This one is not a blog entry, for its too lengthy and too personal to have any blog value. This is more a journal of a very special week recently spent in Kolkata…between my two jobs…seeking rest…respite…and roots.
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When we say pleasant surprise..
When I arrived full 24 hours earier than scheduled – Ma’s reaction was ” Oh no…havent cooked for you today”..and Baba’s reaction was ” Oh God, I had so much work to do today to prepare for your visit tomorrow..and now you are here!” Throughout the day, the smile of surprise never left their face – yet they could not stop worrying about their “To Do” list for my immiment visit – which went completely awry – thanks to my surprise arrival.The unabridged, unedited and unrehearsed reactions from Baba-Ma literally brought back the real meaning of the word “Pleasant Surprise” – in all its genuineness, and all its splendour. Watching them, somewhere I felt weird about the way sometimes we use ” Oh what a plesant surprise” in our attempt to be sociable…
Am being just self critical here…no offenses to my social friends…I (almost) mean it 🙂
The Morning with Old Books..
Day 2: A lazy November morning gave away to a plesant, shadowy day here in Kolkata, while I sat on the cold and moist corner of our guestroom rummaging through my old books – my venerable treasure-trove of memories. Opening the antique teak-wood book-case — an unmistakable whiff of yellowed old pages and dog-eared books filled my senses. What followed was an hour in trance – Book after Book, Chapter after chapter, page after page, my childhood and boyhood days presened themselves in a sepia tinted hue. Here was a place where time stood still. Baba & Maa, the same two people who had toiled hard to give us a memorable childhood, are now the dedicated curators of our pages from the past!
Marble Palace – Reconnecting with the old North Calcutta charm:
This was an intense and fulfilling afternoon – spent amidst some of the finest works of European baroque and early modern era artefacts. For those unfamiliar, Marble Palace happens to be one of the last remnants of the rennaisance era in Bengali culture (critics would use words like Babudom, nouveau riche and what not!). A veritable palace of marble stones (700 different shades) converted into an art gallery of sorts – rich in collection, grand in ambience, lacking in maintenance, and in the true Bengali way – grossly undermarketed 🙂 Spotted a Raja Ravi Verma in the staircase, and two original Rubens ( Yes, you heard it right!), and an original Reynolds – casually strewn amongst hundred other paintings. For the lovers of Kolkata, this is a must see if you havent been there, as this will give you one more reason to love this idiosyncratic city. And finally, those passionate critics of this (un)dying city – please go to Marble palace to get one more reason to overtly smirk at the lack of maintenance, while covertly getting awed at this spectacle called Kolkata, which never fails to spring such lovely surprises . My beloved Kolkata-Critics, you cant let Kolkata perish in obscurity, for you will never find another city of this country whose very character makes it worthy of critique. Even a questionable character is a character, and is better than no character – Say it !!
Visiting the Mittir – Baari!
This has always been my favourite ritual when in town – both for being in North Calcutta, and for the people of this very very special family.
Pishi:
Closest one can get to being an universal mom. The kind, soft face – and a warm disarming smile, laced with an almost imperceptible tinge of sadness will always leave an impact on me – as a quintessential face of a loving, caring pishi – in a very Bengaleee way.
Pishemoshai:
If North Calcutta were a person – it would be Pishemoshai. Once handsome, now gracefully ageing, ancient, spiritual, aristrocratic, erudite, slightly conservative, yet with a wicked sense of humour – and above all, an almost encyclopaedic authority art, culture, literature and classical music. We discussed Michaelangelo, Agony & Ecstacy, Pieta, Sistine Chapel – and finally Sri Ramakrishna. Signs of ageing are gradually catching up with this man of ageless wisdom – a reluctant truth – very much like the ever growing number of years between me and my favourite city.
Bordada & Boudi:
Very much like me and Manoshi in being contemporary in thoughts and philosophy, thorough professionals, urbane, fitness paranoids – yet Kolkatar Bangalis, and staunch communists 🙂 — They are my role model of what a domiciled Bong people should be like, and frankly my last hope of youth and resurgence in this city – Green Shoots!
Ashmi: Sufficient to say, if I ever have a daughter – I would like her to be an Ashmi. The most charming young girl I have met in a very very long time. We had oodles of fun playing and rigging a game of Name-Place-Animal-Thing – Ma, Myself, Dada & Ashmi – three generations of kids fighting for an impromptu certificate prepared by Ashmi – pure bliss!
Ma – and the art of pampering
It will be a gross understatement to say Ma “knows” the art of pampering – she has not only perfected it, but transformed the activity into a full time profession – a 24/7 endeavour to make the most of my 7 day stay here. It all starts with an early morning cup of pure Darjeeling Tea – brewed to perfection thanks to her years of practise. With tea comes a choice of biscuits, and a regular nudge to tilt to the unhealthy side of things through Haldiram Namkins – which were sinfully tasty, I must admit 🙂 My gluttony was familiar, but this time around, my Bangalorean treadmill-ean, jogger-ean and push-up-ean self was fighting this constant inner battle to balance it out. So mornings also meant regular exercise – and a light breakfast – No Luchi Torkari this time! The morning tea and breakfast sessions were made infinitely more exciting by “The Telegraph” and “Anandabazar Patrika” – The richness of content and the range of topics were mentally nourishing to say the least – and the nourishment continued till the loo sessions – which were open ended..and nearly infinite 🙂 Lunches and dinners were a joy as usual. Its scary, because with mom in the kitchen, gourmet dishes every single day has almost become an entitlement. Its like I am not supposed to be served anything which is not tasty, and not special; every single day. Wonder how will I react if one day she just decides to settle for the mundane – quite spooky!
So with Ma, here is the deal: Her love knows no bounds – and it almost knows no other form of engagement than culinary. Hence, although at times, she tends to overdo the cooking bit – its just a matter of realizing that all she is doing, is actually going overboard with her love – and God knows how we all need it in these days and times of artificiality and lovelessness. Thank you Ma for loving us unto the point of rebuke, and never flinching even when snubbed at for overdoing the rarest thing – of sweating it out tirelessly only to bring smile to our plates and our lives!
A diary from the past:
One morning, when Baba handed me over the most recent find in our family archive – the crumbling, yellowing pages of my great grandfather’s notebook – little did I know that it will have such a deep impact on me and my sense of connectedness with my family.It wasn’t a personal diary, but rather an accounting journal with his ‘will’ at the end. But the footnotes, and occassional venting out of deeply personal feelings and philosophies of a man who was writing down his last wishes, merely days before his demise – made for the most fascinating read, and also sent me a message. He personified my deeply ingrained values – that of a man building his own destiny by making his choices and owning them up, that of the virtues of a day of honest hard work, self made fortune and silent philanthropy.”Own the best of possessions as a tribute to excellence, and a deep internal sense of achievement – but never to show your vanity” – Hats Off to you Doctor!
Also, this diary made me realize the existence of a very strange cycle in our family history, or may be any family history. It takes decades to create wealth, months to destroy it, and then years to salvage the ruin and once again set a solid ground for growth to take place. Thank you Baba for providing that solid ground. Your son has his job cut out :- )
Mayadi:
Dont want to go into details of her physical condition. One look at her outward appearance – and you feel like you are staring at the face of death. She is working 12 hours a day while being in the last stage of cancer to keep her family afloat, and her self alive.I will have to stay in touch with her through Mama. Getting reminded of famous saying from Bible – We all have to carry our own cross, but we still have the Veronicas wipe our sweat and tears. Let peace be with her…
Pishi/Pishemoshai – and the Green Shoots of Hope…
A National level athlete (200m Hurdles) from the fifties, when athletics was the most unconvetional sports one could pick up in India, this grand old man has come a long way in life. The race called life hardlyoffers a straight running track the hurdles are uneven, and yo hardly know when they are coming. Expectedly, his mind and body has taken a toll. I was not unfamiliar to this reality.. What hit me hard this time wasnt really the loss of health…but the sag of the spirit, which is almost fatal at this age. Was frankly at wits end on how to deal with the situation – when Baba (expectedly) struck the right chord. “Uncle, do you know Aunindo went to Himalayas last month..werent you a trekker at one time..have you been to Kausani ??” ….a Light Broke…a slouching back straightened…and a pair of dreary eyes twinkled with childlike excitement. There is nothing more uplifting than watching a man regain his strength and confidence – even if for a brief moment. The person who seemed like counting days a few minutes ago..started with memories of Pithoragarh trek…and concluded with a wish…to Go to Puri..to be a traveller again…to live. Pishi’s face was a cocktail of joy and pent up emotions! Dont know whether finally the Puri plan would be implemented, and whether his health will live up to the spirit of his mind…But the green shoots of hope were unmistakable…least not for somene like me who is desperately seeking out for the light at the end of the tunnel…however long and dark that tunnel would be. Audacity of Hope 🙂
College Street..Books…Paramount Sherbat!
Another memorable afternoon spent at College Street…amongst heaps of books…old and new. Familiar shops..familiar streets..and familiar smell of freshly bound books. Picked up some rare and typical books like Jaywalker’s Guide to Calcutta, Professor Shanku and hitherto unpublished, unabridged version of Freedom at Midnight. Had sherbat at The Paramount…which will be ever familiar (even if you want it to evolve!), because they refuse to change their decor, their recipe, their prices and their laid back almost European nonchalance for 92 years now. College Street – This place is where I spent most of my formative years. An area less than a square kilometer…a school building which is hardly larger than a small apartmenet block……with Bookshops, Coffee House, College Square substituting for playground & swimming pool. Little wonder why I turned out to be so phenomenally unatheletic, lazy, bookish and hopelessly romantic! Wish I could also add “academic” to the list as a natural extension…but well…that is not to be. Much like Hips…”Grades don’t Lie” 🙂
Mamarbaari…Gyaan Sessions..and Chhotomamima
I have always recieved unbound, unadulterated..and literally unlimited love and affection from this Hindu Undivided Family of 20 …and I have always greedily lapped it all up. Time has gone by. From the days of being the pampered kid, I am the eldest of my generation now, with a young, bubbly, adolescent group of cousins to mentor and counsel Boy.. counsel I did..and overdid. Almost managed to scare off Joyjit and Donna with my constant lashing. Hope they understand that all I was trying to do was to light up that fire and instill a sense of ambition and drive in their young minds…Of all the places, Kolkata lacks that drive the most..for a complex set of socio-economic and political reasons which are for pundits to debate and dissect. The least I can do is to ignite their minds.. for that flicker, if lit up once, and at the right time…would carry them through the racetrack of life almost in an autopilot.
Chhotomamima is a study in pleasure, passion, purpose..and almost an infinite source of energy. Hats Off to this lady for maintaining a day job, part time tutions and a fledgeling business all at the same time…Packing it all in 24 hours and still managing to socialize at any given opportunity. ..Handling with practised ease every single detail related to her business… managing and dealing with a rather complex(understatement) joint family dynamics..and yet remembering to wish and celebrate every single birthday, anniversary in the family! In betwwen all of these…she managed to squeeze in some time to take me out for shopping…bought me a lovely shirt which will always be special to me…for it will ever remind me of a single beautiful thought…”whenever I need warmth…she is there”.
Baba…
How could I end this post without talking about you ? You are the very first of all the reasons why I would be ever thankful to God for my roots. You are my past…with all the memories of growing up in your shadow…all those trips to bookfairs, movies, theatres… all those invaluable trivia about our city, our country, our history and our culture…all those little things which ignited my curiosity, and carried me through my boyhood and adolescence. You are my present…a bedrock of support for all the decisions that I have taken (including the most important one…to marry the silliest girl I have ever met!)…and you are my aspiration for future…to try and get close to be a dad like you to my child. Every moment spent with you in this one week has only made me realize how much of the fondness I attribute to the city, is actually my fondness for you…
Epilogue
So thats what probably happens…
As we grow up…we gather memories, relations, values, experiences…to define who we are…start loving who we have become…and in the process fall in love with the place where it all happened. And if, by a strange quirk of fate, that place happens to be as intense, as controversial as KOLKATA…then the roots just grow on you. Did I even have a choice ?
— Aunindo
Filed under: Travel, Uncategorized | Tagged: Coffee House, College, College Street, Kolkata, kolkata tourism, Memoir, nostalgia, Roots, travelogue | 3 Comments »
Of Our Walks... 