“The end justifies
the means”, they say but if there is one entity that wakes up every day to
prove them wrong and goes to sleep knowing it has succeeded, it has to be
Kolkata. Unlike your other corporate cities, Kolkata sleeps and goes to bed
early too and definitely on Sunday afternoons. By 10 pm the roads bear a
deserted look and transportation is hard to get and yet it is perhaps only in
this city that you can still walk home safely- for this is precisely what this
city embodies and personifies – the journey more than the destination.
You may be wondering
why I called the city an entity. Anyone who has stayed in this city will be
able to tell you that Kolkata or Calcutta (as some of us still prefer) is
nothing less than an emotional living organism. Much like your average Bengali
girl, the city is moody – sometimes the rains cheerfully cascading off the lush
green foliage and old buildings and sometimes lashing gloomily against the
concrete jungle and black umbrellas. The rapidly expanding city sometimes burns
under the ferocious glare of the enraged sun and yet it is the same sun which
smiles down mildly on Sunday mornings, touching the feet of the lazy citizen
devouring the newspaper. There exists within this macrocosm a city which exists
for everyone – for the bibliophile who believes in the journey of discovering
the book more than actually finding it , there can be nothing more satisfying
and more romantic than walking through the cobbled roads of College Street ,
popping in and out of every shop, feeling century old second-hand yellowing
books in their own hands, perhaps enjoying an enriching conversation with the
old shopkeepers over a steaming cup of cutting chai or a cooling gulp of
Paramount sherbet. That is not to say that the city does not have the Starmarks
and the Oxfords and Crosswords – it does and they too have embedded themselves
into the rich versatility and diversity that this city is. At the end of the
day, no matter whatever complains you have about the city, you cannot say that
it is not accepting for Kolkata will not suck you in instantly into a vortex of
revelry and celebration, nor will it ignore you and let you be but the city
will slowly entice you and seduce you into discovering it, into delving into
the city and in doing so it will compel you to listen to your heart and
discover yourself.
Kolkata is like
every Bengali girl, an amalgam of opposites. For every narrow, winding, heavily
branched North Calcutta bylane you have a 4 or 6-lane avenue or overpass. For
every Dacres Lane, MNM Row or Camac Street serving thousands every day with the
best in street food, locally reinvented global favourites from Chinese
delicacies to Maharashtrian and Gujarati favourites, from Lebanese rolls to
kathi rolls, from Mughal influences to South Indian strongholds, from Punjabi
dhabas to pice hotels there are fine dining experiences and multi-star
restaurants that are not so pocket friendly. For every slow and unreliable, yet
soothing and romantic tram ride there is a metro that rushes beneath the city
every 5 minutes. For every sleepy Sunday afternoon there is a city wide awake,
decked up and crowded during Durga Puja. For every report that lambasts the
squalor and dirt of the city that has seen famines and floods, wars and
embargoes there are citizens and tourists who can’t stop raving about the City
of Joy. For every Nandan, Navina, Star and Mitra there is an Inox and a
Cinemax. For every Rabindrasangeet and Nazrulgeeti function in makeshift
temporary constructions under poorly lighted shamianas, there is the heady dash
of jazz in Trincas and rock and roll in Someplace Else. For every connoisseur
of everything fine and coarse in life, there is something in Kolkata. The city
will never leave you disappointed. If versatility and diversity could be a city
, I have no doubts that it would be Calcutta for few or no other cities can
boast of having a Turkish settlement, a vibrant Parsi community, an Armenian
church, a Bangal-Ghoti rivalry, the largest cricket stadium and the second
largest football stadium in the world, the house of the Bard and a market
selling just lard, British era museums
and art galleries, hand-pulled rickshaws and an underground metro, a Gujarati
business community and a Marwari real estate one, a Punjabi locality having
dhabas and gurudwaras, Protestant churches and mazhars, masjids and Catholic
churches, a tremendously Calcuttan Chinese area in Tangra and an Anglo-Indian
one in Bow Barracks, one of Asia’s largest artisan communities in Kumortuli,
one of the country’s largest goldsmith communities in Bowbazaar and one of the
subcontinent’s largest red light area too. Kolkata is the home to one of the
oldest footballing rivalries and the newest football champions. It is the one
place where even test cricket brings alive the stadium. Having said what I have,
I must however also present the disclaimer that Kolkata is an acquired taste. It
is not for the fast-paced, in-and-out personalities, nor is it for the précis
loving character who reads only the reviews but doesn’t watch the movies, who
reads just the summary and not the book. Kolkata is not for you if you are not
in sync with your senses, it is not for the unemotional robot who refuses to
feel for Kolkata is not merely a city to visit, not merely a metro to live in
but it is a feeling, a sensation to be felt, to be inhaled and to be submerged
in.
Having lived in the
city for 23 years, I obviously feel strongly about this city and what it has
given me and most importantly, what it has taken away. I do not believe that a
city, any city, is simply the brick and mortar buildings or the metalled roads,
the beautiful parks and the majestic monuments. They may comprise the body of
the city but the heart of any city lies in the gastronomical delights that it
has to offer and the soul of the city lies in the people that make the city
what it is- alive. If this is true, then the huge heart that Kolkata has
stretches from the alur chop and beguni shacks of North Kolkata to the vada
pavs and pau bhajis of Camac Street, from the puchka stalls of across the city
to the biriyani outlets competing for space and profits, from the liver and
brain kathi rolls of Zeeshan to the dumplings and momos of Tiretta Bazaar, from
the halim and nihari of Zakaria Street to the ice-cream on hot brownie of Bon
Appetit, from the authentic Ghoti cuisine of 6 Ballygunge Place and Bhojohori
Manna to the lip-smacking Dhakai cuisine of Kasturi, from the kasa mangsho of
Golbari to the cutlets and kabirajis of Anadi Cabin , from the steak and beer
of Olypub to the microbrewery of Beer Republic, from the Fairlawns to the Wise
Owls, the Bachchan and Azad Hind Dhabas to the Chillis- Kolkata has place for everyone , be it a global
giant or a local David . As far as the soul of the city goes, you can ask any
random stranger on the street for directions, chances are that you will be
shown eight different routes to your destination and if you’re lucky you may
even be informed about what’s best about each route. The city where even a
rickshawallah can quote a Nobel laureate, a street food vendor can effectively
talk politics and a Taxi driver can hum any song and mouth any dialogue from
any film, that city is Kolkata. The city where love letters are still hidden
under pillows, where hands are still held on streets, where boat rides and tram
rides are romantic and not tedious, where poetry is an everyday truth and every
corner, every nook and cranny is brimming over with stories, that city is
Kolkata.
Kolkata is not a
city that will hit you in your face with its extravagance , neither is it the
city which will bowl you over with its grandeur but it is the city which will
slowly make you fall in love with it , the old kind of love , the one that
lasts. You can travel from the north to the south in under an hour, taking the
underground metro and perhaps soon from east to west, under the river, in half
an hour too but it is only by walking on the roads of this erstwhile capital of
the British Empire that you will realise the enigma that is Kolkata. It is on
the most disappointing day of your life , on the saddest day of your life when
nothing seems to be going your way , when your famished feet land on the royal
roads, when your broken body gives in to the cool breeze, when your spent
senses breathe in the green freshness of the foliage , take in the aroma of the
street food that wafts in slowly through your walls that your fatigued form
will be reinvigorated by the indomitable spirit, the contagious energy of the
city that will heal you. Kolkata is an emotion meant to be felt not only
analysed, a food meant to be devoured not only digested, a song meant to be memorised
to the extent that it flows through your veins, not merely listened to, an
enigma that must be enjoyed not decoded.
Kolkata is as sweet
as the sweetmeats and cottage cheese delights it is famous for and as tart as
the tamarind water, without which it cannot imagine its puchkas. It can give
you a high as high as the Shahid Minar or make you feel as low as the
underground metro tunnels but rest assured Kolkata will bring you back. The
city is as shy as a newlywed bride peeking from behind the betel leaves and as
outspoken as the local uncle criticising your haircut. The city is as free as
the Maidan and as claustrophobic as New Market, as spontaneous as the Ganga and
as difficult as Park Circus 7-point. The city is everything and yet nothing, it
is hilarious and serious, it is contented and disheartened – all depending on
which pair of perspectives you choose to put on. The city of Feluda, Byomkesh,
Kiriti and many more prove that Calcutta is like the mother that welcomes her
sons, prodigal or otherwise, with open arms. The city has for centuries
welcomed foreigners onto her shores and in her railway stations , embracing the
Portuguese and the French, the British and the Chinese, the Marwaris and the
Biharis, the Gujaratis and the Tamilians, the Punjabis and the Malyalis, the
Parsis and the tourists and making them an integral part of the history and
story of the city. The legacy of the great city lies not only in its rich
Bangla heritage but in its pan-Indian and global appeal. Kolkata exists in the
sounds of the dhaaks that fills up the minds of the Calcuttan living abroad
when autumn comes knocking, in the smell of freshly made sweets which waft in
through the senses of the Calcuttan living abroad, in the memories and
fantasies of Calcuttans across the globe because, my dear , don’t you know that
a city like her cannot be caged by brick and mortar, by cement and stone ?
