The mileage points keep adding as I shuttle ( Oh so frequently ) between my temporary address and permanent address , the city of dreams ‘Amchi Mumbai ‘ and  the city of joy ‘Amar Kolkata’. In recent times I made a choice to live in two cities, Mumbai and Kolkata, alternately. I divided my time, house, books, furniture, wardrobe, kitchen, between the two homes I set up in the two metros. Since then I have been swinging like a pendulum between the two cities and feeling quite dizzy;  I have no one to blame for this situation but myself. Thus in this dizzy state of affairs I try to keep pace with the time machine I created for myself and here is my oscillating attempt to share the woes or wows of my experiences.

Like thousands of Indians who reach Mumbai with a dream, I too had one, a small one or so I thought at that point. My dream was to live by the sea and count the waves on a full moon night. Admittedly a very childish and ignorant dream of my incorrigible romantic mind. But dreams are dreams and they defy logic. Soon I learnt that in this city of dreams only two sections of people live by the sea,the rich and famous ( not so sure about the fame though ) and the fishing community. The latter sure keep count of the waves for their livelihood depends on the tides of sea , but the rich perhaps have no time to count waves. For the rest of us we live in busy narrow lanes and cross roads of suburban Mumbai mainland. We  live in  high towers, counting either a hefty rental or EMI each month, and the dream of counting waves soon get washed away. But on sudden days the smell of sea hits me and the sea breeze carelessly flirting with my  hair reminds me of the waves, the roars, the sand and my dream. I rush to the beaches of overcrowded, litter floating sand and sea, I see the setting sun in its glory and drive back home counting road bumps.

Home is reached even though the journey is bumpy and the google maps are busy locating my destination as Kolkata.  Kolkata is the city where I grew up, my building blocks of memories are from this city. I keep them tightly packed in a box called nostalgia. Years back I had moved out of Kolkata, I traveled and stayed in various smaller cities and towns of India. But like an umbilical cord the city kept pulling me back no matter how far I went. The bend of roads, meandering Hooghly, the iconic Howrah bridge, landmark Victoria memorial, familiar shops, road side eateries, schools, colleges, all hold the familiarity of home to me. The city landmarks change with time, new ones come up but the charm of the city still remains. In the years that went by Calcutta changed to Kolkata, and Bombay changed to Mumbai, but character and essence of these two old cities stood strong and unshakable in the hands of time.

Mumbai gives me the zeal to seize the day, this city challenges my hours and minutes. The  work culture of Mumbai inspires everyone who comes here, from the daily wage earner to the movers and shakers. The simple philosophy which operates in this crazy chaos of Mumbai is live and let live.  Kolkata on the other hand gives me the much sought passion for life. Kolkata people are passionate about almost everything, be it music, food, literature, football, cinema, politics, travel, education, the list goes on. But in context to business, finance, work culture, the laid back and casual attitude often disturbs me. Every second person on the streets of Kolkata has a political and social view point but in deliverance lies the problem. This I say with no disregard or prejudice to any individual, it is the sum up of a general feeling I often get myself and also hear from people around me.

NH 6, connecting Kolkata and Mumbai perhaps sees less traffic on an average day than the emotional traffic of my brain that keeps traveling everyday between Kolkata and Mumbai. In one city I have a home of my own ( keeping aside the transient thought for a while ) and in the other city I have an empty nest. In my city of joy I get lured by fish curry and strong Darjeeling tea. Together with friends and family we raise a storm of opinions warming both our heart and hearth. As quintessential Bengalis we are very opinionated and vociferous , whether politically correct or incorrect, adda holds the center stage. In Mumbai,life is more centered around work, making people a little impersonal and self centered. With everyone chasing some pursuit it is easy to feel lonely and left out in Mumbai. I long for both the cities simultaneously, I miss not being in one when I am in the other. A sense of being displaced chases me as I keep shuttling between Mumbai and Kolkata.

I feel amused with my confused love affair with my two cities. My taste buds, my musical ear, my choice of clothing , the languages I speak, the emotions I feel, are constantly torn between two choice. Sometimes I feel richer by this unique blend of two cultures within myself. With chameleonic ease I  change my personality as I shift between the two cultures.

Draped in a cotton sari, wearing large ear rings I attend a musical evening of rabindrasangeet in Kolkata. Where as in Mumbai I don’t dress particularly for any occasion, such is the pulse of the city. A very casual dress code defines my Mumbai style and a more elegantly dressed me defines my Kolkata style. But the woes of my divided wardrobe is very obvious.My wardrobe has suddenly thinned in size after this division of clothes between two homes. I remind myself that I must have had had more clothes than I could wear to begin with.  My pink churidar set is in Mumbai but the perfectly matching dupatta is resting in my Kolkata wardrobe. If my tussar sari is in Kolkata my blouse for the same will be in Mumbai . The smell of moth balls fills the air as I pack up each item in airlock zip bags, unsure of when they will next see the light of day.The brown heeled shoe smile back at me when I start looking for the black sandal. As I lace up my running shoes and start running in an illusionary attempt to bridge the gap between the two mile stones, I feel that distance is only a state of mind.

In my constant state of transit my taste buds stay happily busy and always wanting for more. From pani puri to phuchka, Mumbai bhel to Kolkata jhal muri, mishti doi to shreekhand, I am spoilt for choice. One can never have a favorite amongst the favorites. How can it be easy to chose between Aminia Biriyani and Berry Pulao from Britania !  Will I vote for Amar juice center against Badsha rolls, no. Both the cities delight me with mouth watering dishes. The confusion starts when I enter my own kitchen and start looking around for the pots and pans, spices and grains on the wrong shelf of the right pantry. I make meticulous grocery lists, or so I pride, soon to be ridiculously challenged by the mix up I make between my two kitchens. I buy what I think I need only to realize it is for my other home. Between my two kitchens I perhaps have enough stuff to open my own store, but ironically the needed stuff is never in the needed place. Thus these days when taste goes wrong I promptly blame the kitchen, not the chef. The chef scurries from the kitchen to a more favorable place, my library.

Our library too has not been spared from this divide and rule policy of mine. My children like me are absolute book lovers. They find it difficult to forgive me for having send more than half of their books to another home in another city. Kindle is still not an answer we are ready to accept. When I get the sudden urge to read Keats or Shelly ( yes some die hard romantics still read them )  or a novel of a particular author, my book shelf seems too far, too out of reach. The Internet is always an option but the pleasure of leafing through tea- brown pages of a book with memories attached to it cannot be imitated. Therefore we keep buying new books all over again, and wait for the pages to turn tea-brown. Like memories I keep adding books to my lives, for no matter where I choose to live  books shall always be my best friend.

There are other cities and other worlds where the sun and moon travels to, where the waves break on lonely shores and rivers flow under wooden bridges, someday I will go there. Till then I sit in my balcony looking up at the sky to catch a glimpse of the full moon between the high rise apartments. I remember my favorite moon chase game from my childhood. During long drives at night I would look up at the moon and wonder whether the moon was chasing us or were we chasing the moon ! Perhaps it is a little crazy counting waves and chasing moon between the city of joy and city of dreams , but it is a blissful lunacy which keeps me swaying like a pendulum. Both Kolkata and Mumbai enrich me, my nomadic life and my two beautiful homes. This is my ‘ Tale of two cities’ .