My father got an on-job transfer to Kolkata when I was 10. I grew up in a swampy neighborhood, presently part of South Calcutta, in the early 90s. Situated along the final frontier of city lines the place, thankfully, was not lucrative enough for the prying eyes of real-estate promoters. It remained like that for a while till the metro lines extended there.
Until then we enjoyed the fruits of a deeply green neighborhood occasionally interrupted with stunning scarlets and gold blossoms of gulmohars. Luscious mangoes, papayas and guavas grew around the perimeter of almost every house and bloomed equally magnificent seasonal flowers at every turn of roads in the area.
The most memorable and prized feature that remains unchanged till date is the sizable wetland area adjacent to our house which sheltered a variety of fish, birds and insects. Ducks, herons and kingfishers were a common sight and spotting them was an engaging game for me and my brother. I left this place 15 years ago but never separated from it.
I return every year to find that the place has aged much better than I have. Irrespective of the rapid concrete intervention, the resolute greens have found their ways to thrive without complaints, retaining some of the original character of the place. Some greens just grow without a care and I see it as the gentlest revolt against urbanization.
Spotted these abandoned vehicles on my usual morning walking route and felt they deserved a dignified goodbye from their owner. However, there too the creepers took charge and buried the unsightly metallic skeleton in a natural green cover.
