There are cities you visit. And then there are cities that sit inside you like unfinished conversations. Reading Kolkata Ø KM by Swati Bhattacharyya felt less like turning pages and more like wandering through a house of echoes. Not haunted in a loud, theatrical way. Haunted the way memory is — soft-footed, patient, persistent. This is not a book that rushes. It lingers. It circles. It asks you to sit with moments most of us hurry past. What stayed with me most was the
