitude of Oriya channels. The fifty-seven-thousand-odd calories that a pig is supposed to consume consumed me. That is what happens in a city like Bhubaneshwar- no Baristas, no malls, searing heat, and little else.
Work has been a bitch for a while now. For reasons best known to the powers-that-be, I am going through one of the most trying periods of my work tenure- which, as it happens, is about to end in less than a month now. I shall be off to Budapest for my LLM in August (for the uninitiated that happens to be the capital of Hungary) and I need time to wrap up my personal stuff as well.
Staying away from the family for such an extended period of time has given me a newfound sense of longing for the homefront. I am dreading going back home to the yelping dogs, complaining mother, and passive smoking but even if you pay me a gazillion bucks, it is not going to stop me from going back to the wagging tails, the warm hugs, and dad’s wisecracks.
One thing that has helped in my surviving the boredom and borderline depression is my Little Calcutta- Oxford Bookstores. The familiar red wallpaper, the green bookshelves, the Cha Bar, the fancy kettles, and, above all, the books! If this city is starved of anything, its books, by which I don’t mean studybooks. The Lord above knows how many stores there are here to aid the IITJEE training centres and so on- but hardly any store which sells good books. This time round, twice, I landed up buying Alexander McCall Smith, instead of (the first time) Shashi Tharoor, and (the second time) Marquez. Mma Ramotswe, with her infinite good sense has never been a let-down. She gives you a sense of what is right and wrong in a way which only a Botswanian could.
It reminds me of an erstwhile India- where your wealth was judged by the number of fat cows you had (and that does NOT refer to the number of well-fed women in your harem), where you ran a car till it died of old age, where typewriters used to click-clack down office corridors instead of the tick-tick of computer keypads. No, I don’t miss using typewriters. I miss that pace. Who would have ever thought that Calcutta would actually start moving faster than mere Ambassador Cars?
Yet, despite all that, the chat sessions over tea and coffee (the number of CCDs and Baristas more or less account for the one trait of the bygone eras which has stuck around) continue. People actually spend a fair amount of dough over a cuppa outside their homes. I was struck by a statement by one of my colleagues recently at a hotel in Bolangir. She was surprised that a cup of (really nice) coffee there could cost as much as 6 rupees! That was what made me feel- our capacity to spend 60-70 bucks over a passing cup of caffeine without batting an eyelid is, despite most comparisons, somewhat of a progress.

Enough ramblings. This is what the Orissan heat does to you. Enjoy!

PS- My ticket for the 9th night train is done..I shall be back to the City of Joy on the 10th and Mantosh is going to be there on the 11th.. YAAAAAAY!