E-rummaging through old Calcutta bin

E-rummaging. Through old letters on an email acoount. Excerpts from an email sent after I had moved out of Kolkata, my home, for the first time, six years back.

hi,

bol ki khobor. r u in calcutta? man,i'm so jealous!!! anything that's slightly kolkata in colour and bangla in taste seems so good now. the name "calcutta" sounds like straight out of a black n white hollywood classic, where i travel on the red road on a cloudy sunday morning, in an old tram, sucking on orange lozenzes bought from a chirpy 10 year-old. i stand on the footboard for the last part of the journey, feeling the wind, as the tram makes it's way towards khiddirpore. i get down, buy a bhutta, and start walking along the tree-lined street named after a doctor. maybe he was an old man in a white coat and a white beard, with a hearty laugh, and treated poor people for free. maybe not. anyway, i walk past the old, dusty houses, some of which have space for gardens in the front, gardens which don't exist anymore. the houses stand splendid in dust and rust. i finally walk up three short steps and knock on the door of a similiar house, which is slightly ajar, and i enter. the man in the room sits talking to one of his students. he is a musician and has a few students. i take a seat at the back of the room. somebody asks him about bluegrass. he starts playing. the room is dimly lit and filled with music. i close my eyes and listen. he starts playing a different tune, playing chords and notes at the same time, something very jazzy. he suddenly stops laughs and says,"this is for the gin and lime mood...in a new york club." and i sit fascinated - what IS this music?

Here's a rum and coke to you.