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I see glimpses of it now and then…a quick brush of colour, a flash and then nothing. It is not a place I have ever stayed in, visited or even seen. Maybe it doesnt exist. I mean of course it doesnt exist. And yet I know it does…just the same way you KNOW you meant to hurt with those words even though you say sorry. Its a house…maybe a flat. Not too big, lots of light, lots of shadows. Cool blue cottony colours…splashes of red and orange…this is the Fabindia hangover of our generation I guess.
It is definitely in calcutta…not in the area where I grew up… the busy exciting so-called ‘heart of town’. This is in some leafy by-lane…muted sounds of main-road traffic…very clean, flowers, old-ish houses but not shabby. I cant place the part of town…and in calcutta you have to always always do that…it defines to a great extent who you are – or at least how you are perceived.
Is it possible to be nostalgic about something you have never really experienced? and maybe dont even want to – I like luxury too much. But it has silent expectant afternoons that make your heart beat faster…blinds drawn shut and patterns of light on the floor where the sun seeps in. The memory (is it a memory if you’ve never seen it?) is both disturbing and calming. I hope I never find it.

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