"Kemon acho, didi?" I swirled around in surprise, keen to find out who had decided to greet me in Bangla, as I had stepped out of Netaji Subhas Bose airport in Calcutta [sorry, we prefer the old name]. It was my designated taxi driver; we booked a pre-paid all-yellow Ambassador taxi. The mustachioed 'dada' [every man who isn't your partner or husband can safely be called this in the city; likewise for 'didi'] hailed our luggage with a smile as we headed to his parked vehicle. Oh, and yes, I did manage a "Bhaalo achi, dada," despite the 14-year-long gap since my last visit.

In fact, our welcomes had begun immediately after we had landed. There was a calming portrait of Mother Teresa, greeting visitors to the city she called home. Christmas carols to the tune of Rabindrasangeet filled the airport's interiors, and then came the biggest of them all - a mega poster of the state's chief minister was smiling so hard at us, that we wondered what big surprise was in store. She didn't disappoint.