Life, or something close to it.

It may seem preposterous and presumptuous to attempt to write about a diverse a city as Kolkata having spent less than a month with her. I was no more than a guest, the kind she receives in hundreds and thousands every day, maybe a little more than a tourist. But she holds in her arms, friends from my memorable past. Friends who helped me discover a small part of this wonderful city. And she, even in that very small portion, holds enough charm to captivate me and make me write this shameful love letter, a confession my hopeless adoration.
She is not perfect, not by a long way. It’s hotter in mid-October than how hot it is in mid-July back home. The city is crowded in the morning. The city is crowded in the afternoon. The city is crowded in the night. The wrath of the traffic Gods can extend a twenty minute long journey by infinity. She is beset by all the ailments a modern city has to endure, an off-shoot of urbanization. But the way she perseveres through, finding a balance between confusion that is prevalent and the order that is necessary is admirable. She thrives in this chaotic harmony.
She is a picture of diversity, a symbol of variety. She is an amalgam of every nuance of human emotion. She is not without fault, she is not without virtues. She is a rainbow, painted in the colors of the lives of her children. Her children who each in their way offer a short musical verse, which when heard unaccompanied seems rather misplaced, but when put together (sometimes asynchronously) the song of passion that ensues renders Kolkata vibrant and she comes alive. She is a symphony. She is a Goddess.
And when my friend says, that this picture that I have fooled myself into believing is a sham, that I haven’t seen how horrible she can really be, he is right. Someday, I would like to meet her again and suffer the cruelty of her wrath, if that’s what it takes to know her better. But now, when I think of her it’s with nothing but fondness. The times I spent with her were rapturous. The memories I have are all filled with joy and radiance. And when I reminisce, it’s of days that overflowed with an imperfect bliss. That is, until I remember the morning I had to leave her. That day all I felt was the bitter pain of departure, the heartbreak of a good-bye. And as I bid her a plaintive farewell, I couldn’t help but resent all of those who would continue to receive her love tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that, while I had to hopelessly accept that this goodbye meant the end to our affair. A goodbye I had hoped, wished, willed and even almost prayed would stay away. But there were none to listen. An abrupt goodbye that was unfair, unjust and unkind. A goodbye that was unavoidable.