I have just wrapped up my work. It's late in the night, or rather early in the morning. I come down slowly down the flight of steps. Generally, I expect to see Kolkata at night with its lights and darkness, hiding the dirt and poverty, and lending a glamour and desolation to this city. Today I expect something new, since it is way beyond the hours when decent people roam around.

The car is waiting and so is Arindam. We start off towards Sealdah. The rains have just washed the earth lending a newly found freshness to the air. There are puddles on the road and as the car cuts through the water, splashes it on the grass alongside the road.

I am tired. The day has been long but fulfilling. The relief is evident and shared by the trees swaying contentedly in the night, freshened by the rains. The roads are silent, not a soul around. A few dogs have started mating and their quarrels over the bitch continue.

We take a secluded road from Chingrighatta. The area is lined with small cottages on one side and a long lake on the other. "The level of the water has increased," Arindam remarks and we talk about water and fish and the beauty of Kolkata. The road is long and lonely, like a path in the woods. There appears a huge stone right at the centre of the road - it has been there for many days, Arindam remarks, and nobody has bothered to move it away. Vehicles detour past it.

The solitary travel of our car is getting on my nerves a bit. And when I cannot control it any longer, the lane joins a main road. We turn left onto a bridge. The lights have increased as the trains below the bridge tell me that Sealdah railway station is nearby. The light from the trains appears very bleak from over the bridge and the interiors quite dark. I am unable to make out if there are any people inside the trains. Sealdah bears a deserted look, but looks cleaner than Howrah.

Just after that, we turn into M.G. Road. M.G. Road appears completely different at night. People sleeping on the footpath are huddled under the portico of some Victorian building that provides shelter from the rain. In the absence of rains, they would have been spread out on the footpaths like the thousands of others elsewhere in Kolkata. Rains must have all these people in a cursing mood, especially when it comes so late as to spoil their sleep.

The driver, a Bihari, tells me in chaste Hindi how difficult it is for these people who live on the footpaths. I ask him what do they do when it rains. He said that they would have already made some 'jugad' (for the uninitiated, jugad is 'setting') and must have got some rooms or the other where they can crowd in at nights.

We reach Arindam's home. He gets down. I ask the driver to proceed to Hajra. He takes me through College Street - unrecognisable amidst the closed shops and the empty footpaths; we bump along the tram tracks running right in the middle of the long road. Just ahead we join the Rafi Ahmed Kidwai Road and suddenly I feel I am back in Mumbai at night. Many open shops, either satisfying the hunger of a weary traveller, or washing out the day's dirt as they neared the end of the day. The road reminds me of Muhammed Ali Road in Mumbai. The same predominantly Muslim appearance, late running hotels and the hustle and bustle late in the night.

Soon we cross Park Street - dead offices and lonely roads. Some pimps at a corner, and some stray dogs. I am reminded of a couple of lines of a poem by Gopalprasad Dwivedi:

Kalkatte ke foothpathon par, bhooki ganga geharati thi,
Bacchi mata ke hathon se, tukadon par bechi jati thi…

I am appalled at this reminiscence, for some unknown reason.

As we take Theatre Road, a few cars coming from Chowringhee suddenly break the eerie darkness, blinding me for a split second with their headlights. Camac Street is fast asleep - those with homes in their homes, those without on the footpath.

Finally we are onto Lansdowne Road as we pass from Central Kolkata to South Kolkata. Again there is a hustle bustle - a few dhabas open, men loitering on the roads in lungis, torn short vests unable to hide their overgrown stomachs, bidis in their mouths. The difference in the ambience could be felt. Lansdowne Road is comforting.

I am home.

The whole journey took me around 45 minutes, but the changes in the surroundings made me feel utterly romantic about it. The path along the forests till Sealdah, then the poverty and liveliness of Rafi Ahmed Kidwai Road, the haunting feeling on Park Street, the silence of Camac street and finally the comfort of Lansdowne Road.

So many different faces of Kolkata, so little time to savour them.

In the end, I did not really mind the late hours at work. Rather I felt as if Kolkata was lending me company in my solitary travel.
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