A place I call Home

The dreamy yellow glow cast upon the roads by the halogen lights, the shabby little shanty tea stall encroached a pedestrian walk burning out its last fire before closure for the night, pavement dwellers crowded on the pavements on a misty winter night, endless banners of crunchy milk biscuits, and real life heroes in movies, and ‘brigade chalo’ announcements for political march, spread across everywhere. There is a perfect blend of shabby yet organised, of old yet thriving new, of immensely crowded and throbbing with life. Anyone who has given their heart to this city of warmth, heritage, belonging, would know. Something magically intoxicating, that lets you unwind you and although you complain, yet feel like you never want to leave. She casts her charm on everyone, with the serene and silent Ganges, the horse-drawn tourist carts shuttling across the road circumfereing the majestic Victoria memorial, the ringing of the tram bells, and the sound of the revving of the engines of the several hundreds of rickety yellow taxis and public buses. There is some magnet, which draws the lovers of heritage, of food, of warmth, and of celebrations of festivities to this city.

I love to be proud to call her my home. A city of charm, heritage, and never ending enigma. This City of Joy, Kolkata.

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