Impressions
Calcutta contrasts
Monument of James Princep Calcutta awaited my influx with awe and early summer heat. With morning commuters on its streets and its gleaming March sun, I suddenly discovered myself in a city of contrasts --- some contrasts brilliant, some ugly. I was yet to understand what to expect from a city that concurrently kept reflecting a bygone era while thriving towards post modernism. All these disparities begin with century old edifices and buildings, I in the midst of them look at the pre-adjustable and pre-fabricated structures mushrooming here and there. It is the only Asian city that boasts of running the age old trams beside the superfast metro. Here, unlike anywhere else in India, diversity in religion, caste, ethnic groups and diasporas are so evidently exposed. This quintessential city of the once forgotten Raj is a melting pot where people from all over India and the world gather. In order to explore the spans of this metropolis I did something 'offbeat' but amusing in nature. I drifted with the flow of the metro stoppages, cruised narrow lanes in hand pulling rickshaws, glimpsed the city via trams and acquired renewal in the city landmarks with sneaking in history through lengthy vigilant strolls. To me it is one city where history comes walking down its streets. Old Calcutta still heaves with much of the belongings left by British colonialism as it modernizes, leading to wide disparities in the quality of life. Salt Lake and the newly extended parts of the city speak of a modern Calcutta where the trendy, ambitious and restless are on a never ending free run compared to the old parts where folks have accepted life as it should be. Like most foreigners, I also found the shock factors relating to poverty even in the most up-market area. This cultural hub of India has a blending of poverty and wealth which is oddly exposed. At numerous locales I saw colonial buildings of the raj enveloped with huge billboards and hoardings in a fashion as if it wanted to hide its past and announce the dawn of a new epoch, an epoch that symbolises the rise of consumer brands in India. I was exhausted after a 45-minute onerous walk when I reached the James Princep ghat on the banks of river Hooghly. Upon my arrival at the monument built in memory of James Princep, I witnessed quite an astounding view. It was the early hours in the evening; ahead of me was an illumined facade rich in Greek and Gothic inlays which had a backdrop of the up-to-the-minute Vidyasagar Bridge flying across on top of it. Two diverse structures speaking of two different times. As I walked past and through the monument and went down further for a cruise in one of the small boats, I found myself in the midst of two very differently constructed bridges running parallel with sharp disparities in them the Howrah Bridge with the (Vidyasagar Setu) Vidyasagar Bridge. The distance is a little over 12 kilometres between the two, the first one being a cantilever bridge standing as an iconic landmark of Calcutta made of high tensile alloy steel and more interestingly without having any nuts or bolts. This whole structure of some 23,000(approx.) tons of steel is riveting and looks awe-inspiring when illuminated in the hours of darkness. The second one is one of the longest cable-stayed bridges not only in India but is also one of the longest in Asia. Made of pylon, slabs, spans, saddles, cables and other materials this bridge can be regarded in many ways as a smaller replica of the Golden Gate bridge with plain but slick design features. The former speaks of strength and durability with a masculine look while the latter speaks of smart technology followed by the art of simplistic modern designs. The next day was a Friday. My plans also included the weekly prayer at the much renowned Nakhoda mosque on Zakaria Street. Noon had to follow morning. In this kaleidoscope-like city I found retreat when I stopped over the Tollygunj golf club with a hotel friend in the morning. This was once used purely for equestrian activities. The golf course is enriched with known and unknown tropical plants, turning it into a bird's sanctuary. I found the club to be scruffy but stylish with wood panelling and big old time public rooms, a facsimile of colonial clubs scattered throughout south east Asia. Upon reaching the grand facade of Nakhoda mosque I parted from my hotel friend, promising to meet her in the evening at Park Street. Nakhoda mosque, which is a typical piece of Mughal architecture, was built in the late twenties. My post prayer-cum-lunch tour included a treasure house. It was a marvel of a journey. It was Marble Palace. Located on Babu Muktaram Street, this palatial residence in simple words is a 'house of splendours'. My sneaking in it was not a sincere one and I did not have a permit but knew the supremacy of cash over entrances. It was mid noon. It was bright and sunny. It was hot and humid. Here I stood with my avaricious guide amidst a display of lavish Italian marble (over 70 types), followed by a flurry of paintings, furniture, chandeliers with a myriad art-de-objects. The palace has a well maintained interior courtyard too. Doorways, passages, stairs, even the courtyard, all enclose a diverse collection of articles that speak of a dynamic collector, a collector who displays his opulence, infatuation and aesthetic wits through a saga of history. Built in 1855 by Raja Rajendra Mullick Bahadur, Marble Palace boasts of oil colours from Reynolds, Rubens, and Murillo and a number of known and unknown painters. Effigies, statues and figurines of various kinds of marbles are augmented with a mini zoo. The main palace is set beside a lush green lawn mixed-up with sculptures of lions, the Buddha, Christopher Columbus, Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, and Hindu deities. Raja Mullick's descendants still live in an adjacent small granite bungalow; at a distance a large pool houses some colourful birds in a massive enclosure. My outing in the late afternoon took me from the splendours of Marble Palace to the sadness of the deceased. I entered the south Park Street cemetery. I witnessed a melancholic ambience replete with colonial time tombs, obelisks, soaring pyramids and rotundas thrusting for a little room within a manicured jungle. It was tranquil and quiet inside in it. Some structures were mossy, some decayed while some were cheaply renovated. But almost all spoke of one forgotten era, the Raj. The soggy and mossy old smell made me nostalgic and I was reminded of our Narinda Christian graveyard. This over two and a half a century old cemetery stores more than 1500 graves through which it represents a blending of Gothic and Indo-Saracenic designs. I walked through the pavilions until I was stopped by Elizabeth Barwell, who died in 1779.No, not by her ghost but by her physical attributes being excitedly narrated by an Indian tourist guide to a Japanese tourist along with the size of her pyramid shaped grave, which covered the largest span of space among all the graves. That's not all. She is believed to have been the most beautiful among all European women in late 18th century Calcutta. I was visiting her some 232 years later. I, from this earthly life and she from the hereafter ---yet another set of stark contrasts in time and place. With evening descending in the western skies, I decided to go for the last patch of adventure left for the day. I reunited with my hotel friend at the front of Oxford book store on Park Street and fifteen minutes later we parked our selves at the threshold of Golden Park hotel's hippest and happening discotheque called Tantra. It was from melancholy to merry. I have always liked hip-hop Hindi movie songs to some extent. The best in its line of business, it is aimed at teenyboppers, glitterati, socialites and rarely for run of the mills like me. After two hours with the Tantrians,i realized I needed some air. So I began my stroll and so I found refuge within the very lungs of Calcutta, the Maidan. The Calcutta skyline from one of the ends of the Maidan softly whispered in my ears that corporate India slept late. East Bengal football club ahead of me stood proudly with its heritage of Indian football behind it. I was in the city of contrasts.
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