Rivalries and Memories

Valentine's Day is customarily celebrated on 14th February, but there is an alternative date for it. I don't think it's a universal alternative, but it's definitely applicable to Bengalis. I refer, of course, to Saraswati puja, whenever it is observed.

It is a known fact that Valentine's Day will be strictly monitored by various people. Therefore, during this festival, innumerable lovebirds dress up surprisingly well and then go out to meet their 'friends', if you get my meaning. More often than not, yellow is the preferred colour to wear and spikes are the preferred hairstyle for boys. Only one of these is a good choice; your guess is as good as mine.

There are several cities which have veritable mazes due to the layout of their streets. These are a joy to explore, but a terror to get lost in. I don't know about Delhi's streets, or Lucknow's, but I do know about Calcutta and a little bit about its streets. I don't mean this colloquially, mind you. 

You won't find these mazes in Park Street or in south Calcutta as much as you'll find them in the north. The street will rarely be able to accommodate two cars abreast, but somehow, they manage to accommodate the entire para's population when they descend to the streets at the end of Durga Puja.

There is very little which these streets haven't seen or heard. This includes abuse, declarations of love, scenes, ecstasy and more. If they could speak, they'd tell you how a dog jumped off the roof of a 3-storey house. (It's said that a ghost pushed the dog, but nobody knows for sure) 

Or maybe about the time they saw the police come and arrest a criminal who was hiding in the attic of one of the houses. Or the time there was yet another argument between a lady and her mother-in-law. (It was about who should cook the fish, nothing serious) 

In one of these streets, around one of these corners, you'll find an art school, which also teaches music and dance. They're not the Berlin Philharmoniker, but they've got more to offer than they advertise. There are very few, if any, people who have not attended such a school when they were children.

Regrettably, once the pressure of studies hits them, they have to let go of some of these weekly classes. Not all, but quite a few. Nevertheless, they can always say that they attended so-and-so art school, where so-and-so were taught. Those were wonderfully carefree times, and there are few reasons why people wouldn't want to relive it all.

These streets are usually the birthplace of many an age-old rivalry. The origin story of such rivalries is often shrouded in the mists of youthful ignorance and hot-headedness, but they are just as engrossing and enduring as those of Marvel villains. A bit more funny, maybe, but still deadly.

In such neighbourhoods, the same person may be known by more than one name, which vary from childish nicknames to reminders of some ancient goofup. There is, however, one golden rule here. If the ball you hit goes into someone's house, you have to go and get it. No exceptions.

If the house happens to belong to the crankiest person imaginable, then there's a special addendum. You go to the house, ring the bell and listen to them berate you for as long as it takes one of your friends to clamber onto their roof and get the ball. Since the terraces have barely any separation, it's not falling that's dangerous; it's getting caught.

I've been part of fewer of these scrapes than I'd like to admit, but I've definitely seen more than you'd think. I've rambled enough for now; it's time to get some rest. Take care, everyone, and stay safe. Adios!