Calcutta

This post carries a piece I wrote after my trip of December 2009 

How long I have wanted to go to Calcutta; from before it became Kolkatta!  I recalled discussing with Yash (more than once) the urge to re-visit 'childhood moments'. Both of us have been brought up in a section of the city as we incidentally realized over one of our tele-conversations. 


This sudden and unplanned trip was certainly not uncalled for. Roshni and I landed at the airport and as I sipped coffee I glanced at the yellow taxis through the glass panes. In addition to my almost continuous banter on Calcutta since we got aware to the possibility of the trip also recalled our conversation on taxis during her call from the very venue few months ago. Taste of the apple-juice greeted my senses at the airport. Airport was far from our home then and I used to have apple-juice each time I visited it with papa, to receive his official guests. The taxi started, large hoardings and high-rise buildings appeared and I went into a silent mode.

My eyes scampered through the window panes and attempted to make sense of the signboards and kilometre stones. Salt Lake and Science City, both of which I have no personal recollection of, but have heard of from friends, passed by. The stadium at Salt Lake I recalled as having read boasted of a capacity greater than that of Eden Gardens! While Rahul had recently shared of a happy visit to the Science City. We moved further and crossed the junction that has the zoo. I recalled pestering papa every other Sunday morning for a visit; an integral part of which was taking chana for my favourite monkey cage in a black coloured roll of a box that once served as a cover for a photo film. While I smiled as I realized feeding animals at zoos is wrong and illegal I wondered if those visits laid the foundation for my inclinations and actions today.

A sign-board said Kiderpore followed with a large left pointing arrow and I recalled visit to an uncle’s house in the locality. How frequently we visited that friend of papa’s I do not recall but associated with him are recollections of happily accompanying him on his Bullet atop the red fuel tank. Our ride to Jokha via Behala took almost 2 hours. Enroute we saw a tram; blue, moving with the grace of an elephant. I told Roshni how I like it and wished it would be preserved as a part of our heritage; routes that it was in action today remaining operational. Almost in the same breath I remarked that the hand rickshaws should be stopped! Much as they were a part of Calcutta’s cultural landscape I found them very inhumane and derogatory. We then talked of the classic Balraj Sahni movie that featured him as a rickshaw puller. I fondly recalled of having gone to school during my nursery days in one. A tiny me dressed in school white, chatting with a smiling Baleshwar as he pulled the rickshaw.

Our place of stay being a little far from the city I was trifle sad initially but felt glad, after a while, in that it would allow me space to rest amidst our by now hectic travel. As I lay I saw the map of Calcutta and wished had time for zoo, botanical gardens and walk along the river, place that mumi calls Ganga Ghat. The description by Fanny Parkes of her travel along the Ganga with Calcutta as the destination came to my mind I wondered how broad the river would have been when her boat came downstream no less than a century and a quarter ago.

Next day I went to Flury’s; something I had been wanted to do since long. Walking in, to where I had put in many a lovely Saturday evening, I could recall the aquarium and that I used to prefer sitting such that we had it in sight! Also that the counter laden with amazing cakes and pasteries used to be to the right side of the entrance. Roshni recalled papa telling her that till we got the snacks on our table I had to have a pastry; mumi adding that the pineapple pudding was my favourite.

As I drove I came across a board depicting site of construction of the Metro. Gosh! I recalled roads were very similarly dug up then and how harassed we used to feel including the evening when dadi and I almost fell down the pit. I then moved on to have sweets at Ganguram, a shop I frequented with dadi. Memories of unpleasant relatives in the city also marked their presence.

December sun and the clock of time allowed me to walk. From Park Street that houses 

Flury’s to the New Market crossing the National Museum and Grand Hotel I moved on to K C Das’ shop to buy a box of rosgullas. As I walked in areas that espoused sounds and sights, some of which were familiar I recalled the World Trade Centre that housed papa’s office then and how I used to jump down the long series of steps when the lift did not work. This was of course after I had played with the calculator; a type-writer type instrument that also printed the calculations on a paper-roll the width of a match-box.

Next, I visited the house where I had grown up till I was 6. It was a strange experience. Getting off the taxi as I walked through the Northern Park I glanced at the apartments around and wondered if House # 36 was still in the form I knew. It was there! The gate where I used to chat with danji (gate-keeper) and await for mumi.  As I write I recall sitting there one evening waiting to see how the sun set. Getting in I reached the 5 red steps a little further on right. I walked to the door from which we entered the 2 rooms that I today realize had a lot of warmth and simplicity. Beside them stood a closed door, the kitchen, where mumi used to teach me numbers, alphabets and more while cooking in evenings. Getting emotional, or was it empty, I sat on looking at the door asking myself if it had been green or brown; 26 years ago. Neighbours and gate-keeper came to enquire who I was and to my utter surprise talked of my red scooter, of how I used to shut doors when they watched television as I then wanted them to play with me and they also asked for dadi, mumi and papa. As I drank water with danji I recalled rain-water filling up in the premise then and shared it, he said it still did!

The taxis are ambassadors, wires protrude from poles, and people flaunt tempers more than laptops in the streets in the city that Rajiv Gandhi once called the dying city. But right from the airport one gets a feel that this erstwhile capital has a heart and does not stink of money but smells of simplicity. Along the streets which coil around some of the most amazing structures of the British Raj sit people who sell mitha-pan for Rs. 2/-, heat bread on coal fired ovens and more importantly show you direction to your destination besides nurturing critically endangered urban species like honest taxi – auto drivers.  


I recall reading Sunny’s take on his Calcutta visit, of a few years ago, where in reference to the Calcutta Metro he had written : "the Delhi Metro appears space-age in comparison, but this one works and has warmth". That’s very true for Calcutta the City as well ~.


Thanks Preeti for the images.