Kolkata, the City of Joy, Revisited – Part 1 of 2

You must have heard of this before. Two passengers sitting in a train began a chat. “Where are you going?” “To Bombay,” replied the other. “Me too.” “And where in Bombay?” “Chembur”. “My God, me too.” “Where in Chembur?” “In 14^th Road.” “Strange; me too.” “Which building?” “Sujata”. “What a surprise; me too.” “And which floor in Sujata?” “Seventh.” Really, me too.” By this time the passenger sitting next felt irritated and said, “You are both on the same floor, and you don’t know each other?” “Yes, we do. We are father and son. We are just trying to pass the time.”

Now the real one. Aunty and I boarded the plane to Kolkata last Friday.

She went about solving Suduku, and I tried to look for a suitable article from the airlines’ in-house magazine when the third passenger squeezed in to occupy the window seat. Soon he opened the middle of his 600-odd page book and went about updating himself. All I could make out was the title began with, “Financial…” Not my cup of tea.

We ate the snacks we had carried, and he ordered something from the airlines. The aroma was wafting from out of the cover, so I asked him if the food was good. It was, and thus began a chat. He was going to IIM-C to be part of a week-long course. “In our complex we have two visiting professors at IIM. One is Prof. Manikutty, and the other Mr Panduranga Bhatt,”I said. He jumped out of the seat but was prevented by the buckled seatbelt. “And where do you stay, sir,” “In Kanakapura Road.” “Where in Kanakapura Road?” he quipped. “In Sobha Forestview.” “Well, I too live in SFV.” “Where in SFV,” I asked him. “In Maple.” “Strange, we too stay in Maple” “And where in Maple,” I continued, “3135.” ‘My God, we are in 3195, just six floors above you.” Yes, that was Dr Rajesh Kumar. On a closer look I admitted I had met him in lift and at morning walks. On his part, he traced instances from my writings of 2016 to carry authenticity that he did read my pieces. As we parted, he asked us to wait for a while and, with all passengers in full view, he touched our feet in reverence. “Indian culture is still not fully extinct,” Aunty and I admired, as we wished him all the best in life.

We got into an Uber. Aunty tried to explain to him the location of our hotel. The driver assured us that he not only knew the place well, but could also share its antecedents - that it was earlier known by the name…, and in his younger days he was a regular visitor for Dosa. The forty-five minute cab-drive was filled with his version of the election prospects, the progress that the city has made, and the long way it still has to go to catch up with other metropolitan cities. In between, Aunty would interrupt to say, “Oh my God, this Salt Lake city was not there when I was in Kolkata.” “Yes, Madam, it is a recent origin,” clarified the driver from Faridkot, Punjab, where he goes once a year to collect money for the few acres of cultivable land he has given on lease.

At hotel, Aunty’s sister and brother in law waited for us eagerly – more out of hunger. They had landed from Bangalore in the morning. It was already half past two afternoon, so we had lunch. Back in the room, they opened the Rosogulla and Mishti Doi from the earthern pots, bought from Balaram Mullicks. A good start, said Aunty.

In the evening, we went to Hanuman temple where the priest surprised both the ladies by asking the welfare of each of their sisters by name. As planned, we visited Kali temple after 8 pm when it would be less crowded, though it was not so exactly. Both the sisters had bought sarees to adorn Kali Mata with. And, with the skills that my sister-in-law had mastered from her mother, she managed to have both the sarees put on separately on the deity for quite a while despite the crowd, and stay in front of the deity for ten seconds more than the pushing time.

To be continued…Part 2