One Week in Calcutta: Unsettling

They should call it CABcutta.



There are more cabs in Calcutta than there are people. The cabs are potty yellow in colour and act as a constant reminder to your bowels that you forgot to appease them in the morning. The pollution from their exhaust reminds you of Delhi before the introduction of CNG. And for some very strange reason, ALL cab drivers are from Bihar. I didn't come across a single Bengali cab driver in the 20 odd trips that I made in the course of the week.
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Crossings, Crowds, and a whole lot of Chaos.



I may have underestimated the number of people per square kilometer when I made that statement about the number of cabs. In the picture to the left you can see the confluence of cabs, buses, private vehicles, trams and people. All this at a crossing where the signal doesn't work.
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Does this qualify as popularity?




While clicking one of the photos I realised someone from the crowd was waving at the lense hysterically. Since I was looking into my tiny cellphone screen, his appearance was extremely dwarfed and hence, unclear. I thought he was telling me to not invade people's personal space by walking around with a cellphone pointed towards them like a weapon. So very sheepishly I put the phone in my pocket and walked on.

A couple of seconds later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I froze, out of the very natural fear of public humiliation, I think. Contrary to the verbal bashing I was expecting, I heard an extremely gentle voice say, "Tanmay, welcome to my city."

In the brief conversation that followed I learnt that 37 year-old Tilak had moved back to his hometown about a year ago. And even though he was working hard and earning little, he didn't mind Calcutta because it gave him the chance to be in the same city as his ex-wife (who he is still very much in love with even after 11 years of separation) and his children (talking about whom brings tears to his eyes).

I told him I was happy for him. He told me I had put on weight. We both smiled. And then of course with nothing left to talk about, we bid a quick, almost mechanical good-bye and went about getting lost in the crowd all over again.

To answer your question:
How do I know Tilak? I trained him during his brief stint in my company. He was one of the few people who put me in the spot by insisting on calling me 'Sir.' When I told him we were a company with a 'first name' culture, and the fact that he was 15 years older than me, he simply laughed and said he had a hotel management background and that there was no way he would call me anything other than 'Sir.'

When I reached my hotel room that night, I wondered why I didn't ask him for his phone number or e-mail ID.
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Taking C-Grade flicks to the next level.



(*Kaam Milan: Sexual Meetings)
(**Piyasi Dilruba: Thirsty Seductress)

O Mammi mammi, O Daddy Daddy
Jis se meri shaadi hogi
Aaj meine voh ladki dhoond li hai... ok ok I'll stop!

These were the first couple of movie posters I happened to set my eyes on.

You can also find movie posters of Bengali Films. The local film industry is called Tollywood. Imagine if their box-office lingo includes phrases like 'could you tollyrate the film?'



Apparently sequels of Nagina (Snake-Woman) are still setting the box office on fire.
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This one takes the cake.

This poster can be found at the entry of one of the city's finest hotels, The Park.

'Win' a date with 'heart-throb' Aryan Vaid?!? Really?!?

Where was I when he made the transition from a potential hero in 'Kaam Milan' to a 'heart-throb?'
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Call Girls

Come darkness and the city's pavements are flooded with prostitutes and pimps. An indication perhaps, of the average Bengali mentality? Or the cruel aftermath of an extended rule of the Left? I don't know. I want my friends from JNU to answer that one.

I think it was Wednesday when my colleague and I were approached by a pimp on Park Street. A thin, dark brown, middle-aged fellow with bulging eyes. He caught me by the hand and asked him very seriously:

"Excuse me Sir. Can I help you with College Girls? Nepalis?"

After a brief moment of silence AJ and I realised what he meant and we broke into hysterical laughter. I 'thanked' him for his generous offer but declined nevertheless.

As we continued walking, we tried to figure out why the pimp had approched only us out of the 20 odd people buying rolls at the food stall. Did we really look that horny? Was watching Fashion House every night getting to us? After a brief round of debate I convinced AJ that it was the look on his face that had instigated the fellow.

[On a more personal note, I'm more or less ok with the whole living in denial thing. I really don't care about what people do for a living as long as they get by with a full stomach and a couple of laughs. Even prostitution.

And no, I don't feel violated when a pimp approaches me. Or when my friends raise the Friday evening toast to 'Wine, Women and Prostitution.' Delhi and Bombay have red-light areas too. So do New York, Amsterdam and London.

In Calcutta, like any other place, prostitution was once a lifestyle. And for some sections of the city, it still is. But every set of eyes on the streets that invited me into the shadows told a story of a life lived in denial. Much like that disillusioned section of Calcutta's society, which is desperately trying to revive the lost glory from 'The Days of the Raj.'

And just why did Sona Gachi* let go, forcing a large number of its inhabitants into the by-lanes of the best known streets of the city to find their own way into tomorrow.

*Asia's largest brothel - located in the heart of old Calcutta

I don't know.

What is their story? Do they have a story? Or do I think too much?

If you're from Calcutta and can figure this out for me, let me know. I'm still unsettled.]

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