O Kolkata …

This is not a travelogue on Kolkata but a ‘small travel intervention’. Yes, how do you manage to take in few tourist spots in the midst of a hectic business trip to Kolkata. It was a cold, murky evening when we landed at the Netaji Subhas International Airport. 5PM looked like 9 PM, dark with very few buildings lit up from inside, the mad traffic and the familiar feeling of a city about to collapse as we drove towards our hotel in Park Street. Unpacked and freshened up, waited for our local colleague to take us out for dinner. He arrived by 8 PM and announced that we first have a look at the house where Swami Vivekananda lived. A long drive and we were there. Visiting hours were over, so we had to satisfy ourselves with a look from outside and imagining the Great Soul walking on the balcony.

Time for dinner but no food. Our friend had not made a booking at any restaurant and here we were walking up from one restaurant to another on Park Street, only to be told of a waiting time of 45 minutes or more. Looking at the milling crowds on the pavement outside each restaurant and the hordes of Swiggy & Zomato delivery-boys, and we were sure the wait would be at least an hour and a half. 10 PM now and with rumbling stomachs we trooped back to our hotel and had dinner at one of the restaurants there ( as we were staying there, we were allotted seats), though it was not the food of our choice. Quickly decided on our plan of action for the following day — an early morning sight-seeing/pilgrimage before beginning business activities. Time to crash now!

One of the 51 Shakti peeths is the Kalighat Temple in Kolkata. Some believe that the name Calcutta or Kolkata is derived from Kalighat. The Shakti here is Dakshina Kalika, populary known as the Kali of Kalighat. Legend has it that Dakshayani Sati married Shiva and her father Daksha was unhappy with Shiva as his son-in-law , what with his dreadlocks, snakes and bohemian lifestyle in the mountains. To spite Him, Daksha organised a yagna where all gods were invited except Shiva. Dakshayani came to her father’s place and faced a flurry of taunts and insults about her ‘ good for nothing’ husband. Sati immolated herself and when the news reached Shiva, he flew into a rage. With the body of his beloved wife, Shiva started the Tandav, the whole world shook. Vishnu intervened and chopped Sati’s body into 51 pieces and flung them all over. Each place where a body part fell, there would be a Shakti peeth. Shiva calmed down. It is said the right toe of Sati fell at this place and hence the rise of the Kalighat Temple.

Cut to reality – I had been warned to be careful with the ‘ agents of Kali’ which included the priests. True enough, when we got off the car at 7 AM, a person walked alongside us mentioning in Bangla ( understandable) how he would help us get a good darshan, buy pooja material and have a pooja conducted. Ignored him and kept walking briskly towards the temple. Not much of a crowd and as we stood facing the imposing image of Kalighat Kali, a sense of peace and a feeling of being totally protected descended on us. Not all deities in all temples create this impact.

When we wanted to offer out donation, one priest insisted on giving it in his hand only. We had to. Two other priests seated on a platform overlooking the deity kept talking in Bangla about some pooja, flowers, blessings and what not …. each with price tag of course. Saw them literally fleecing a couple ahead of us with money for this, money for that before the man got wiser and pulled his wife out of the clutches of these unscrupulous priests.

Why can’t we approach gods directly? Do we need these agents who under the garb of performing rituals milk the gullible believers. Their tentacles spread outside the temple too and the system runs like a well-oiled machinery. Temple mafia?

Back to our hotel room, breakfast ( a decent spread at The Park), formals and we were away for a series of official meetings at different places. Back in office for a quick working lunch — the famous rolls from Kusum Rolls and delicious native sweets. Another long client meeting post-lunch, a cup of steaming chai in a matka or mud-cup from a pavement stall ……….. the closest one could come to manna from Heaven. 6 PM and meetings done for the day……. dinner with a client at the other end of town at the JW Kitchen in the Marriott.

So much of eating, drinking, socializing and time flew. The clock struck 11 and we stepped out into the nippy air. Some among us lighted up as we waited for our cars. Off we drove towards our hotel but not before stopping at a small shop ( which was the only one open) for the famous Calcutta meetha paan.

Following morning, someone suggested going to Dakshineshwar early in the morning and returning before business meetings. It was quickly shot down as the distance was just that wee bit longer and with the expected crowds, it was not a great idea. So……. had the luxury of getting up a little late and post-breakfast ( nothing much had changed at The Park), we were off for our meetings. Our colleagues had arranged a special authentic Bengali lunch for us at Kewpie’s.

An old colonial-style bungalow in a quite narrow lane, with the rooms converted into dining rooms. Cosy, homely but not ostentatious. The food too was traditional — luchis, chona dal, baingan baja, some un-pronouncable names and of course Mishti Doi. Note the serving pans as also the plates were made of clay. Stomachs were full but guess our hearts were fuller.

A bigger surprise was in store. Our colleague announced that our last meeting was at 4 PM and we could utilize the intervening time to visit Netaji Bhavan, the ancestral home of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. Where was it? Just 500 metres away. We quickly walked over.

The lovely spacious house where Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose lived …….. now a museum .. Netaji Bhavan.

Seeing the old uniform, the ‘ Netaji’ cap and those tall boots and the large study room, trasnports one back to pre-independence days. One can almost visualise a belligerent Netaji in uniform sitting and plotting the fall of the British with his trusted aides. Hand-written letters, black and white photographs holding moments in history plus the car in which Netaji escaped to Gomoh in 1941 bring a lump to one’s throat. A man from a well-to-do family giving up everything in the cause of the nation and becoming a revolutionary!

Finished our last meeting, got stuck in the horrendous traffic near Kidderpore and finally made it to the airport even as boarding for our flight was called. A blink-and-you miss view of some aspects of the rich heritage of Kolkata. Or does Calcutta sound better?