Kolkata

Kolkata

Its 12:45 noon and I hear the voice saying “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have reached Kolkata. The outside temperature is 29 degree Celsius and humidity 97%, Thank you for flying Jet Airways”.
97% does not hit you at the onset till you come out of the aircraft, and then the sudden change in the climate hits you, and it hits you hard. After spending about five years in the nation’s only naturally air-conditioned city, Bengaluru; Kolkata comes as a rude surprise. We got out of the aircraft and took a wheel-chair for my granny, who was clearly not enjoying the flight and did not still come to terms with the time it took us to reach the city versus its actual distance from Bengaluru. After taking the baggage, we headed off to the pre-paid taxi stand and asked for BallyGunj Circular Road; the counter guy promptly tore off a ticket and said, “too thaa-tea”. It took a moment for me to realize that I was in Kolkata where the pronunciation takes a beating; I did pay him after a few seconds and was on my way with my family to the taxi. Granny was still in the wheel-chair and was helped by the airline-guy into the taxi.
The taxi driver was a sardarji and wore such typical attire which was suiting his personality. Dressed in a light blue crumpled Kurta and beautiful dashing yellow turban, he had pathani shoes to match them. He also had a small photo of his younger self on the right side in between the two windows. A “Sat-Sri-Akal” symbol on the wind shield, it was a perfect taxi with the perfectly dressed driver. “Aap south se aaye ho kya sirji?” was his question, to which we replied affirmative and told him that we were from Bangalore. A natural question running in my mind after noticing that photo of his was, How Long? “Sardarji, aap kab se ho yahan?” “Ajee, hum to yehan bohot saal se hain, mere pitaji bhi yehin pe kaam kiya karte the...”, visibly happy talking in Hindi instead of the usual Bengali. He then went on to say, “Aajkal yehan ka mausam bohot kharab hai sirji, bohot paseena aata hai; Humare Punjab ya bambai me to kabhi aisa nahi hota, do-teen hafton se yehan continue bearish ho rahi hai ji ”
I thought it would be a good time to listen to the radio as our yellow taxi zipped by yet another slowly moving rickshaw-puller. The humidity was fast rising and I could feel my shirt completely drenched, “Am sure it’s gonna cross 100% soon”, I mumbled. Almost as soon as I said it, it happened; slowly the moisture in the air got converted to rain and it started raining in Kolkata. The earthy smell with a tinge of fish stink soon filled the taxi’s already jam-packed air and I was submerged into the typical smells of Kolkata.
Kolkata is a very old city and is truly a photographer’s paradise. It seems to be an extremely contrasting city, with the filthy rich and the filthy naked under the same roof. I see naked children running around unmindful of their future, their caretakers, equally unsure of the same fact. Kolkata somehow feels nostalgic, for no particular reason I can recollect. The old buildings, the damp walls, the bright green moss in most of the buildings, all look like a reflection of our own self. Respecting the old, retaining the old, but unable to care for them seems to be a commonality with Kolkata offering itself as a microcosm of our great nation. The green moss with a shade of black on almost every other building tells me the age of the city. Then there is the Tram, which is again so symbolic of the past, trying desperately to move ahead with time. The same city which captured the fascinations of Queen Victoria still captures the imagination of many a lens’.
From what I observed on a small walk from Ballygunj Circular Road to a nearby place, Cigarette seems to have found itself a niche position in the Bengali culture. It somehow does not feel odd when every second person standing by the side of the road sports a blank look on his face enjoying every breath he takes of the lighted stick between his fingers. “Yes, we take a pride in smoking”, I could recollect, almost four years back, when I asked one of my Bengali friends why he smokes a lot “Aisa nahi hai ke haamko aachha lagta hai, baat it’s a great stress baaster, ek sootah phooko, saara tension khatam”. As I walked past yet another small shanty housing five children and a woman, it again started raining, and people were ready for it, unlike me and my father. The roads were quite bad and all of a sudden all the traffic came to a sudden halt. We crossed the road immediately taking advantage of the situation and reached the other side of the road.
Poverty seems to reach new highs here with the poor literally being taken care by the footpath. The footpath is an indispensable part of the city with everything happening in it, right from bathing to sleeping, to eating - It’s a living and breathing footpath. One new thing which I have not noticed in other cities I have been to is the extent to which the Victorian architecture is still being used. I presume that the water-pump thronging every hundred meters in the footpath has been existing all this while, still serving the cause for which it was built originally. And, nobody seems to care about these footpath people; maybe we have forgotten to bother about them or we are happy looking at a brighter picture of the city, not willing to talk about it, and all this is in one of the poshest localities in Kolkata, so I can very well imagine the other side of the city. Kolkata boasts of being the only city that is so contrasting in nature, the same place where the filthy rich and the filthy naked dot the streets; but somehow I am not getting the contrast here, maybe because the poverty is so much more widespread than the wealth.
For the first time, I am beginning to understand exactly what the IT culture does to a place, taking Bengaluru as an example. The lack of IT jobs in Kolkata is quite evident at the onset, few places to hang out, cheaper commodities, very sorry state of surroundings in terms of maintenance and cleanliness, almost pin-pointing to the footpath. IT in the form of BPO could offer a lot of positives for Kolkata, I feel, maybe because it would help many people to lead a better life. The BPO trick has worked in many places with Bengaluru and Chennai leading the race, Nagpur, Pune and Gurgaon not far behind. There is another angle to this; Kolkata is a city that is a living fossil, still living in the past, not wanting the new to dominate the old. Every other building is very clearly at least 20-30 years old, repainting not at all seen as an option. Maybe its people like it that way, a cup of chai, a nearby café, and an hour of Adda
The city does have something to be proud of. It has inspired many a great personalities who have done their part for our nation. Again, the contrast kicks in; personalities like Subhash Chandra Bose, Rash Behari Bose, Swami Vivekananda, Ramakrishna-Paramahansa and Mother Teresa. Noticing carefully, each of them is in complete contrast with the other, and each of them have inspired countless. The latest breed of the city’s heroes is Saurav Ganguly, and he is an icon here featuring in many billboards on the roadside from the airport all the way to the main city. The city is quite content with itself and appears to be moving nowhere, yet everywhere. The city’s poor will spend yet another night under the pale sky; while the rich battle it out and the middle class remain busy in their Addas. The whole city, hooked on to the burning stick will probably produce more smoke from their puffs compared to vehicular pollution.
It’s just over two days in Kolkata and I am realizing why many great thinkers emerged from this city. There is something in Kolkata that makes you feel like writing, makes you feel like expressing yourself. I have not yet explored any place in Kolkata, but will be soon doing it and have already got a feel of what to expect from this heritage-city.
The RJ on the radio says… “Shuno-shunaao, aaada jamaao !”, I mumble to myself, “Sure I will !”