Remembering Kolkata

I

I noticed the yellow Ambassadors in line. Not the faded yellow and black Fiats of Mumbai I was familiar with. No, these beasts were bigger, and a stately yellow ochre, top to bottom. I approached the first of these beasts, stepping into the morning sun from the coolness of the airport terminal. A warm summer breeze sulkily enveloped me; a hint of what was to come later in the day.

The taxi growled into life and lurched forward in its diesel power, pushing me back into my seat. I knew that feeling. It’s the feeling you get when you lean back on a chair beyond the tipping point and, suddenly, you’re mystified by the lack of gravity you experience, arms and feet flailing in panic. You grab whatever is nearby, hoping to re-establish contact with solid ground. So did I, at that very moment, grabbing the door with one hand and the front seat with the other.

It wasn’t one of the more memorable moments of my life, but I remember it now when I think of my last trip to Kolkata.

The rest of the journey was uneventful. The roads were smoother than Mumbai’s and I couldn’t help notice the greenery around. There were no signs of garbage that littered the streets which I remembered with disdain. That was a surprise! Did my memory fail? Or, had Kolkata become more beautiful in the eleven odd years I had been away?

The taxi driver and his companion ignored me completely, continuing to banter over the drone of the engine until the very end of my journey. But I didn’t mind. The warm breeze filtering in through the windows was company enough for me. Plus, I had my past memories of Kolkata to keep me busy. Soon, I began to recognise some of the landmarks along the way, and before long, I had to give directions for the right turns to reach my destination.

II

“I’m cooking mangsho bhaat [mutton curry and rice] for lunch today,” she said as I entered. “I remembered it’s your favourite. Dipankar has brought fresh mutton from the market earlier this morning.”

That, more or less, was how I was greeted on my arrival. And, that’s how it continued over the two weeks I spent in Kolkata mid last year. It was a joyous revelry of meeting old friends, and a few new ones, over a feast of meals. Nothing was accomplished without food. Everything I did was woven around meals.

Not just the usual lunches and dinners which you might have guessed. There were requests too: a quick “Aarey, ak minute lagbe to” pre-lunch eelish maachh bhaja [a double-quick pre-lunch fish fry]; or a couple of “God, you must be hungry. When did you have lunch?” chicken rolls in the evening; or a mid-afternoon “Tui eta try kor, jeeb diye jol porbey” [try this mouth-watering] fish fry. There were no end to requests and invitations to eat.

Of course, I obliged happily. Every time.

[These two short articles appeared in The Times of India, Kolkata, exactly a year ago. Decided to post them today as I was supposed have been in Kolkata today, but had to cancel my trip due to work in Mumbai.]