Sunday, November 26, 2006

Calcutta: A Love Story

All cities should have their stories chronicled. In some medium or the other. And some of them already have.
Bombay, for example. The glamour capital's story is a Film. And quite aptly, it has been made by a South Indian.
Delhi is a Novel. A long-drawn saga about the political intrigue that has come to symbolise the city. And despite the city's purported cosmopolitanism as the national capital, it has been written by a Sardar - India's most famous one at that!
Chennai should be a Comedy - and only R K Narayan could have documented the quirky balance of modernity and tradition. Maybe the small town of Malgudi in some ways was touched with the flavour of the largest small town in the world!
In the same vein, Calcutta can only be a love story. For what is love if it is not passionate and blind? What else is it if it is not the stuff of folklores? What is it if it is not at first sight? And what is it if it is not unforgettable? And such love stories abound.

This is not to say Bombay does not have its share of lunatic lovers. It does. But to remain in Bombay for all your working life, there is no sacrifice involved. You can move up your career and life staying in the financial capital of the country - and romanticise the cosmopolitanism of the city.
Ditto for Delhi.
But Calcutta has more than its fair share of lovers, who have abandoned fame and fortune to be with their muse. And the ones who have left have created a body of tragic literature from their distant outpourings.

In cocktail parties, in job interviews, in college reunions, I have praised the youthful spirit of Bangalore, the ease of living in Hyderabad, the work ethic of Bombay and the beauty of Delhi. Logically, I have held forth on the living standards, the entertainment options, the career possibilities and other scientific parameters. At the end of it, I have chosen from among these wonderful cities, a place to go back to.
Very rational.
What is irrational is the gut-wrenching urge I inevitably feel when I walk out of Subhas Chandra Bose Airport into the humid air. Is it the Anandabazar billboard with a catchy headline? Is it the sea of Ambassador taxis? Is it the Bengali on the road-signs or is it the WB number plates? What is it that makes me want to chuck up everything and just move to this city? Surely, it cannot be the traffic jam at Baguihati.
There is not an iota of logical reasoning in this. And yet...

Urchins at traffic signals in Bombay peddle pirated copies of Shantaram and Opal Mehta. In Calcutta, it is Orhan Pamuk.
When out-of-towners return to Bangalore, they are dying to hit the latest pub. Ex-residents of Calcutta go back to Peter Cat for the157th time. (And needless to say, order Chello Kabab for the 156th time.)
The P3P of Delhi are dying to get photgraphed with Rohit Bal. Calcutta P3P are attending a book-reading session by Taslima Nasreen.

The more I expect Calcutta to lose itself in the brand-new maze of apartment blocks and swanky malls, the more it remains exactly like the seductress I left behind 10 years ago.
The first time I saw a live cricket match. The first Smoked Hilsa I had. The first time I saw the Apu Trilogy. The first time I went to the Book Fair. The first time I heard Hariprasad Chaurasia play Raag Malkaus. The first time I was told the Naxal ideology. The first time I boycotted class to protest against the unfair system.
All come back to me for the simple reason that neither the players nor the place seem to have changed. The genial uncle would still be seated at Light Horse Bar of Saturday Club, recounting the romance of his college days. If I walk down College Street, the screenplay of Meghey Dhaka Tara would be still be hidden under the pile of Time magazines. If I walk into my college, the grafitti against the ineffective system would still be as vivid.

As a Calcutta songster said,
"Ei shohor jaaney aamar prothom shob kichhu
Palatey chaii joto shey ashey amar pichhu pichhu..."
This city is privy to all my firsts. The more I try to escape, the more it engulfs me...

11 comments:

Aqua said...

this is one of the best posts i have read on calcutta.

was smiling and nodding throughout yr post,..esp at this part "Ex-residents of Calcutta go back to Peter Cat for 157th time. (And needless to say, order Chello Kabab for the 156th time"

for me the return route to home (darjeeling) is via Cal. and even if i'm in transit for only 4 hours i make the quick dash to PC...devour a chello kabab and somehow i HAVE to pop into oxford bookstore on park street too.

when i tell people that i miss calcutta they look at me with disbelief. i have always maintained that "calcutta is a city with a soul"...and i'm sure you agree!

(got here via mad momma)

the mad momma said...

you know i love calcutta too... though i have barely been around... and if it were not for reasons you will figure out for yourself.. i would have loved to settle down there... if you buy a place there, tell us.. we shall buy one next door...

Space Bar said...

ah, nostalgia...how it seizes you by the throat, no? i felt that way when i came back to hyd. eben though nothign stays the same here.

some very evocative passages about cal in the last jet engine laugh. haev you read it?

OrangeJammies said...

The first and only time I was in Calcutta, I thrived on the sheer nostalgia hanging in the air. It was so tangible that an old-world freak like me was instantly drawn to it. My heart, I confess, will always belong to Bombay, but some little corner of my soul would be very grateful to contain the spirit of Calcutta :-)
Maybe it's my Bong connection...or maybe it's my fish and rosogolla fixation...or the vast open spaces of Maidan that drew an audible gasp from me...or maybe it is just a gorgeous old courtesan who retains her mystique among the brash young PYTs of the world.
Good going, Dipta! :-) Always a pleasure to read you.

udayan said...

And all this while I was thinking it was only Shiraz and Nizam !!

lurkingbong said...

Awesome post. And the chello kabab analogy is so true. That's the place I took my wife, who is a Mumbai mulgi, when she visited Kol for the first time. My first live cricket game was the one where Salim Malik shredded Indian bowlers to pieces. There was a time when I would not miss a single East Bengal game. Calcutta, I miss you

abhishake mitra said...

I migrated to blore from the city of joy in oct '10 and i won't deny that i was excited to leave the city and go to the most happening city as per the Gen-X and Gen-Y novels. But the bubble burst in within a week. No matter how far i stay away from Kolkata, whenever i say Home it would mean the traffic snarls, the land of phuchkas, park street, em bypass, the mashi-r cha-er dokan, the sholo aana bangali aana mentality.. the City of Joy.. My Kolkata

ryst said...

One of the best reads about Calcutta.I am Posting this from Indonesia, and I could visualise my last scenes of the city as I was leaving it.
Would also like to add the intangible sweets, the street side foods and Durga puja to Calcutta's attributes .
Well, someday I will settle down in Calcutta, the city that gave me a reason to love, and live.

Sampurna Rakshit said...

No matter how far I go, the only place that is home for me is Calcutta. There is an inherent sense of belonging and freedom that I can't find anywhere else. using the metro, buying books at college street, just walking down park street and many more little activities give me an unmatchable warmth and sense of security. I love the city, way too much for any rational reasoning.

Dhiru Rabha said...

A good read, yet to discover your city though. Seems like the Bengali dinner last night did little to lift your spirits and make you forget home for a while.

Anonymous said...

Am new here. Just wanted to say that your impressions of Kolkata read very nicely, and are probably representative of Bongs who grew up there. But you don't seem to know much about people who grew up in the other cities. I can certainly speak for Bangalore and even Delhi/Bombay/Chennai to a certain extent. For instance, old Banglaoreans do not look forward to hitting some pub when they return to the city. That would be the new crowd composed of Kolkata bongs among many others.