Salt Lake

Chapter 1: Arrival at Dada’s PG – A New Beginning

Salt Lake, Kolkata—a place where dreams intertwined with reality, where friendships were forged in the dimly lit corridors of shared living spaces. For us, it was more than just an address; it was the backdrop of some of the most cherished years of our lives.

When I, Rahat, first stepped into Dada’s PG, I had little idea of the family I was about to inherit. The old building, with its creaky wooden staircase and peeling paint, carried an undeniable charm. It was home to a group of young men bound not by blood but by circumstance and an unspoken bond of brotherhood.

Dewang, the ever-energetic prankster, ensured that no day was dull. Pradayut Bhai (PD), our wise guardian, always had a solution to every problem. Biplob, Chandan, and Manoranjan were the heart of our adventures, turning mundane moments into unforgettable memories. Rajshekhar Bhaiya, the eldest, remained the silent observer, offering wisdom when we least expected it. Sandy Bhai and Randheer completed our circle, each bringing their own quirks to this vibrant chaos.

Chapter 2: The Everyday Madness of PG Life

Living in Dada’s PG was a lesson in survival. Mornings were a mad rush—scrambling for the bathroom, throwing on mismatched clothes, and grabbing whatever food was left in the kitchen. The small dining hall bore witness to heated debates, from cricket matches to politics, and of course, the eternal question—who would do the dishes?

Lunch was often skipped in favor of roadside food, a decision we would regret later when hunger pangs struck at midnight. The fridge was a communal asset, though an unwritten rule ensured that anything stored was fair game for everyone.

Chapter 3: The Nightlife and Our Love for Egg Rolls

Salt Lake’s nights had a rhythm of their own. Sector V remained awake with the hum of IT professionals and the glow of late-night offices, but for us, the true magic unfolded on the quiet streets where life slowed down just enough for us to breathe.

Egg roll stalls were our haven. There was something poetic about watching the vendor expertly crack an egg onto a sizzling paratha, layering it with spiced chicken, fresh onions, and a dash of lime. It wasn’t just food; it was comfort, a ritual that bonded us together. No matter how broke we were, there was always enough to share an egg roll or a plate of momos.

Tea stalls became our late-night conference rooms. With a cup of chai in hand, we discussed our future, our failures, and sometimes, just meaningless chatter that stretched till dawn. Some nights, we played football in the empty streets, our laughter echoing into the quiet.

Chapter 4: Love, Laughter, and the Girls’ PG

Right across the street was the Girls’ PG—an enigma that held our curiosity and, for some, their hearts. Glances exchanged from balconies, secret notes passed through friendly chaiwalas, and occasional chance meetings on the pretext of borrowing notes—all part of the unwritten script of our youthful romance.

Rahat’s love story was the most dramatic, whispered about in PG corridors like a legendary tale. A love nurtured through stolen moments and hushed phone calls, its fate remained uncertain but was thrilling nonetheless. Pradayut Bhai, ever the poet, found companionship in a girl who shared his love for Tagore’s verses. Biplob and Chandan, in their own attempts, had moments of laughter and heartache—one infamous episode involved Chandan pretending to be a guitarist to impress someone, only to be caught red-handed when asked to perform.

But love, for us, was not just about romance—it was about friendship, about caring for each other through heartbreaks and teasing each other mercilessly afterward.

Chapter 5: The Final Days and the Promise of Forever

Time, like everything else, moved faster than we expected. One by one, we left Dada’s PG, stepping into different phases of life. Some moved for jobs, some for further studies, and others in search of new adventures. The once-noisy halls grew quieter, the familiar chaos replaced by nostalgia.

On our last night together, we gathered on the terrace, looking out over the twinkling lights of Salt Lake. The air was thick with unspoken emotions, a realization that this chapter was closing but that our story would never truly end. We laughed, we reminisced, and we promised to stay connected—because no matter where life took us, we would always carry a part of Dada’s PG within us.

Salt Lake was not just a place; it was a feeling, a memory, a home we shared. And whenever we’d take a bite of an egg roll or hear the distant call of a chaiwala, we’d remember—the nights spent together, the friendships built, and the brotherhood that time could never erase.

Written By Rahat

Published By : The Uncommon Stories Of India

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