One constant was that I would NOT, NOT, NOT, stay in Barrackpore all my life. I mean, I felt that while Barrackpore would be absolutely lovely to COME BACK TO, with its meandering Ganges river, and its crumbling colonial buildings, and its duck-ponds, and green shades, and the familiar comforts of home...I DREAMT OF LIVING ELSEWHERE.
THAT ELSEWHERE WOULD BE UNFIXED, VAGUE, CHANGING WITH WHATEVER BOOK I WOULD BE READING AT THE MOMENT.
It could be Kolkata...which in my childhood dreams had a buzz and bustle that was was belied in reality.
It could be Delhi or Mumbai ... cities that mattered, that were important in the media, that attracted dwellers from all over the country.
It could be London or New York or Los Angelos...places glamourised in the fiction I devoured vicariously.
It could be anywhere but the still centre that was Barrackpore.
WHEN YOU WERE YOUNG, WHERE DID YOU THINK OF LIVING WHEN YOU GREW UP.