A whirlwind trip it was. First to India. Bombay. Land of rickety "volvo" buses, rustic rest stops, deep fried samosas, and high inducing too-strong chai.
"Bisleri or Sada pani, Maam?"
There is a different rhythm to the city as buses, cows, chickens, cars, and people run or walk or sit and tell the stories of their lives, all at once. Dark heads, glowing faces, musky air, women on bikes--sorry, motorcycles--people singing, drinking, living, breathing and dying on the streets, behind those brilliant magenta curtains in that alleyway, there, here, everywhere. The land of Big B, the glitz and glam of Bollywood, "Pyaar ka Signal" on the radio and under that yellow awning, Scotch, Wine and Whiskey at every corner while children sell stale popcorn and marigolds on the streets.
And then it was the delicate shade of the jasmine trees and the towering magnificence of banana groves that nestled among them a sweet little bunglow that had, overnight, come alive; eyes watered with lack of sleep as fingers fumbled and blistered in awe and submission to Raag Jhinjhoti. "Will we ever make it, tell me."
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In Dhaka I grew. Literally at first, until I had to sadly, marginally, control my sweet consumption. Soaked up a lot of history, food, love and pollution which gave me a sore throat the first week. Got yelled at, at 23, for taking a CNG all by my un-maleescorted lonesome, even after having traipsed, if not the world, atleast North America by myself since I was 15. Spongy Roshogollas made my heart grow cold, but this is a good thing when you say it in Bangla. Became alarmingly familiar with the staff at a food court shop at Bashundhara City for their "Espresso Coffee." Shopped till we dropped; jewellery, paintings, nakshikathas, and the clothes, oh the clothes! Dawats and parties galore--so much love we didn't know what to do with it. Felt so grounded, like this is where I come from, these pale green walls still echo our laughter, and the epics of our childhood huddle in the bosom of that coconut tree. I feel as though I've come back older and wiser somehow--so cliche, isn't it?
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London. Everything seemed squished up and a little bit taller, except the people, as N said. Georgeous accents that made me want to swoon, just this once (the melodramatist in me, you understand, despite how hard I try to deny it), and to reserve a spot for a boy on my dance card--if only! Having gone there for a conference, I didn't get to do ANY sightseeing, but the music was sublime so it made up for it.
Better luck next time, I guess, depending on how you look at it.
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Labels: Bangladesh, India, London, Music, Travel
