‘KOLKATA’ As You (Won’t) Like It

I so often read articles about how Kolkata is the city with all the warmth and those empressement waves in all their glory. And every time I feel so puffed up with the sheer vehemence of being born in the lap of this spirited city.

The fishes, the phuckas, the mishtis, the egg rolls, the singaras, the cutlets, the heated political discussions, the meaningless ‘addas’, the cups after cups of ‘raw’ chas’, the bargains at Hatibagan, Esplanade and Garihat er more, the metro rides, the foul talk and meaningless fights in the ladies compartments of local trains, the nugatory tram rides, the smell of old books in College Street, the cheap ‘Parata ar aloo r Dum’ at the roadside vendors, the shoddy smell of the Coffee House, the hours of doing-nothing on the bank of the Ganges, the tana-rickshaws,  the ‘un’rotating fairy of the Victoria Memorial, the uncountable pigeons on the stairs of ‘Dakhineshwar Mandir’,  the Khidirpur bus-rides in search of cheaper electronic goods, the smell of ‘Shiuli’ and the sight of ‘Kashful’ in Autumn, the much anticipated Durga Puja are all fondly remembered. Like every other Bengali born and brought up in Kolkata I dote on all of these so very lovingly.

But somewhere deep down a question lingers. Why is there so much written about the food and the culture, the people and their affection, the soul and all those philosophical bullshit? Is it because there is really nothing else to write about Kolkata? Is it like a complimentary prize? Is it a way to write off Kolkata with all its inherited panache that it is so proud of? I believe my question isn’t baseless and you too will be able to see through it. Ok if you haven’t (yet) let us together switch on the information channel.

The question that bugs me most (and probably all my fellow Bengalis who aren’t in Bengal anymore) is why do I have to leave my beloved city to pursue my dreams? Why do I have to give up on the luxury of fresh-water fishes and ‘luchi ar cholar dal’ cooked by ma?

Answer:  Because there is simply no other way. The job scenario in Kolkata looks so down-and-out that I decided on satisfying my food-loving mind with idli-dosa (No offense meant. Our taste buds just don’t agree with the tamarind and all that rice-batter. I very well know that the rest of India wonders how Bengalis stand so nonchalantly for hours in a fish market) instead of starving.

According to statistics, West Bengal, the fourth most populous state of India, is the biggest loser of talent pool. The aggressive and the driven lot give up on their fishy dreams to get hold of something more meaningful in life. They can’t wait to leave their despondent and gloomy city and fill their pockets with all those little puddles of sunshine their hands lay on. You really can’t blame them. Can you?

The industrial growth is stunted. The economy is just as bad. Ok we don’t really care. We are so engrossed in the cultural hullabaloo, the glorious past and the mighty rich heritage that we did not have time even to change the Government (yes we needed 32 years to see through the mistakes of the of the Marxist rule). But how blithely we forget that it is not the past but the present that serves us.

We call ourselves the ‘cultural capital’ because that is the best way we can satisfy our Bengali ego (trust me it is huge). Yeah we do have our share of culturally rich people but the rest of India isn’t really suffering from a cultural drought.

Every city has its own charm. They all allure you in their own ways. A city grows on you not because of the people who live in it but only a handful of special people who cross your lives when you are there. If Kolkata has spread its root inside me because of all the wonderful people who are a precious part of my life not because of that overzealous aunty staying next door whose warmth was almost voyeurism or the over jealous room-mate who portrayed me as a prostitute to my class-mate. Every city has a soul. The soul we find in the friends we make in the city. Mumbai has a soul too when you make lovely friends like I did while I was there. Next time when someone glorifies the “warmth” Kolkata picture that pesky uncle, the owner of your paying guest accommodation, who made life almost hell asking you about your whereabouts when you went to a party at your friend’s place but who would not have helped you if you were in a trying situation in any case. I don’t know how Kolkata becomes “warm” all of a sudden on the pages of a magazine when I haven’t seen a single girl/lady offering seats to old women in the ladies compartment of local trains in all of my 5 years’ of commuting.

Every city has its own color, its own way to celebrate life. We are just pompous idiots to idealize our culture and “Durga Puja”. I would have really been proud if the sex ratio (expressed as the number of women per thousand men in a given population at a given time) had been the highest in Kolkata and not Thiruvananthapuram. That would have been a true celebration of the “Durga Puja” spirit.

All the proud Kolkatans must have killed me thousand times in their minds while going through this article. But what you don’t realize is that I have stabbed myself real bad (with a really sharp object) every time I pulled my city down (to its rightful position that is). But then it is better to hurt oneself with all the arduous truth than those embellished lies packed in beautifully crafted words.

Next time when we read a glorified version of our city giving us those goose-bumps let’s not just bask in the falsely reflected grandeur but let us take that much sought after effort to make our city as beautiful as those words jotted down. Let us strive to make the panegyrized version a truth to savor.