Holding back that which we want to let out of our chest probably needs the right socio-temporal space, and probably the right amount of alcohol.
Old Calcutta has been a home to many a familiar face we don’t seem to recall in our daily conversations. Their connotation to Calcutta is as enthusing to the kaleidoscopic ethos of this city as it is to their personality.
The only strain of history we retain is a pathetically manipulated one.
Barrie immortalised the memory of his brother into the identity of Peter and persevered, even compelled him to be an eternal representation of the same.
“We’re storytellers,” she’d say pragmatically, “we have a glorious burden of upholding an identity so intrinsic to Calcutta whether it belongs Derozio or Satyajit Ray.”