I am, I am.
I remember living on top of Lalbazar, in one of two gigantic flats on the roof, in the mid-50s.
I remember my father, in full parade regalia, escorting the Governor, Padmaja Naidu, to the Republic Day parade down the Red Road in 1957.
I remember the fear of small grass snakes running over my feet in the massive bungalow in which we stayed in Jalpaiguri, on the join of the Teesta and the Karala.
I remember the jeep being stopped because a leopard was lying on the road, and in no mood to get off, returning from a very late party in Hashimara.
I remember the magic of Darjeeling in the 50s and 60s, when everyone from Calcutta turned up for 'the season', and you met all the people you knew in Keventer's, over milk shakes and sausage rolls, and where you went to read the old copies of Punch in the Planters' Club.
I remember seeing the Centenary Gold Cup polo finals in 1961, where a dashing Pakistani called Hesky Baig, a brigadier then, won the match for us against Ratanada Wanderers, in spite of their having the polo legend Hanut and his two sons, Bijay and Hari, playing for them.
I remember the elegant Jaipurs completely at home in Calcutta, on the polo fields in the middle of the Race Course, and Bhaya Cooch Behar asking a groom in the politest way,"Gaind dena, please".
I remember lots of things, all gone now.