Reveries

                                      Blurring Bounds               

I sit outside Chicago’s famous Art Institute. Exhausted after a hectic city tour, my mind teems with images of ancient and contemporary art and architecture. This city has turned the most mundane of objects into architectural splendours. A massive circular edifice houses a set of residential and commercial apartments and is fittingly called the Corn Cob. Whimsical steal webs conceal state-of-the-art sound systems, forming a sprawling outdoor auditorium at the heart of Millennium Park. 

Inside the Art Institute intricate neoclassical sculptures, opulent furniture and fantastically designed paper weights encapsulate centuries of human achievement. One is delighted, and awestruck by the marvels around. As I sit musing, the wealth of experience gathered over the last two days weighs down on me. And the "windy city" ironically feels devoid of air. 

Suddenly my reverie is punctured. “Would you like a paper, miss? Just a quarter”. I look up to find a dark man - a weary grin pasted on a sweaty face - his tired muscles almost refusing to stretch into a smile. “No, thank you!” I blurt out instinctively. The smile melts away – he drags his weary legs down the steps and accosts another man. This time he tries a little joke. The man laughs, shakes his hand but buys no paper. I see the lines on the dark man’s face deepen until they seem sculpted into his countenance – as fixed as the ones on the statues I gazed at the Art Institute. I wait in anticipation; fearful, that those lips will not peel back next time to reveal a set of white teeth – the forced signs of politeness will desert the man for the day. 

As his tired, intermittent grins gradually settle into a grimace, a lump begins to form in my throat. My eyes blur and the images become indistinct. I hear the dull roar of traffic punctuated by shrill honking. A shrivelled palm is thrust in front of me and a snot-covered child looks up whining for alms. “Sorry! No change!”, I exclaim and walk on. Her litany follows me down the familiar arcade on Park Street until it is drowned in the usual Kolkata bustle. 

A cold breeze stings my face and I can taste the brine at the corner of my mouth. I find myself back on the wide, clean steps of Chicago Art Institute. My eyes scan past the hobbling figure on the sidewalk to settle on a huge, middle-aged woman seated on the ledge of a shop-window. The empty McDonald’s cup looks absurdly small in her enormous hands. She could almost be a comic character out of a Disney animation movie until she thrusts the cup out at a passerby, asking “Got any change?” Some people dole out a few coins; some a pitying smile, while others do not even spare her a glance. Strangely enough, the triangular recycling sign hovers before my eyes. I hear distant voices – “Recycle plastic cups, recycle glass bottles – save the environment”. The chant has become all too familiar ever since I came to the US. But this woman gives a new import to recycling. I wonder if the environment-friendly people thought of this option.

City landmarks along Chicago river (top)
Skyscrapers by Lake Michigan (bottom)

The Chicago skyscrapers glisten against a blue summer sky. Huge flowerpots line the sidewalks while plush cars whizz by. It is a far cry from the busy, potholed streets of Kolkata with its snail-paced traffic. But I am not dazzled anymore. Chicago has lost the “glory and freshness of a dream”. Yet it has left something else in its wake – a strange intimacy. I am not a tourist anymore. I know the hobbling newspaperman, I know the beggar-woman, I know the callous passerby. I know the HUMAN FACE. The "windy city" has indeed lived up to its name, sweeping boundaries away. I suck in the cold air – long and deep. 
And . . .  FEEL . . . FREE!