Getting Around In Kolkata

Getting around in Kolkata can be strange at worst, or an exhilerating experience at best. No matter which, it is bound to be an eperience you cannot forget. Nor can you replicate it in any corner of the world.


Commuting from Sector V, Salt Lake to Theatre Road (or to any other part of the world) could leave you breathless. And I tried to do this at half past eight in the morning.

Being the technology hub of West Bengal (for all that is worth as a tag), this place comes to life only at 10 in the morning. After that, posibly, but defunitely not before. For the enterprising Bengali spirit does not allow the bhodroloks or bhodromohilas (i am trying not to sound sexist here) to venture out before a certain hour. This hour varies from one member of the species to another but is rarely before 10. So this is the scenario that awaits you if you try to look for a taxi anytime before that hour. Because there just aren't any around.

Waiting for a taxi certainly gives you options. The first option to present itself was a private car, the driver ferrying the car from one place to another without employer supervision, making some money on the side. I thought I would wait for a taxi. Carried on waiting, but the taxi didn't appear. Quite soon, I was running out of patience and running into ample sweat. This was when the next option presented itself. Known in this part of the world as shaadaa mini, these are racing equipments (much like most other beings on Kolkata roads) disguised as buses. And one must see it to believe it. Well, this one was a shaadaa mini, to distinguish them from their non-shaadaa cousins from the (almost) F1 circuit. Getting a place to sit was not an issue.

I decided to get down to reading. Though the way the bus was swaying owing basically to the driver's demonstration of his geometric genius by drawing near perfect sine curves on the road in his attempts at getting ahead of every single living creature on the road, no matter it's denomination, reading was to be an exercise in futility.

So I decided to look out of the window. Wonderful day, with the beauty of nature being recently washed by rain. No wonder, I thought, about the person who had told me about the delight of watching the scenery outside the bus when travelling in these parts of the world ... After all, you don't have much choice do you? Not really given that you would much prefer to keep your eyes glued outside the bus, hoping to supplement the driver's sight if not his brains. And try to swallow your internals into the same place where they were before they decided to take an exit route following your alighting the mechanical monster. And trying to keep your legs steady once you are off it. That should keep you occupied enough to keep your eyes on the road ... And in the process also feel the soothing touch of Mother Nature... Specially along the Bypass.

You can also watch from the sidelines the highly intellectual debate between the bus conductor and a passenger about whether the fare should be Rs. 8 or Rs. 9, culminating in the passenger challenging the bus conductor's knowledge of bus fares (that's only his job after all, while being a topic of passion for the passenger) and the bus conductor inviting the gentleman to not avail the services of the bus.

PS: Park Street retains her charms even at this time of day.

Shape Of Things At Night

It is true ... things take on peculiar shapes, colours and meaning at night. This is realized last night ... in my hotel room. Or rather, looking out of my hotel room. But first, let me clarify ... since i am still groggy, any typoes are all mine! Well, i was sitting in a nice, comfortable chair, by the window in my room, reading a nice book (The Knowledge-Creating Company is actually a nice book ... i have even blogged about it!). This was the scene when the power went off.

Unable to see a thing, i decided to try the view from the window. I parted the curtains, and was looking out ... a beautiful tree right outside my window. The lights from the cars passing by ... They create living shadows in the trees ... i am sure you didnt know that. But then, this is something you can find out only if you are looking at it, which a lot of us dont. Anyway, coming back to what was going on ... the lights of the cars passing by were creating playful shadows on the leaves. These shadows were of different, beautiful, at times unknown shapes, but beautiful they were for sure, as was their dance. Suddenly, my attention was caught by something.

Something white in the tree. Usually, one wouldnt expect something white in the tree. So, i blinked and looked hard. Yes, it was still there. But, what was it? And thats when it struck me ... It has to be a ghost! What else could be white, and dangling from the branches of a tree? Imagine, barely a few feet from you, in the pitch dark of the night, punctuated only by the lights of the passing cars (and these were quite infrequent, so by now, there were prolonged spells of darkness), there was the silhouette of a ghost. Captivating the thoughts. And, the senses. Fear was slowly creeping in. Unknown to me, being felt only by my peripheral senses, fear was slowly taking over my emotions ... my senses slowly coming to face it.

Just as fear was about to take total control over me, power came back. At first it was startling, this sudden change in the environment. And, it took a few minutes to adjust to the explosion of light. And then i looked out again. It was still there. It was a Kurta. I dont know why it was there, how it got to be there, or why was it dangling right in front of my window. Thats not really the end of the story. This was close to bed-time, and i was feeling drowsy (these days, i am subscribing to the early to bed, early to rise phenomenon ...). But, i was too shaken to face the darkness. Which is why, i had to leave on all the lights, keep the tv switched on, and sleep with all these distractions.

True Story ...

So this is not an original ... but then, if its true, why does it need to be? Well ... heres one which you might want to hear. And one which the girls dont know about (and maybe we should keep it this way ... dont wannt antagonize them, do we?).

Well, in a time distant ... there was Adam ... roaming The Garden! He was having a really good time. He could go out for a drink whenever he wanted to. He could come back home when he pleased, sleep late, in general, do whatever he pleased. And then, one day, he had an idea ... Wouldnt it be nice to have someone to talk to? In this frame of mind, he approached God. And he asked ... God, can i have someone to talk with? God, in His wisdom, said ... Yes, my son ... you shall have a companion. She shall be called Eve, and she shall be the best thing to have happened to you. You wouldnt be able to ask for anything better. And this caught Adam's attention ... Tell me more, he said.

Well ... God said ... She shall be the perfect companion. First of all, she shall never go shopping. She shall have an extreme allergy to expensive new clothes, to perfumes, and to any kinds of cosmetics. Hence, she shall stay away from all of these. In short, she shall never go shopping. She will always listen to you. And, she will never argue with you. She will, after you have had your say, apologize to you even if (hold your breath, friends!), the mistake was yours. She shall never complain about anything, and will take care of you and your home without any complaints. She will have absolutely no problems with you drinking Beer, and your boy's evenings out. Hmmm ... Interesting ... thought Adam. And then he turned to God, and asked ... Father, how much is she going to cost me? (for he also knew, in his Smithonian form, that there is no such thing as a free lunch!) ... God quickly did some costing calculations, and told him ... My son, she is going to cost you an arm and a leg. Adam thought, and then he thought some more. God of course told him that this was a limited period offer, so he had to make up his mind fast. Like, in the next 5 seconds. Inspired by the idea of getting a good deal, Adam decided to bargain (a la Janpath, or Fashion Street!). He asked God ... what do i get for a rib? (the rest, of course, is history ... the 5 seconds were over!)

Shubho Mahurat

As whodunits come, this one is quite the same ... and yet different. This is something about the movie which makes it different from the rest. Dont ask me what it is. Is it the way the story is told, or is it the acting? No idea ... but different it is, which is why i have seen this movie again and again ... last night was the firth time ... usually you cant see whodunit kinds more than a couple of times, if they are really good. But, in Shubho Mahurat, Rituparno Ghosh has come up with an incomparable way of telling this Agatha Christie story.

For starters, the direction is right up there with the best ... those details match. Usually, in a scene where one of the actors is smoking, you would find that suddenly, in mid-sentence, the cigarette has gone from just-lit to almost-through. This is something which doesnt happen here. Even apart from this, the little things, like the street noises of Kolkata have been captured in the background. The shouts of the vendors, the sounds of vehicles driving past ... they are all there.

Direction apart, the acting in the movie is in a league of its own. To begin with, Sharmila Tagore ... she is, today, acting in a way she never even came close to, in her heyday. She has come up with a truly superlative performance. And, this must be said ... Sharmila Tagore gets more and more beautiful with age. The elegance and grace with which she carries off the role is simply superb.


And as far as the acting, goes, Rakhee (trivia ... she is the true Independance child ... born on 15th August, 1947) has shown what it means to act. With her acting in this movie, she has, to my mind, given a totally new dimension to the idea of acting. Her performance in the movie is simply the best i have ever seen (if you dont consider Sanjeev Kumar in Nayaa Din Nayee Raat, has to be the best performance of all times). The way she has taken care of the the slightest nuances of the role really takes this performance to a different league altogether.

And then, there is Nandita Das and Anindya (i am not attaching a link to Anindya, because couldnt find one ... except for Chandrabindu). Nandita has given far better performances, and then, a mediocre performance when put next to the superlative ones by Rakhee and Sharmila Tagore seems totally lacklustre. Anindya, on the other hand, is a wonderful singer, and he should stick to it.


Overall, a movie which i would recommend to all my readers ... the CD even has English sub-titles.

Marriage ... Forever!

There are a few who believe that the marriage of institution has changed ... that it has evolved over a period of time, along with the evolution of the human species. To all of them, i would say ... i disagree. Well ... the basic concept of marriage has been incorporated into a picture (whoever said a picture speaks louder than a thousand words ... and i did google to try to find who uttered these words, but failed ... really knew his Beans from his Bacon!) ... this picture speaks more than a whole lot of words. Speaks for the lifetimes of generations of married men? I would think it does.


In case you were wondering what this picture is ...


Interesting picture ... though, it begins even more interesting if you try to analyze it. For, there are a number of very interesting things which come out of this picture!

To begin with ... lets analyze this picture from the dimension of time ... the actions of the harried man would have totally different meanings depending on the presence or absence of a little strip of metal around his finger ...


Before marriage ... This is the usual male way of pleading with the woman to make his life full (poor fellow, he is not yet married, so how is he to know that a life thats full is also a life thats finished!). He will go to the extent of giving her his credit card, for her to spend as she wishes, if she will just rule his heart. From the vantage point of his heart, she could swipe and swipe, till the card melts, for all he cares ... plastic is renewable, love isnt, after all. Of course, the view from where he is doesnt hurt either! For centuries, men have left no stone unturned to please their mate. Actually, they probably had no choice. And fuelling this fire is the picture of the Taj Mahal with the caption ...

And to think, today's men get away by gifting flowers and chocolates to their wives!

This must have been designed by a geriatric, well beyond the "have to gift" stage, only to egg on their daughters to a new stage of marital bliss.


After marriage ... well ... he seems to be saying just one thing ... Please take this credit card ... i implore you ... take this credit card, and spend all you wish, my dear ... but please ... oh please ... spare me! After all, plastic is renewable, but life isnt!

Book In My Head

They say each one of us has a writer somewhere within. I guess that is quite true. Considering the thoughts in my head these days ... There are so many thoughts which course through the neurons merrilly gettng those synapses tingling. In fact, i would say there is not one, but many books which the writer inside is raring to write. There is just one small, tiny, itsy-bitsy problem ... Actually, not one, but two. First, what to write about, and second, where to begin.

There are so many topics i would like to write about. I want to write about some things which have happened during my time this time round on the earth ... some incidents from childhood, some illustrious craziness in college, some of the memorable journeys (yes, this could be a magnum opus), which i have undertaken. I also want to write about my spiritual explorations. And, i want to write about two topics which are very, very close to my heart ... maybe one not as much as the other ... the Partition (well, my family comes from Lahore), and the Silk Road. The political, and more important, the cultural and, of course, culinary history of the wonderful cities which dotted the silk road, and the empires which were created, and which faded away in time. I also want to write about some of the moments engraved in the mind's eye till the time i depart (maybe in the worlds to come, as well ...). I want to write about love, and about human frailty, and heroism.

OK ... I am sure you got the point. There are so many things to write about. First question ...

Should all of these form part of one story, as they are, in my mind, threads tied to each other, with ends chasing each other, or should they be put to paper, in a form where each thread can be told in the form of a separate story?

Once you have understood the dilemma i am facing, i am sure you would understand the second question ... where do i begin?

All thoughts, opinions, suggestions, more than welcome ... Please pass this on to your friends, and do write back on the comments, with your thoughts! Would be highly appreciated ...

Something To Read ...

This is going to be nothing in particular, and everything in general, hence the title. The first thing ... Driving! If you have driven in Kolkata, or Mumbai, you would know how much of a nightmare it can be. Well, Gurgaon is well on its way to becoming a world city, and hence ... Can Gurgaon be far behind? Just today ... there was a lady, driving a SUV ... no, i have no problems with that. Never ... wouldnt even think about it. Just that she was driving while having an Apple, and trying to call up someone on her mobile. Now, this surely is a juggling act highly difficult to emulate, and i would hope not many folks try to do that, either. At least, not the eating ... its always much more wonderful eating in peace, dont you think? Now, this is not to say that this is the preserve of women, but being the MCP that i am (ya, ya, i heard you say this earlier ...), i just had to write this! No, no ... i dont hate women. In fact, much the opposite ... i love them! Tongue in cheek ... its just their driving skills i am worried about.

On the subject of women in Gurgaon ... i think Gurgaon is growing up, and quick. The other day, i was out buying Beer (yes, this was before my Diet, for the record ...). Two girls came in (i would call them girls, given the grey hair in my goatee, and the fact that they looked much, much younger) ... They asked for strong Beer. Now, thats cool ... Girls can drink anything they want to ... What i would like to write about here is that the shopkeeper didnt bat an eyelid. The usual glances, head to toe, sizing them up ... they were just not there! And, this, to my mind, is a sign of a city which is growing up, if not already there!

The Water Conjurer ...

There was once a conjurer ... a conjurer with a speciality. The speciality was something which was quite intriguing ... making something out of nothing. And, it wasnt even just an ordinary something. It was water!

Yes ... the Conjurer could make water out of nothing. How? Simple ... He would just wave his hand, and lo and behold ... there would be water. There was water in the seas, on the land, and in the sky, and all of this was there, because of the Conjurer. He was a man of Magic ... and, he created magic, too. Whenever it rained two drops, he could make a lake which had four drops of water in it ... two from the rain, and two conjured by the magical Conjurer. Though, he wasnt quite alone in this. He had a friend ... a friend who was unknown. Yes, unknown! Unknown to the world, except by his work ... for his work was path-breaking ... Literally!

One day, the Conjurer left his home. He quite liked it there, but he wanted to see new places. For one of the things he couldnt do with magic was see far-off places. This was because clouds always surrounded him. Being the Water Conjurer, he always carried with him the aura of water, and how better to express this aura than through clouds? So it would almost be fair to say that the Conjurer couldnt see beyond his clouds. Which quite made it impossible to see things which were far away. And no, even spectacles didnt help.

So, one day, he left his home, and went out into the world. He went far and wide, saw almost the entire world. He went around like this for years. For years, he was travelling, seeing some of the most beautiful places in the world, and some of the most unusual too. He went to a place where there was a tower which just wouldnt stand straight. And he went to a place where there was fire flying in the sky. he went to the place with the statue of the lady, and he went to the place with the wonderful fair. He saw merchants, kings and queens, he saw travellers, farmers, shepherds, people of all kinds. And he liked them all. Some of them were good people, who never spared a thought before helping others, and others were not so good, who never spared a thought for others. But, they were all part of Creation, and so they were beautiful.

Then one day, he came to a city ... this was a city with a tower. Only, like the other city with the tower he went to, this tower stood straight. It stood straight, pointing its finger at the sky, a beautiful reminder of people gone by. The city had a beautiful river, and a lovely fort. The city was the land of poets ... There was literature, there was art, and there was music ... and, there was the warmth of the city which welcomed him with open arms. And thats when he decided ... He must live in this city. He would never leave the city.

Now, from time to time, rains would skip the city by. These were times which were tough for the people. But, not any longer. The Conjurer was with them. So, he brought water. And more water. And then some more, till the people were wondering what they were to do with so much water. And they slowly became worried. If the Conjurer stayed there for long, they wouldnt have any place to stay. For there would be water everywhere. So, they all asked the king to ask the Conjurer to go away from there. The king wanted the Conjurer to stay, but then, the power of the people was paramount, so he had no choice ... he had to ask the Conjurer to go away. The Conjurer, upon hearing this, felt sad.

He had been asked like this to go away plenty of times before. But, it was never like this. He had never seen a city as beautiful as this. He had never come across people as nice, warm and welcoming as here. And, he had never felt the beauty of human civilization as he had here. He had never heard such wonderful poetry, such lilting music, and such beautiful art, not to mention the wonderful architecture. All in all, this was the most wonderful city he had ever seen. And he was sad ... Sad, for he didnt want to leave. But, the people were scared.

On hearing whats going on with the Conjurer, the Path-breaker ran to join him. He brought with him his unique skills, which were path-breaking ... literally. Upon seeing him, the Conjurer started to cry. He let out a loud wail, and started to cry with all the sadness he had ... And, he poured it forth in the form of tears. Seeing his wonderful friend cry, Path-breaker got furious, and let his anger be known to the people of Delhi. And, we can still see both ... whenever it rains two drops in Delhi, water logging is four drops ... two drops coming from the Conjurer. And, the Path-breaker, in his fury, to this day, goes about breaking up the roads, creating astral craters on the roads, whenever the Conjurer conjures up water.

Food from Goa

Goa Portuguesa is tucked away on one of the streets of Mahim. But the food here is something which is amply wonderful to draw you to it. Well, we went there yesterday ... And sure enough, one of the dishes i would invariably order would be the Prawns Balcao, with the Garlic Pao ... These Prawns are like little bits of delight which they serve up. Especially wonderful ... In addition, we ordered the Goencho Tolog ... The Chicken is quite ok, the gravy is quite nice, though. Its gravy thats made of Cashew and the works ... Quite nice ... and, a nice contrast from the Balcao gravy, which is a differet ballgame altogether.

The Balco is fiery, the Goencho Tolog is soothing ... The Garlic Pao were not as nice as they have been ... the Butter was missing, for instance. Though, of course the Prawns were fresh as always, and the Balcao was wonderful ... as usual. For a cange, i didnt go for the Bombay Duck stuffed with Crab ... but then considering we had gone there for Lunch ... there was no Feni to go along with the Bombay Duck ...

All in all, Goa Portuegesa lives up to its name ... though they have come up with the idea of serve Maharashtra food ... which sort of confuses the issue. As long as they are keeping separate space (as they are doing with Culture Curry), its ok, but the current format ... confusing!

Of Giving Your Viewpoint

My friend Shubro commented on my post on Aaddaabaajee ... Well, this reminded me of this little episode ... The guys almost beat me up.

Well, in our part of the world, swear words are quite customary ... you use them almost as punctuations (anybody who knows any Punjabi would know this, and of course, Delhi is so, so Punjabi ...). And as such, these pearls of poetic wisdom used to flow freely in our intellectual interactions. They almost used to decorate our prose, and punctuate our discussions, much like the cigarettes used to. Though, of course, i am yet to find out which of the two were the more valuable communication aids.

As it would be ... there was a debate underway ... passionate discussion, if you may (which is where most discussions used to be, after around 5 cigarettes having been smoked in the space of an hour!). So passionate that, as usual, tempers were frayed, and participants were quite eagerly delivering swear words at random. The topic of the debate?

Does familiarity allow us to use swear words with friends, or is this a sign of bad manners!

Trust the guys to not understand the irony of the nature of the debate. As you might have guessed, i wasnt there (since the debate hadnt yet reached rarefied heights). Well, i walked into the narrow alley which was Atlas Radios, pipe in mouth. Being the "impartial" one, the two sides jumped at me, and asked me what i think about the topic. Holding the pipe, chewing on its end, knotting my brows, and thinking from my impartial platform, the only response i could muster was ...

It depends on what viewpoint you hold.

Of course, thats the impartial view. Listen ... i go one way, i get bashed up by one set of guys, and i go the other way, well ... you get the picture! Sitting on the fence was the safe option. Or so i thought. The response this brought on was something i obviously cant write here (folks might object to it), but it definitely was quite in flow of things, and i almost got bashed up by both the set of folks.

Aaddaabaajee ...

Aaddaabaajee ... a term not very familiar to lots of people. To the inhabitants of Kolkata (or Calcutta, if you may), an integral part of their lives. Though, surely aaddaabaajee is not the preserve of the city. There were the days ... rather, evenings ... the vanue? Atlas Radio! Not an address known to many, but to the boys of Darya Ganj, or at least the folks i grew up with, this is an address which is closely linked with our growing up years, through school and college.

No matter how, come evening, and we would gather there. If we werent playing cricket, of course ... though, cricket playing took a back-seat sometime during school. At the risk of having our parents read this, i would admit that this is where cigarettes were smoked (surreptitiously, of course). This is where we graduated from smoking Navy Cut to Wills Kings (dont see them around anymore), to Gold Flake, to the ubiquituous Prince Henry (and no, we are not the only ones to prefer this brand ... read this). As Avinashjee writes ...

From the next day it started. Ashish brought an assortment of four pipes for the supervisor to select one from. He kept all the four. “You tend to get tired of smoking the same pipe day after day,” he said. Impeccable logic, that. We bought cigarette paper. Ashish had brought “Capstan” brand tobacco. The supervisor told him to buy “Prince Henry” brand next time. “The flavor is rich,” he said. The valuations were rich too – Prince Henry was retailed at a price almost one and a half times that of Capstan.

And this is where we discussed ... we discussed almost everything. The discussion ranged from politics, to social issues, to philosophy, to movies, literature, and the occasional mention of girls. And no, i have not covered all the topics we discussed. Then there was the time when, influenced by the pipe-smoking charm of Sherlock Holmes, we took to smoking a pipe. It made you look so elegant, though of course we all shared one pipe (hey ... who had the money to buy so any pipes).

And even when it went to college, to study at BHU, holidays were times when i could meet all my friends ... and guess where i would find them?

Continuing on Bongs ...

OK ... I found out the original ... The post on Bongs comes from another post. Of course, there are a few things which need to be added. One that comes to mind ... Daak naam! And, of course the bhaalo naam. For the uninitiated ... daak naam is the name by which you are called ... the nick-name (which is assuming that everyone would be calling you by this name). Which, if you were a Bong, you would dread ... being called by all and sundry by a name like Phuku, or Piklu, or Kaju, or Kishmish, for that matter, or any such smattering of names, which not only have nothing to do with your name, they dont even have anything to do with any recognizable human language. The other name you would have, the bhaalo naam (good name, based on the assumption that the daak naam cannot be bhaalo ... a confession?), is the name you are known to the rest of the world, who are unfortunate enough to not be in on the secret of your daak naam.

A word about the bhaalo naam, too ... something i had observed, and which was corroborated by other sources, too ... probably every alternate Bong child must be named as a variant of Deb (God!). So, he is either the son of God, Debkumar, or the blessings of God, Debashish, or any linguistic or spellings variant of the word ... look at the way he behaves, there would be no way you would have been able to guess!

The Princess and the Gardener ...

So not me ... but i felt the impulse to write a story ... inspired from something i had read long years ago ... dont ask me, i dont even remember. Here goes ...

There was once a princess … She lived in a beautiful palace, in a kingdom which was vast, and prosperous. The king was a kind and just king, and the people were happy. They were kind, too. The people would always help each other, and build beautiful buildings. They also grew exotic flowers. In fact, they were reputed far and wide for growing beautiful flowers. And the most beautiful flowers grew in the palace. It was said that the beauty of the flowers depended on how good the owner of the house was. And, the king was indeed a good man.

The palace garden was tended by a gardener. It had he lawns, but they were tended to by a single gardener. He was a loving and kind man, and he loved all his flowers a lot. Though, the flower he loved the most was the princess. And, unknown to the gardener, the princess also took a fancy to him. They were in love with each other. And then, one day, it came, as it must … They met, their eyes met, and they found out about their mutual feelings.

From then on, they would meet every day. Every day, they spent some wonderful moments together. Soon, word went out, as it must, and their love became the talk of the town. And it soon reached the king. The king, being a kind man, was in a dilemma … He couldn’t let this happen, and he couldn’t stop this, too. At this stage, he called his minister, and asked for his advice. The minister, a wise man advised him. The king followed his advice, and asked the gardener to move to another city in the kingdom where the king had got a new palace built. He had to go there to grow the same beautiful flowers that he grew in the palace garden. But, he must not tell the princess. Otherwise … The gardener had no choice.

Then one day, the gardener left at dawn. The princess, of course, didn’t know. She waited for him in the garden, but he didn’t come. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, but the gardener didn’t come back to the princess. She was heartbroken, and more so, she was angry. Angry at the way he went away, after playing with her heart. It was in this frame of mind that she went on a holiday. She went to the hills, where she sought to find solace. The hills indeed were soothing, but not to the princess. Then one day, as she was walking along the cliff, she saw him. He ran to her. They met, he from love, and she from anger. As he walked towards her, she brushed him aside. He tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She was angry. The gardener walked towards her, and as he did so, she pushed him away … Little did she realize that she was standing at the edge of the cliff … and as she pushed him away out of rage, he lost his balance, and no matter how much she tried to hold on to him, he fell. And she had to let go … for he fell to the bottom of the hill, to his death.