Calcutta Chronicles

When you are a student at BIT, at some point you are aware of the truth of the phrase “All roads lead to Calcutta.” Watch 300 as it should be watched- INOX, Calcutta. Eat decent food, street food or otherwise- Calcutta. Shop till you drop-Calcutta. Get away from this shit-Calcutta. Everyone at BIT knows how to get there, overnight Howra-Hatia. You reach Hatia around 7 in the morning. Best time to visit the place, October-February.

So it happened when all the shit in BIT got to us, the three of us set out one day for Cal. The three of us would mean- me, the Zog (a mutant of a most disturbing nature), Udita, partner in crime and Nibha, unsuspecting victim. The journey to Cal was fairly uneventful other than Nibha’s constant whining regarding the absence of a deck of cards. This is a condition that affects most of us when we know we can win at a game because the people around us don’t know the rules. That’s why I keep playing 20 questions with my sister. She never reads the newspaper, therefore, I always win. Sadistic but true. Since we were on the loser end this time, I and Udi promptly went to sleep.

When we got down at the station, after a quick visit to the S.T.D booth, where I spent a considerable amount of time scaring a toddler, we took our luggage and headed for the exit. Soon enough, we were barraged by a hoard of taxi drivers, enthusiastically quoting what I assume to be fares, in Bengali. Our blank stares however forced them to reconsider their quotations and promptly double them. This time in Hindi. Udita having been there before, ably steered us away towards the pre-paid taxi stand, where we promptly hired a taxi to Park Street. The taxis in Calcutta are yellow, like those in New York. I immediately developed this childish idea that their colour made them more authentic than other taxis. I am so racist! We went through the Howrah Bridge. It looked so lovely in the morning mist. The tiers were sparkling silver and gold against the fiery morning sun, an orange orb. I was finally in Calcutta, or if you prefer, Kolkata. From the station to anywhere in Cal, always take the pre-paid taxis, they have fixed rates. If you are new to the city, it helps not to be cheated. Within the city, the metro is the smartest and cheapest way to travel. The Calcutta metro is a place worth visiting for its own sake. Each station has a unique theme. The Rabindra Sadan terminal is definitely worth a dekho. It has Tagore’s poems copied meticulously on the walls, in his own handwriting, in English, Hindi and Bengali. The entrance to the terminal has his profile done in mosaic.

Once we were in Park Street, we went directly to our rooms at Camac Street (adjacent to it), freshened up and then jumped into a taxi to go straight to Gariahat. For the uninitiated, this is Calcutta’s flea market capital. It is basically this long road at the side of this over bridge near Hindustan Park. And yes, taxi drivers totally get you when you ask them to take you to Gariahat.
For female eyes only: [More than buying stuff from the place, most flea market aficionados derive their pleasure from haggling for prices. If that is the case, Gariahat is the place to be, providing you with hours of pure, unadulterated bargaining pleasure. Moving on to the stuff worth buying. There are a range of jute bags available here in really cute colours and designs. Check that the zippers and buttons are in working order before you buy though. Gariahat is an accessories heaven. Clay, lacquer, metal, stones, you name it, it’s there. Another souvenir worth taking back are the leather bags crafted at Shantiniketan, with attractive motifs like the smiling sun, dancing stick figures etc. You could get a standard hand-bag for a 100 bucks.]

We had lunch at Malgudi Junction, a unique South Indian restaurant at Park Street based on the theme of R.K. Narayan’s “Malgudi Days.” On the walls are sketches of Malgudi as seen in the books and the overall ambience is very laid back (rustic kinda) from the cute little South Indian cashier with his neatly oiled grey hair and black goggles to the steel cups and saucers in which they serve filter coffee. The Uttapams here are great and the dosas too feel authentic to my South Indian taste buds.

While I’m at it, the road-side stalls at Park Street are quite literally Street Foody Heaven. The must try items include the egg rolls (more than amazing), biryanis (the queue at the stall should give you a hint) and the momos with soup (steaming hot, unforgettable….cheap. ;)).

Next Stop: Science City. The place is an ideal place for kids to go picnic. The three of us still qualify as kids, therefore, we had a great time. I kept running through the optical maze, highly amused at bumping into myself so many times. That is, until I bumped into 50 images of the same married couple making out. Meanwhile, Udi and Nibha kept making gurgling noises at their inverted images. We fought with an Uncle and his son to get Nibha a chance to ride this weird cycle. The funda is to cycle real fast and see how far you can make this ball rise in a transparent glass column. Nibha made it go all the way up and we clapped. To annoy the little boy further, we started jumping all over this humungous piano that you can play with your legs that he too was playing. Satisfied that he would go home and cry later, we went to the butterfly house, pirouetted through the evolution park and just missed the time machine. Never eat at Science city. The food sucks and the prices make you bleed. Drink water if you must.

Swabhoomi. This is an ethnophile’s heaven. It is in salt lake, right beside FORUM. The place is basically an old palace converted into a semi-flea market. It also serves as a platform for upcoming artistes in Bengal to showcase their talents. Semi cause it is somehow a class apart. The shops are arranged at various levels around a central courtyard which also doubles as the food court. The food court is split into Paschim, Uttar…etc etc (translates to North, West…). The three of us literally went mad as we ran in circles trying the stuff out. Food from all over the country, wow whee! The other visitors were highly amused. Though I must remark, I liked the lime soda best.

Me and Udi being the aforementioned ethnophiles, we accumulated a lot of junk. Ethnic skirts (hand-painted), kurtis with really quirky motifs, jute sandals (pick any one, it’s a 100 bucks), paper mache artifacts, accessories, antique furniture, clay masks and sculptures, madhubhani paintings. You could get a pair of really cool tribal masks at 140, the same stuff you get at Archies for like 700 and stuff.

Around four, totally exhausted, we sat down to the worst cup of chai in our lives at Adda’s chai. However, for ambience and effects there is nothing like this place. The outlet is in the shape of a hut with a tiny veranda. Tea is served in clay utensils and the notices outside are printed on faded brown parcel paper. For the entertainment of their guests, they have arranged for a man on stilts to dress as a clown. We were highly amused to see him chase one of the female employees across the courtyard for a bill.

Around 6 in the evening, when we were about to leave, we were drawn by soft, melancholy strains of music, rising and then falling in a million cadences. As we moved toward the source, at first all we could see was a multi-coloured cap. Then we beheld a frail, bespectacled man, his hands dancing along the fine strings of an ektara. His visage was at times brooding, sometimes beaming with a joy, almost divine. We stood there as if in a trance. When the music stopped he acknowledged us by a slight nod. A passerby later told us that he was a famous Bengali music and documentary director; and that he comes and performs every evening at the stall. To this day, at times, the same songs play in our head. I have searched long and hard for them but it seems none of my Bengali friends have any records in their possession. However, on the plus side, it taught me to appreciate Bengali music. These people do seem to have a natural flair for the arts.

The next day, Udi and Nibha left for their TCS health check-up. While they attempted to drink a zillion gallons of water for the ultra-sound, I made a bee-line for College Street. A long, long street lined with second hand books. The mere pleasure of walking through the place can give you a high. The bargains are of course the icing on the cake. The complete works of Oscar Wilde, hard-bound, at 80 bucks, are you kidding me?! I could have kissed the shop-keeper.

Afternoon saw us gorging away at the park street way-side stalls. And before I forget, if you go to Cal and come back without having Mishti Dahi, you are not fit to be alive, my friend. The sweetened yoghurt is the perfect antidote to deliriously hot Cal afternoons.

Sometime in the evening we set off for Victoria Memorial. The place has been glorified enough by other travel writers and since I believe I cannot do it more justice, I will skip it. What I can do justice to however are the buggy rides at the gate of the memorial. These horse drawn carriages are your ticket to 19th century British India, my man! At 40 bucks a ride, the guy takes you on a round of the grounds in front of the memorial. More than the places, it is the experience of riding on the buggy that totally kills you. You feel like a Queen. The three of us spent a lot of time waving “majestically” at passers-by and on spotting cute guys, throwing them flying kisses.

After the ride, we walked from the Victoria Memorial to Birla Planetarium, trying every road-side stall, and discovering to our delight that all of them were great. The gol gappas, bhel puri, chai, everything. Meanwhile, whenever my hands were free, I kept taking pictures of the memorial. At one point, while I was taking a pic from across the street, Nibhs and Udi kept gesticulating madly. I didn’t pay much heed until this guy stepped out of the car I was standing in front of and started screaming at me. After some time, I had rearranged my senses enough to realize that he was making out with his girl friend in the car and that they thought I was taking their pic. Oooops! Well…….Run for your lives! (In retrospect, I do seem to have a knack for running into these things).

After the 6:30 show at the Birla Planetarium and a short visit to the St. Paul’s Cathedral, we went to Flurys. Flurys is a must visit. It has something distinctly British about its ambience and the tea and madeleines are just how they ought to be, served in porcelain or pewter tea pots, with milk at the side and sugar cubes. The madeleines crumble and yet are ever so slightly sticky, masticating pure heaven must feel like this. The lemon tarts too are exemplary. Soft jazz played in the background and as we looked out the glass façade, a million blinking lights in the Calcutta twilight smiled at us.

The journey back compensated in part for the boredom of the onward trip. Besides the train being half a day late and us meeting all sorts of weird people, it taught us something. Travelling with us was a group of college girls, accompanied by their teacher. After we left Howrah, eunuchs started pouring into the compartments. The so-called “men folk” started scurrying for the toilets while the three of us pretended to be asleep. The girls however were unperturbed by their presence. They cracked jokes with them, teased them, were teased in return, and even asked these so called “Hijdas” to bless them. Suddenly the environment in the compartment was much more pleasant, we felt less stuffy and much lighter inside.

The girls got down at Ranchi, but we remember them for their openness and their ability to embrace all of humanity. For if not to meet new people and see, smell, hear, taste and feel marvelous new things, if not to embrace all that the world has to offer, why travel?