The Pyramids, The Dome and The Square

Calcutta is enchanting
Calcutta beckons me
Calcutta gets me exploring
Calcutta gets me tasting more and more…

Yes, Kolkata is one place where I always run short of time to see the heritage places and eat at equally old joints. I was recently there for a short time and went to some of these places and, as usual, fell more in love with this city despite all its decadence and economic stagnation. Kolkata is an enigma and paradox where pockets of modernity like the underwater metro along with the archaic snail-paced trams and hand-pulled rickshaws still chug people to their destinations in some pockets. Come, let me take you down….

The Pyramids

You must be wondering…a Pyramid in Kolkata? No, there is none. I was just referring to the shape of the Bengali shingara, in the making of which a simple twist and fold of the outer covering gives it its signature triangular shape. The little conical savouries look like the pyramids in miniatures. Please do not call this beautiful gastronomic delight samosa.

Ode to a Samosa 

Oh Samosa, my love
Love ya four seasons long
Want you morning, day and night
Your crispy coat and hot spice inside
Always make me ask for more
But when I go eastwards ho
And devour the smaller and tastier Bengali shingara
I start singing a song
Of love deeper than thou
Don’t ask me why
Maybe for its thinner crispier coat
Maybe the potatoes inside are cut finer
Maybe it’s the added crunchy peas and peanuts
When they come close to me, my lips reach out to kiss
My mouth goes munch munch
Soon they melt away after every crunch
In Kolkata they also make the shingara
With cauliflower and call it phoolkopir shingara
The mutton one is simpler to remember.... motton shingara
And the Bongs also have maachher shingara with you know what’s inside
So darling Samosa, I shall soon be back to you
Please do excuse my minor misdemeanour
On this temporary detour
My love for you shall never die. 

I find these shingaras completely irresistible and had the Egyptian Pharaohs known about these delights from the East, they surely would have made sure their subjects packed them bagfuls for their journey into the next world. This time, while I relished the regular shingara, I also had another version of it which quite blew me off. One was the malai shingara made of khoya and dry fruit stuffing and chocolate shingara which had a filling of chocolate fudge and dry fruits. And this extraordinary twin pyramids came to us from an old friend of D who bought it at the famous confectioners Girish Chandra Dey & Nakur Chandra Nandy of Ramdulal Sarkar Street. This father-in-law and son-in-law duo family has been perfecting its art since 1844 at a small shop with grilles outside giving the outlet the appearance of a jail. While the city keeps growing older, the tradition of making fine sweets goes on forever.

The Dome

Meet the country’s oldest post office, the Kolkata GPO with its magnificent dome and rows of marvellous Corinthian pillars which, apart from the Howrah Bridge and the Victoria Memorial, often appears in movies and calendars of yore as an integral part of the skyline of this heritage city. The GPO at Dalhousie Street was celebrating its 250^th year of existence on March 24, 2024. I did my little reconnaissance of the place in the limited time at hand and then returned home to do my research and kicked myself for not having spent more time there. 

Did you know-

a.      Where the GPO is located is the site of the first fortification of the infamous East India Company called Fort William?

b.    The imposing building which houses the post office today was designed in 1864 by Walter B. Greenville and was completed in 1868.

c.   The alley beside the post office was the site of the guardhouse where the infamous Black Hole of Calcutta happened in 1756. After Siraj-ud-daulah, the ruler of Bengal, defeated the East India Company forces stationed at Fort William, over a hundred of the captured soldiers were kept in a tiny room which was no more than 14 by 18 feet and the following morning only a handful survived.

d.  The red building adjoining the present GPO is the original building and was called the Calcutta Collectorate by the British Government after they took over the reins of power in 1857.

e.    Kolkata GPO is one of the 5 GPOs with a Philatelic Bureau and I was lucky to lay my hands on the special cover to commemorate 250 years of the iconic GPO.

f.      In 1896, the clock on the dome which can be seen from all sides, was added to this imposing structure. It was built by the manufacturers of the fames Big Ben of London and cost a sum of Rs 7,000.

India’s first post office was established in 1774 by Warren Hastings. The British East India Company had cemented its position after victories at the Battle of Plassey in 1757 and Battle of Buxar in 1764. With the Treaty of Allahabad, they won the right to collect tax on behalf of the Mughal Empire and, hence, needed to develop strong communication system for movement of men, materials and money safely and quickly. In 1793, Lord Cornwallis introduced the Permanent Settlement system that helped the zamindars to amass huge wealth and the responsibility of postal system was vested in them. This is the time when the country saw the emergence of runners who would run night and day carrying bags full of documents, letters and currency from one post office to another braving all difficulties. Since then, the postman became a part of people’s lives delivering messages of joy and telegrams of sadness and money to the needy. Alas, today, with the onset of social media, the post man is someone you get to see for a handful speed and registered posts and on days following Diwali when they come knocking for the annual bakshish.

The old Collectorate Office also houses a museum which I could not see because the person with the key had still not arrived till 11a.m. All I could do was to somehow take pictures of the runner’s life size statue and an old post box standing outside the museum. This GPO must be also the only one in India to have a café aptly named The Parcel Café. This café is beautifully done up and you can even buy memorabilia including the holy Gangasagar Gangajal.

The Market Square

Let me now jump over from Dalhousie to Lindsay Street and shift focus from buying stamps to relishing cakes. By the mid-19^th century, the number of Britishers in India had increased and they wanted market exclusively for themselves. The Calcutta Corporation quickly agreed to their demands and commissioned Richard Roskeli Bayne as architect and Mackintosh Burn as the builder of a shopping arcade which opened on January 1, 1874. Since the Chairman of the Calcutta Corporation, Sir Stuart Hogg, had shown tremendous support for the project, it was decided that the market be named Sir Stuart Hogg Market. This was later shortened to Hogg Market and the native Bengalis referred to it as Hogg Shaheber Bajaar. But the earliest provisional name, New Market, remained most commonly used. For us in the late 20^th Century, this was the place where we bought some of our best clothing, watches and kids’ dresses. This place was the go-to place for everything and old timers would joke that you could even buy tiger’s milk at the new market. Today, this market looks pretty run down with not many people thronging the narrow lanes. Seems the love for malls and online purchases has run down the sheen of this market place. However, for us the attraction for this place till this day has been and remains a bite at Nahoum’s bakery.

The bakery was founded by Nahoum Israel Modecai, a Baghdadi Jew in 1902. Over the years this store has been passed down to his sons and their sons. For those who have met  some of these gentlemen, you might recall with amusement how they would sit comfortably on their chairs and handle cash without actually counting every penny. After the death of David Nahoum in 2013, people thought that the shop would close down but then it continued, thanks to his brother and dedicated and loyal staff who now manage the store. A picture of three generations of Nahoum adorns the store which has stood the test of time without making any change to its layout of decor. The wooden cash till is still as operational as it was over a century ago. Most importantly, even the food and the taste has not changed and so attracts people throughout the day. If you step in after 4 p.m. on a working day, all you can get to buy would be the bread, for the cakes, pastries and puffs would have been sold by then. In a city with the new malls and stores coming up all over, the Kolkata folks of all ages continue their love story with Nahoum’s.

Apart from all these historic places, no visit is ever complete without doing a round of places I call Hogwards…. breakfast at Flury’s, the continental lunch at the Indian Coffee House at New Town, evening snacks at a cousin’s place with fish cutlet, fish roll and fish finger, pan-Asian dinner at Peter Hu…yes Peter Hu and not Cat for once. Had sweets galore…innumerable rounds of fish once again at Mama Bari and, nowadays, a home-delivered special cuisine from my friend Anurita’s Kitchen has become a must for us on our visits to this city. This time we were treated to an exotic and authentic Sri Lankan plate by her. Finally, you end up with a big burp and on return home, the weighing scale shouts…Get off, fatso!!

SS

Resting in Peace

There appeared to be much commotion and the people were to be seen all over the place, some inside the house and others on the road outside. They were all talking in hushed voices and their faces looked sullen. Some young men seemed busier than the others and a closer look revealed that they were putting together a simple wooden frame with bamboo cords tied at the corners and flat, wooden planks at the lower end. A body wrapped in white bedsheet was placed on it and people started placing flowers and wreaths on top. The white sheet of cloth was pulled down slightly to reveal the face of the old man lying there. There were cotton balls stuffed in both his nostrils, tulsi leaves on his eyelids and some sandalwood paste on his forehead. A handful of agarbattis were lit to give the air a serene smell and the pundit was chanting the Vedic scriptures appropriate to the occasion. A lady in white saree sat next to the man and was in tears. She was in the company of some other women who, too, were teary eyed and the collective crying could be heard quite a distance away. Close to the body stood a kurta-pyjama clad man in his early thirties and a young woman in saree. A small baby, no more than three years old, was also to be seen crying while holding on to the saree pallu of the lady standing. This couple appeared to be related to the departed man for they were seen to be giving some directions to the group of active youngsters on what to do next. By now the hearse had come and the man was lifted on to the shoulders of the young men and the related man was seen to be heading the procession with an earthen pot, slung with coir cords, held in his hand. Now the crying sound of the women grew louder as did the collective and rhythmic sounds of the men….ram naam satya hai…The body was placed in the carriage with care and the vehicle slowly moved and the men and women started walking slowly along. While some people followed the hearse in their vehicles, others dispersed to their respective homes.

When all had departed from the house, there were just three souls left behind in the departed man’s house…..his wife, his little grand-daughter and his big , black dog. The lady was crying for her partner of long, the baby was crying that her parents had not taken her wherever they had gone and the dog was the only one who maintained a stoic silence. The dog lay quietly under a divan in the living room without any movement. On normal days this Doberman, called Ivan, would charge at outsiders and bark ferociously at the smallest pretext. But today was very different for this ever alert dog. The death of the master of the house was something even this ferocious animal understood and reacted with calmness and quietness quite unlike his usual demeanor. The old lady meanwhile wiped off her tears as she saw the time on the wall clock. It was seven in the evening and time for Ivan’s dinner. She had already prepared Ivan’s favourite mincemeat and chappatis in the afternoon itself, which was well before the sudden demise of her husband. The dog, who was an integral part of the family, had to be fed and this was one task she would do diligently come rain or sun. She went to the kitchen, heated the food, put it in bowl and called Ivan to eat. On normal days, Ivan would rush to the bowl and finish the meal in no time but today he lay still under the bed. No matter how much the lady tried to make him come out and eat, the dog did not budge and just kept looking blank and motionless. The food and the water just lay there untouched.

The lady’s attention now went on to her sobbing grandchild who was a bit too young to understand the mysteries and emotions relating to life and death.  The kid was crying louder than ever before as she was missing her parents and, maybe, in her own way missing her grandpa who would constantly carry her in his arms and walk around the garden showing her flowers during the day and the sky with the moon and stars at night. The lady washed her hands repeatedly before proceeding to the kitchen once more to prepare hot rice to which she added with a big dollop of butter, a boiled egg and a sprinkling of salt. She now bent down to lift the little baby and hold her tight close to her chest, kissed her on both the cheeks and placed her on top of the dining table with a bib round her neck. She even tried to sing a song but the little one just would not be pacified. She kept on crying and tears were rolling down her chubby cheeks. With great difficulty, the old lady was able to get the baby to eat the meal and the crying had now taken a break. The kid now said, “Nani, play with me.” The lady was terribly sad for she had lost her partner for over forty years but here she was facing a dilemma. While she was planning to now have some time of her own to grieve, the kid was oblivious of the tragedy in the family and wanted to play. She forced a smile and nodded her head in agreement to the demands of the kid who was now getting into her elements and started giggling and mumbling.

The first game they played was hide and seek. There were a lot of places for the little one to hide, and even though the granny knew the hideouts, she made sure to act as if she did not know and kept looking here and there to the utter amusement of the girl who would giggle from her place of hiding. When the granny had her chance to hide, the child would quickly find her and feel happy at having won the game. Now the action moved to the board game of Ludo. The granny made sure that the best dice numbers were always for the girl on the opposite side and in no time ensured her four green dots moved into the central victory box while her own red dots remained either inside the starting box or somewhere en-route to home. The little one was now all bubbly and excited and forgot all about the tears which were flowing down a little while ago. After the second straight win, the kid wanted the granny to sit with her as she showed off her knowledge about the nursery rhymes in English and Bangla. She rattled off rhymes one after the other by just looking at the picture in each page as the granny flipped through the pages. Having heard these rhymes on the cassette player many times and having rattled them off in the presence of her parents on a daily basis, she seemed to have mastered them all. The only flaw that you could find was in some of her pronunciations which sounded funny especially when it came to some typical Bengali ones. By now the little girl was tired and both she and her granny slipped under the mosquito net to rest. It was now granny’s turn to tell fairy-tales.

For how long the story telling session lasted is not known but when the girl’s parents returned after cremating the old man some hours later, they found the main door of the house open and the rooms illuminated. As they walked into the bedroom they saw the dog lying quietly on the floor next to the bed. The little girl was sleeping atop the granny like a frog with her hands and legs spread in four directions and the old lady, too, was asleep. An unexpected peace had dawned on the louse. While the old master of the house was resting in eternal peace after the embers had cooled down at the cremation grounds, the people he left behind, too, seemed to be resting in peace at home. He surely must have been a good soul who would have troubled none in his lifetime or even after.

SS 

Wagon Load of Love

Night had fallen early in a small railway township in the south eastern part of the country. There was an eerie silence as the roads were all empty. There was not a soul out on the streets as all the frightened, mask-wearing men were cloistered within the confines of their homes. Not all… the main door of a guest house opened and two strange men walked out. One was a portly, short, middle-aged man, with a long staff in hand, who walked ahead, followed by a slim, young man holding something in his hands, a few steps behind. The two walked for some time and arrived at a place where a few skinny dogs with their skeletons almost exposed and eyes drooping as if crying for help…crying for morsels of food, which during those times of the pandemic, had suddenly vanished. The residents, who used to throw out their garbage for the dogs to forage through, and some good Samaritans who fed them biscuits from time to time, had all gone missing.

Kamal…inko roti de do…said the man with the staff and his orderly quickly obeyed by giving the hungry dogs chapatis from the casserole he was holding in his hands. The two men stood as the dogs quickly ate their meal that and then looked up at their saviors with their tails wagging. The dogs would come closer and a gentle rubbing of the palm and a little tickle on the back is what they got from the two men as they moved ahead. They went to a couple of more drop points and made sure the stray dogs in the colony got one good meal.

This activity of making about twenty-five fresh chappatis each night and feeding the strays in the colony became a routine activity for the two men for almost four months. For the dogs this was, possibly, the only meal they were getting during the entire day and they, too, would wait at their regular places at the same time every night. Slowly, as the pandemic waned, other people too started coming out of their homes and helped in feeding the dogs some more food. However, for the dogs, the two night walkers were their best friends. The portly benefactor also arranged for all the street dogs in the colony to be vaccinated.

The two men had started naming every dog in their own way depending upon their unique behavior, look and size. The dogs also started to understand and respond when called by their names. One such dog was Chulbuli or one who is full of spirit and energy. She had lost all the pups of her first litter during the Covid times. She was now carrying once again and Kamal took special care of her by giving her extra food each night. Finally, the big day arrived and Chulbuli gave birth to four pups, all of whom looked healthy. Funnily, the mother had a brown coat all over and the pups were all black…almost.

By now the two men had moved from the guest house into the duplex bungalow allotted to the  gentleman who happened to be a very senior railway official and the other was his Man Friday. Soon, they were joined by the son of the Railway Man who took a fancy for Chulbuli’s pups. The son convinced his father to bring home one of the pups. The three men now gathered with the pup in the centre to perform the naming ceremony. Seeing that the little dog with shiny, black coat all over except his front paws and a little bit of the fore legs which were white as if he had on a pair of socks. They all agreed to rightfully call the pup ‘Moja’ or ‘Socks’.

Moja

Moja was now the most loved person in the house and was being pampered by the son. The pup would eat, sleep and bathe with the young man most of the time but was allowed to go out of the bungalow to meet his mother and other family members whenever he wished to. Moja’s dual family members, both inside and outside the bungalow, never bothered with his absence since they knew for certain that he was with his other family and was well taken care of. Moja soon turned into a handsome dog who would walk with a confident gait and moved around the colony as the master of all he surveyed.

The Railway Man and his Man Friday would still go out on their post-dinner long, evening walks and loved meeting the street dogs who would come to them and at times follow them around. One evening, they found a lone, sick looking dog near the park. As they went close to the dog, the creature started shivering as if fearing the usual wrath of humans that he was so used to. The dog, who seemed unfed for days, had cut marks on its body and blood was tickling down his left ear. The two men reached out to the poor creature and brought him to their home. On proper examination, they realized that this was a Doberman pup but it appeared that his ear cropping operation had all gone wrong. The dog’s owners threw him out of their house expecting him to die. After all, there was no way they could keep an imperfect Doberman which otherwise would have been their trophy to show-off to the world.

The two men tended to the injured dog who slowly came back to normalcy. The injury to the ear healed and he was allowed to live with his imperfection, yet was loved more than those who might have paid a handsome amount to buy him as one from famous lineage and exotic kennel. Surprisingly, this Doberman is one of a kind and is not aggressive at all to the humans who caused him so much pain. He craves only for love. Possibly, the stains of his abusive childhood would have had its impact on his docile character now. The dog soon became an integral part of the Railway Man’s house and was named Arpa after a river that flowed past the town they lived in.

Arpa

There were now two dogs who lived in the same bungalow but they gradually started marking their territories. If Arpa would bask in the sun lying close to the front gate, Moja found his place of comfort at the backyard of the house where the fruit trees grew. Neither transgressed into the other’s territory. Once outside in the open fields, they played happily together chasing birds and one another. The dogs were never put on leash and yet, if you were a visitor to this house, you would never hear a growl or a bark. The two dogs just wanted to be loved. They would at times get jealous if one of them was being given more attention and made sure that he got an equal share.

Playing Together

The Railway Man’s son went back to his world but the house found a new lease of life when the Man Friday’s little son came to join his father, along with his mother, in the annexe of the bungalow. The little boy had no fear of the two dogs in the house. He would often play with them and on some occasions even take a stick in his hand and gently tap them on the heads and say something to them, exactly in the same way that his father would do with him whenever he was naughty. If Kamal ever tried showing off his training skills by asking the dogs to shake hands which they would comply with without fail. Unfortunately, not understanding the toddler’s gibberish, they turned a deaf ear when the little boy asked them to do the same….Moja, chake hans! The undaunted kid would then sit down on the floor, hold one of front legs of the dog and pull it up, forcing it to do the handshake and then give a big smile of success. The dogs knew the baby well and were always protective of him and never showed any irritation or anger.

The Railway Man is due to superannuate in some months. Someone asked him what would happen to the two dogs post his retirement because maintaining them in a high-rise flat, where he would soon shift, would not be easy. He just smiled and said, I will take Arpa to my house in the hills and Kamal will take Moja to his new house at his new place of posting.

I know of many people who love their pets but found this pure love for animals, especially for those that are stray, sick and abandoned, exceptional. Wondered if Yudhishthir, the eldest Pandava, was kept out of Gates of Heaven when he tried entering with one black dog, whether the toll gates will open nice and smooth just like they do for KYC approved Fastag vehicles whenever these two souls arrive with their two black dogs in tow.

SS