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We moved to Calcutta in the year 1955, around the time of the start of the new session in schools, perhaps it was sometime between April and June. Pushpa had moved a year earlier for her MBBS from the Calcutta National Medical College. She had to take off from studies for a year because of her critical encounter with meningitis.
We moved to Calcutta in the year 1955, around the time of the start of the new session in schools, perhaps it was sometime between April and June. Pushpa had moved a year earlier for her MBBS from the Calcutta National Medical College. She had to take off from studies for a year because of her critical encounter with meningitis.
Pitaji had found a house on rent south Calcutta - 22 Lake Place (Road), the address has been etched permanently in my memory. It was a typical Bengali area. There were at least half a dozen children in the neighborhood who were in the age band that could be befriended, which is within 2 to 3 years of my age. The spoken language was only Bengali.
The Lake Place house was a 3 storied structure. Our Bengali house owner lived with his family on the top floor, with his wife, married son, and a daughter-in-law who use to sing and play the sitar. The ground floor had another tenant named Babbar, who was also a Punjabi. The first floor had a Tamilian family (a Central Government Officer) Still remember the lady as she had her hair cascading up to her ankles. The house also had a courtyard in the middle which was in the area of the Babbar family. After a few months, the Babbars moved out and were replaced by a Bengali family. There a girl called Tapti, of Neena's age, one fine day she broke half of her front incisor after a small fall in the cemented courtyard.
The house was a good-sized building that could house 4 families. We had 4 rooms plus a fairly spacious verandah, a kitchen, and a bathroom. A passage used to run behind the house and the boundary wall, in which all the windows opened, which helped in good ventilation for all the rooms. The adjoining plot of land (no. 24) was lying vacant and was used by us kids as a football ground. Bengalis had a yen for the game and we played football in all kinds of weather. The most interesting was during the rains, and we kids used to literally have a mud bath while we enjoyed the game.
The best part of this place was its location, Dhakuria Lake was just about a kilometer from this place and many an evening was spent by us children or even the family, in visiting the lake. We would go across the suspension bridge that connected to the small island in the lake, watching and feeding the large fish, with small balls of kneaded flour or atta.
There was a small ornamental garden called the Lilly Pool, near the entrance of the lake. It had beautifully manicured lawns and an abundance of colorful flowers. We had a few family picnics in this garden. For our regular walker, that is Mataji, she would encircle the complete lake, making about five kilometers for her morning walk.
The house was a good-sized building that could house 4 families. We had 4 rooms plus a fairly spacious verandah, a kitchen, and a bathroom. A passage used to run behind the house and the boundary wall, in which all the windows opened, which helped in good ventilation for all the rooms. The adjoining plot of land (no. 24) was lying vacant and was used by us kids as a football ground. Bengalis had a yen for the game and we played football in all kinds of weather. The most interesting was during the rains, and we kids used to literally have a mud bath while we enjoyed the game.
The best part of this place was its location, Dhakuria Lake was just about a kilometer from this place and many an evening was spent by us children or even the family, in visiting the lake. We would go across the suspension bridge that connected to the small island in the lake, watching and feeding the large fish, with small balls of kneaded flour or atta.
There was a small ornamental garden called the Lilly Pool, near the entrance of the lake. It had beautifully manicured lawns and an abundance of colorful flowers. We had a few family picnics in this garden. For our regular walker, that is Mataji, she would encircle the complete lake, making about five kilometers for her morning walk.
Calcutta is a city with a soul and culture very typical of the Bengal you read about in the multitude of well-known writers. I will talk less about Calcutta and more of my life in the formative years of my life in Calcutta. For those readers of mine who want to see Kolkata through my eyes - please visit my blog http://tnagpal.blogspot.com/search?q=kolkata, I am sure that you will love it.
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| Conch Shell Blowing |
I was always fond of having a dog or some other pet. Till now my parents did not permit me to indulge in this luxury, the condition was that I will have to give my full time for it. Being a Punjabi and from north India, milk was an important constituent of our diet, as we were growing up. Pitaji managed to rope in a milkman who would come to the gate of our house and milk his cow then and there, the white foamy milk collected in a bucket clamped between his knees as he squatted to do the needful. He also brought a calf that would remain close to the front of the cow while he did the milking. The stupid cow would think that the calf is suckling and having the milk while the milkman filled his bucket. Once I noticed that instead of a calf, the milkman had a small wooden log with the skin of the calf wrapped on it, he suspended it near the front of the cow. The cow would lick that contraption while getting milked. How dumb are the animals, compared to us, the crafty humans.
We would get fresh milk in our utensils. All four kids, my 3 sisters and me, hated milk. So invariably some milk would remain leftover by us dodging the intake of the recommended quantity. We did not have a fridge in those days and often the leftover milk curdled. Cats are really smart animals and one white cat with yellow patches adopted us. We started feeding her regularly with milk - curdled or otherwise. She became most comfortable with me and our family that she even had a litter in our drawing-room under a small low diwan. It was a litter of very sweet-looking three kittens. They were duly christened Beauty, Cutey, and Sweety by Prem and Pushpa.
Pitaji's office at the Indian Museum was on Chowringhee and there was a direct and very convenient tram connection from the Lake Market to his office. It was so convenient that his office peon Ganesh would come home and carry Pitaji's dabba (lunch box) to enable him to get a hot meal. It was a tall lunch galvanized grey-colored lunch box with a double outer layer. It housed 4 inner containers and food remained warm in the case for more than a few hours. A monthly tram pass was also made for Ganesh, which allowed 2 journeys (one in each direction) every day.
Mataji had become a vegetarian after I was born, it was done to fulfill some mannat (a promise to the deity or god). Pitaji also became a vegetarian though he was less rigid about it. At home, only Neena and I were the only regulars for having non-vegetarian food. So much so that we became self-sufficient for it. I would buy the mutton and wash and clean it and Neena would do the cooking. I would often help her and developed my cooking skills which even hold me in good stead to date, I developed my basics in cooking very well. To augment our non-veg food, I once got fish from the Lake Market, mutton was not available in this market. Neena and I tried cooking it, we messed it up, it became like a halwa and the smell seemed to just linger on in the house for the next few days. I was getting desperate to eat some non-veg stuff, so Pitaji invited me to his office on one Saturday, as our school was closed on weekends. I went with Ganesh when he came to fetch Pitaji's lunch box. Pitaji had sent for a plate of chicken curry from Punjab Hotel (a dhaba, not far from his office, located on Lindsay Street). It was a small eatery and we had gone there with the family earlier - something like the Kake da Hotel in Connaught Place in New Delhi. The preparations were absolutely yummy, loaded with spices and ghee (oil was taboo in Punjabi eateries). I loved this lunch so much that it became my Saturday ritual. After lunch, I would hang around in his office, play with the typewriter, go up and down the manual lift, which resembled a cage. It was enjoyable for an 11-year-old. Then finally I would return home with Pitaji at the end of his office time. He was a person of few words, there were no lectures or sermons or tips for life. Mostly we both remained in our respective thoughts and worlds. It never occurred to me that Neena would have also loved this meal - I guess I was too self-centered.
At times Pitaji would have an invite to attend a Bengali wedding feast, and I loved tagging along for these, mainly for the food; I loved the Bengali food. Mutton curry, fish curry, and fried fish were the essentials along with at least two sweets like raj bhog, sandesh, rossogulla. I had a sweet tooth plus a non-veg tooth and I never missed a wedding feast. In contrast, if there was any other wedding, Punjabi, Marwari etc - it was strictly vegetarian food. I also developed a great liking for the luchchi - the small pooris made of the refined flour. Developed a love for eating with the hand. I still enjoy my rice and curry with my hand.
Life was good as a child and I savored and enjoyed every bit of it. Calcutta always seemed to be celebrating some pooja or some function all the time. I had picked up a reasonable amount of Bengali and was managing to converse with the pada crowd. I could understand them fully and managed to communicate with words of English and Hindi thrown in the conversation. After defeating a boy of my age and size in a friendly wrestling match and I was accepted as a part of the gang. Reminds me of wolves (and dogs) I guess that is how their packs and territories grow bigger. I starting accompanying the group of boys in collecting chanda (donations) for the festivals. Was generally around for handy jobs in the pandals and even accompanying the group when they went for the visarjan (immersion of the idols, in the Hooghly river), with all the drums and music and a lot of vermillion being smeared on all.
Vishvakarma Puja was the kite flying festival for us and the Calcutta sky used to be a riot of color with kites of all hues and sizes. BHOKATA was the war cry we yelled when we succeeded in cutting the string of the opponents' kite during the pech (duel of kites). It was in this period that I not only learnt to fly kites but also learnt making the manja (kite string with embedded glass powder) to get an advantage during the pech.
A lot of waste glass - bottles, bulbs, etc. - was collected, pounded, and ground into a fine powder in the emam-dasta (kitchen pestle and mortar) of wrought iron. Then this glass powder was mixed in the glue that was made by boiling refined flour. Care had to be taken to avoid the formation of lumps. The plain string would then be strung around two lamp posts in the street while applying the glue with glass powder by bare hands. (We had never thought that gloves could be used, if at all). The string would remain on the lamp posts for a good part of the day in bright sunlight to dry it completely before coiling it on the charki(s) - the spools on which the string is coiled while flying the kite. Making the manja caused a great displeasure in my family as I needed the pestle and mortar of our home. The Bengali homes used sil-vatta - which was not at all suitable for the job. Once there was a minor mishap - a bovine trundled through our manja that was drying on the lamp posts; bringing us to tears.
The Durga Puja is celebrated across Calcutta for 10 days, with pandaals erected all over the city. One gets variety of savories and Bengali cuisine in each pandaal. Stalls for sale of clothes are also common. The evening hours are for puja, with conch shell sounds, loud drums, dances, and burning of incenses. The festivities generally carry on for the entire day, however, the evenings see the women folk decked up and dressed in all the finery and jewelry. Most of them are dressed in traditional white sarees with red zari borders. Generally, dances, songs, and plays are performed throughout the night
Life could not have been better. It seemed all fun and play. The studies at school continued at their own pace without any special emphasis on performance or ranks or undue pressures that we see on the children these days.
We would get fresh milk in our utensils. All four kids, my 3 sisters and me, hated milk. So invariably some milk would remain leftover by us dodging the intake of the recommended quantity. We did not have a fridge in those days and often the leftover milk curdled. Cats are really smart animals and one white cat with yellow patches adopted us. We started feeding her regularly with milk - curdled or otherwise. She became most comfortable with me and our family that she even had a litter in our drawing-room under a small low diwan. It was a litter of very sweet-looking three kittens. They were duly christened Beauty, Cutey, and Sweety by Prem and Pushpa.
Pitaji's office at the Indian Museum was on Chowringhee and there was a direct and very convenient tram connection from the Lake Market to his office. It was so convenient that his office peon Ganesh would come home and carry Pitaji's dabba (lunch box) to enable him to get a hot meal. It was a tall lunch galvanized grey-colored lunch box with a double outer layer. It housed 4 inner containers and food remained warm in the case for more than a few hours. A monthly tram pass was also made for Ganesh, which allowed 2 journeys (one in each direction) every day.
Mataji had become a vegetarian after I was born, it was done to fulfill some mannat (a promise to the deity or god). Pitaji also became a vegetarian though he was less rigid about it. At home, only Neena and I were the only regulars for having non-vegetarian food. So much so that we became self-sufficient for it. I would buy the mutton and wash and clean it and Neena would do the cooking. I would often help her and developed my cooking skills which even hold me in good stead to date, I developed my basics in cooking very well. To augment our non-veg food, I once got fish from the Lake Market, mutton was not available in this market. Neena and I tried cooking it, we messed it up, it became like a halwa and the smell seemed to just linger on in the house for the next few days. I was getting desperate to eat some non-veg stuff, so Pitaji invited me to his office on one Saturday, as our school was closed on weekends. I went with Ganesh when he came to fetch Pitaji's lunch box. Pitaji had sent for a plate of chicken curry from Punjab Hotel (a dhaba, not far from his office, located on Lindsay Street). It was a small eatery and we had gone there with the family earlier - something like the Kake da Hotel in Connaught Place in New Delhi. The preparations were absolutely yummy, loaded with spices and ghee (oil was taboo in Punjabi eateries). I loved this lunch so much that it became my Saturday ritual. After lunch, I would hang around in his office, play with the typewriter, go up and down the manual lift, which resembled a cage. It was enjoyable for an 11-year-old. Then finally I would return home with Pitaji at the end of his office time. He was a person of few words, there were no lectures or sermons or tips for life. Mostly we both remained in our respective thoughts and worlds. It never occurred to me that Neena would have also loved this meal - I guess I was too self-centered.
At times Pitaji would have an invite to attend a Bengali wedding feast, and I loved tagging along for these, mainly for the food; I loved the Bengali food. Mutton curry, fish curry, and fried fish were the essentials along with at least two sweets like raj bhog, sandesh, rossogulla. I had a sweet tooth plus a non-veg tooth and I never missed a wedding feast. In contrast, if there was any other wedding, Punjabi, Marwari etc - it was strictly vegetarian food. I also developed a great liking for the luchchi - the small pooris made of the refined flour. Developed a love for eating with the hand. I still enjoy my rice and curry with my hand.
Life was good as a child and I savored and enjoyed every bit of it. Calcutta always seemed to be celebrating some pooja or some function all the time. I had picked up a reasonable amount of Bengali and was managing to converse with the pada crowd. I could understand them fully and managed to communicate with words of English and Hindi thrown in the conversation. After defeating a boy of my age and size in a friendly wrestling match and I was accepted as a part of the gang. Reminds me of wolves (and dogs) I guess that is how their packs and territories grow bigger. I starting accompanying the group of boys in collecting chanda (donations) for the festivals. Was generally around for handy jobs in the pandals and even accompanying the group when they went for the visarjan (immersion of the idols, in the Hooghly river), with all the drums and music and a lot of vermillion being smeared on all.
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| EMAM-DASTA |
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| SIL-VATTA |
A lot of waste glass - bottles, bulbs, etc. - was collected, pounded, and ground into a fine powder in the emam-dasta (kitchen pestle and mortar) of wrought iron. Then this glass powder was mixed in the glue that was made by boiling refined flour. Care had to be taken to avoid the formation of lumps. The plain string would then be strung around two lamp posts in the street while applying the glue with glass powder by bare hands. (We had never thought that gloves could be used, if at all). The string would remain on the lamp posts for a good part of the day in bright sunlight to dry it completely before coiling it on the charki(s) - the spools on which the string is coiled while flying the kite. Making the manja caused a great displeasure in my family as I needed the pestle and mortar of our home. The Bengali homes used sil-vatta - which was not at all suitable for the job. Once there was a minor mishap - a bovine trundled through our manja that was drying on the lamp posts; bringing us to tears.
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| Traditional Dance during Puja |
Life could not have been better. It seemed all fun and play. The studies at school continued at their own pace without any special emphasis on performance or ranks or undue pressures that we see on the children these days.
We meet again in My Story 3, of my schooling at the South Point. Click here to continue.
