Finding
Calcutta
Buying
fish in a muddy, stinking bazaar with Baba – coming home to Ma’s sumptuous
cooking – popping chicken rolls and "shingaras" while navigating the city’s by
lanes with friends – browsing through Tasleema Nasreen’s latest novel at
Kolkata Book Fair. Rabindrasangeet –
Sunil Ganguly’s novels – Satyajit Ray's recent piece in a "puja barshiki" (special "festival" editions of magazines) – arty
films at Nandan – “adda” (chats) with neighbourhood friends – ogling at college girls/boys
at "puja pandals" while Nachiketa or Anjan Dutta’s songs blare over loudspeakers .
. .
These vignettes form the staple of many "probashi" Bengali’s (Immigrant Bengali) reminiscence about Kolkata. They talk about the city’s vibrant spirit. Its magnetic charm draws these immigrants back (just for a few months) every year.
These vignettes form the staple of many "probashi" Bengali’s (Immigrant Bengali) reminiscence about Kolkata. They talk about the city’s vibrant spirit. Its magnetic charm draws these immigrants back (just for a few months) every year.
It
has been almost five and a half years since I joined the so-called “probashi”
clan. During the twenty-six years I spent in the city, I frequented the Kolkata
Book Fair exactly four times. Rushed along by a restless mother, I
never browsed through novels for hours. And most books that looked interesting
usually proved too heavy for my pocket. My most enduring memory of Book Fair comprises of an unassuming student from an Art College who managed to paint my
impossibly long name on a single grain of rice. Armed with a thin paint brush
and a pot of black ink, he displayed a staggering calligraphic skill.
Neatly picking up the grain with tweezers, he glued it to a strip of orange
paper, placed it in a tiny bottle and closed the bottle with a cork. And there I had it
– my name "immortalized" on a rice grain – all for ten rupees.
Last summer I visited the Three Rivers Arts Festival in Pittsburgh. Sponsored by corporate giants of the city, the festival housed works of independent artists. Rows of tents were filled with beautiful, stained-glass artwork, paintings, gorgeous jewellery and garments. None of them, however, were within my means. So I spent the day enjoying a free "tango" performance by a local dance group and lounging on the meadows of Point State Park with my friends. Snatches of "Blue Grass" and "Jazz" wafted through the air.
My college life did not comprise of visits to the Kolkata Film Festival or Nandan. I haven't spent hours at the college canteen, drinking steaming cups of coffee and debating the artistic merits of the latest "intellectual" film
(or "antel" movies, as many Bengalis sneeringly call them) . The few times that I went to College Street, I was more overwhelmed by the filth lying around Medical College than by the intellectual fare of roadside bookstalls. Honestly, I do not understand how one can gather "food for thought" while one is stifled by the stench around and is struggling to maintain one's foothold amid a jostling crowd. My college days were spent on long, lonely walks down Park Street; either pitying myself for being friendless or musing over the lectures of my favourite professors. I remember being thrilled at finding a sudden connection between the disillusionment of Hardy's Clym and Osborne's Jimmy Porter, while passing by beggars and crowds outside Music World or Flury's.
I have not ogled at boys in college or at puja pandals. I was more enchanted by flavours wafting from food stalls outside the pandals than by hunks in their best puja outfits. I had no neighbourhood "adda" circle. All I knew about our neighbours were the ever-quarrelsome landlord and tenant in the opposite house or "বাগান বাবু"/ "the garden man", (as Ma named him), who diligently tended to rows of potted plants on his terrace. I never holidayed or picnicked with friends.
In fact, it was in Pittsburgh that I got the first taste of "hanging out" with friends. Since 2007, I have travelled to state parks, to the Niagara Falls, to Disney Land, to small towns in Pennsylvania, to Lake Erie and to the Outer Banks. I have shared rooms with friends, cooked and laughed with them. And no. They were not all Bengalis. Hailing from different parts of the world, our only common denominator was that we were all students! If there is something called a "college life" then I have lived it in my late twenties, in Pittsburgh. Since the welcoming hugs at Pittsburgh International Airport in August 2007, this city has embraced me with open arms. I have made friends from various cultures, including my own. Some of them, hopefully, for life. And I have never received so much encouragement and warmth from professors.
Yet, when someone asks me if I would settle down in the US, I answer with a polite but firm "No".
"You must be missing home", they say with an understanding smile.
"I miss the food - and sometimes, my parents"; I quip.
But what do I really miss about Calcutta? There is no easy answer.
Every time I discover something about my housemate from her facebook status - I miss Calcutta.
Every time I have to send out party invitations at least two weeks in advance, because our diaries are too full - I miss Calcutta.
Every time I look at bare trees and snow-covered sidewalks - I miss Calcutta.
And every time I cringe at dishing out $30 for a hair cut - I miss Calcutta.
For me, Calcutta is not "Rabindrasangeet" or Sunil Ganguly or Satyajit Ray or "puja barshiki". I rarely ever thumbed through a "puja barshiki". And my knowledge of Bengali literature is embarrassingly minuscule. I have little to qualify myself as the "intellectual" Bengali from Kolkata.
But . . .
Calcutta is the spirit to lie back and enjoy life instead of hurtling from one deadline to the next.
Calcutta is the spirit to derive as much joy from a roadside snack as from the comforts of a luxury hotel.
Calcutta is a way of life, as shaped over twenty-six long years.
Calcutta is a worldview that evolves but never loses touch with its origins.
The last five and a half years have enriched me in many ways. But they haven't made me any more of a "probashi" than I was before August 2007.
In fact, it was in Pittsburgh that I got the first taste of "hanging out" with friends. Since 2007, I have travelled to state parks, to the Niagara Falls, to Disney Land, to small towns in Pennsylvania, to Lake Erie and to the Outer Banks. I have shared rooms with friends, cooked and laughed with them. And no. They were not all Bengalis. Hailing from different parts of the world, our only common denominator was that we were all students! If there is something called a "college life" then I have lived it in my late twenties, in Pittsburgh. Since the welcoming hugs at Pittsburgh International Airport in August 2007, this city has embraced me with open arms. I have made friends from various cultures, including my own. Some of them, hopefully, for life. And I have never received so much encouragement and warmth from professors.
Yet, when someone asks me if I would settle down in the US, I answer with a polite but firm "No".
"You must be missing home", they say with an understanding smile.
"I miss the food - and sometimes, my parents"; I quip.
But what do I really miss about Calcutta? There is no easy answer.
Every time I discover something about my housemate from her facebook status - I miss Calcutta.
Every time I have to send out party invitations at least two weeks in advance, because our diaries are too full - I miss Calcutta.
Every time I look at bare trees and snow-covered sidewalks - I miss Calcutta.
And every time I cringe at dishing out $30 for a hair cut - I miss Calcutta.
For me, Calcutta is not "Rabindrasangeet" or Sunil Ganguly or Satyajit Ray or "puja barshiki". I rarely ever thumbed through a "puja barshiki". And my knowledge of Bengali literature is embarrassingly minuscule. I have little to qualify myself as the "intellectual" Bengali from Kolkata.
But . . .
Calcutta is the spirit to lie back and enjoy life instead of hurtling from one deadline to the next.
Calcutta is the spirit to derive as much joy from a roadside snack as from the comforts of a luxury hotel.
Calcutta is a way of life, as shaped over twenty-six long years.
Calcutta is a worldview that evolves but never loses touch with its origins.
The last five and a half years have enriched me in many ways. But they haven't made me any more of a "probashi" than I was before August 2007.
