The Aila flirted with Calcutta all of yesterday, and cleverly passed her by for meatier victims. And left behind urban heartbreak residue. Almost as if this was symbolic of political knots that are being undone and retied. Winds whistled in smug abandon since wee hours of the morning. Clothes battled the frontiers of clotheslines. Panes clung onto the succour of panels. Some broke. Chai flowed through networks of desire. Newspaper and internet kept up a remote semblance of sanity. News of casualties of human, tree and electric pole navigated with the wind. To add to the titillation. The middle-class quivered on an overdose of sensation. Text messages of concern and fear mixed with excitement circulated. I tried watching two halves of movies. But the howl outside made Hitchcock's Rebecca appear naive. Somewhat annoying. All is sunshine this morning. The newspaper man seems to have caved in.