by Rajat Chaudhuri
It was certainly a chance encounter and an odd one at that. How old would I have been then? Not much, having just scrambled through Part I of my grad school exams–if I could somehow repeat the feat with Part II, I would be a free bird. The wisdom of economists (Economics was my Honours subject) went miles above my muddled brains, and bunking classes I watched Hollywood flicks. At dusk, I trawled the market street of Hatibagan, hoping to catch a naughty hint in the glancing looks of progressive ladies who came shopping without their men and at first light, driven by a fancy, I would be attending French classes in the musty-smelling halls of the Alliance française de Calcutta.