Honking autos, screeching buses, rattling yellow
Ambassadors, teeming metros, speeding bicycles and then a sudden glimpse of a
lazy tram or a hand-pulled rickshaw, or that ambling bullock-cart --
A trip to the City of Joy always
leaves me a little befuddled, a little awed, a little more curious about a way
of life that overflows with energy and is yet so nonchalant at times.
Chaos defines Kolkata and to call it crowded would be a
terrible understatement. You might wonder, what’s
the occasion? After all, why would so many souls be out on the streets,
under the scorching sun, sweating it out? Soon you know it’s just another
day of life in this maverick metro. I am told the city is worth a visit
during its yearly festive extravaganza, Durga Puja, and that one should just go
with the flow when out to visit the innumerable ‘pandals’ and idols of goddess
Durga that showcase the best of Kolkata’s creative chromosomes. Honestly,
I am yet to pluck up enough courage to handle that kind of a crowd.
As far as traffic rules are concerned, it’s to each his own. Make space for
yourself and move, that’s the mantra. Surprisingly though, I spotted a method in
the madness. Not just the two wheeler rider, even the pillion is supposed
to don a helmet, compulsorily. Yes, I am not kidding.
Even as you wander through the twirling narrow lanes and
bylanes of this mighty city, a sweet turn will greet you almost every 100
metres. Mishti doi, roshogolla, kheerkodom, shondesh, the list is endless and so
are the beelines to these shops. Street food (the Indianized Chinese noodles,
the spicy, juicy rolls, the mouth-watering phuchkas, the oily paranthas) is
such a craze here that you wonder if people actually eat to
live, or live to eat. Schoolkids, officegoers, collegians, all grab a bite
on the go, and quite literally at that. Food here is a celebration that
needs no reason. It's simple, 'Tummy khush toh aami khush.'
Fish is yet another big fetish in this Bengali heartland.
These aquatic creatures are held in such high
esteem that saying no to them during a meal could actually make you feel
like a fish out of water. During one of my trips, I accompanied dad to a local
fish market one morning. The all-pervasive strong odour notwithstanding, it was a
one-of-a-kind experience -- fish of all shapes and sizes, some still alive
and agile, some staring at me with that 'oh you won't eat me, will you' look,
the chosen ones being skinned and cut to
size for a perfect serving; squabbling fishmongers trying to convince buyers
how they had the best to offer; cautious husbands taking more than a closer
look at the spread, making sure there's nothing
fishy about the fish, lest their wives back home chide them for failing to pick
up that perfect one that could have made for a scrumptious meal (No offence
meant, but most Bengali men are quite a chicken, especially when their
wives roar.)
My tryst with this city has been barely five years old and that
too on trips no longer than 20 days each. But I have come to realize that there is
beauty in disorder only if one notices. And this beauty lies in the fact that Kolkata makes room for all. While the
rich can afford to soak in the richness of the culturally bestowed city, the poor know they won't go to bed hungry. After all, where else
would you still find a full meal
(rice, dal, sabzi and the stapel 'macher jhol') for 20 odd rupees or probably even
less, a cup of piping hot tea for rupees 2 and those 50 paise and 1 rupee coins
so much in vogue. It happens only in Kolkata. Every time that I am
visiting, I surrender myself to the ebb and flow of life there, take a few steps behind and watch the city unfurl
itself, and the Kahaani only gets more interesting.
