Going from Calcutta to Kolkata

Growing up as a probashi or a non-resident Bangali, visiting Kolkata or the erstwhile Calcutta, was an annual goromer chooti (summer holiday) affair. Suitcases were brought out, dusted and bhalo jama kapor (best clothes) packed. At the station or airport, relatives (in my case, a mama) showed up to haggle with the coolie, then the cabbie and then whichever political party was taking out a mecheel  (demonstration) that day.

But that was Calcutta. Kolkata, today, has a pre-paid taxi service at the airport and the railway station. And if you miss that, rest assured, like the rest of the world, the city, too has introduced a taxi fare system.

In the years it took me to get an education, land a job and make a living; my homeland too has changed. It has gone from old-world charm to modernity; from laid-back to waking up; from dreamy-eyed to practical — from being Calcutta to being Kolkata.

No longer do people suffer, suffocate and snore inside a moshari (mosquito net). All through my childhood I dreaded sleeping in one, made worse by the Calcutta summer. I also had to learn the etiquettes of using a moshari — how to tie one (not too high and not too low), how to tuck it, (small openings can have disastrous consequences, I was warned); how never to sleep close to the moshari — all this knowledge, I thought, I can use now, only to be told that in the last few decades the Calcutta Municipality has successfully dealt with the mosquito problem and many Calcuttans no longer perform the, ‘let us put up the moshari’ nightly routine.

Among the routines that have disappeared in erstwhile Calcutta, is the street-side tea stall addas. The state hobby of day-long conversations on Buddhadeb, Jyotibabu, Pablo (both Picasso and Neruda), Monet (Claude), Mamata, local boy Poltu and so on has been replaced with a chat over coffee at the nearby mall. The conversation, too, has shifted to — shopping, films, hot chicks and career.

The upstaging of career matters is further evident at the city’s office para. Like most office areas; here, too, I saw corporate dressing, company tags and the surety of gait towards the bus/train/metro one sees in other cosmopolitan societies. I also noticed a larger number of women returning home from work. And forgive me for being snobbish here, but in Calcutta only women from South Calcutta with an “elite” upbringing wore western clothes. However, in Kolkata women from everywhere — north, south, and inner cities are wearing all things trendy. I also saw fancy salons, with Kolkata girls getting their hair done, prompting my sister to exclaim, “they look and dress like us”.

That’s not all, Calcutta’s posh localities, too, seemed to have changed. As a kid, I visited my family’s upmarket Ballygunge flat and joined in the wisecracks about my father’s then newly-acquired property in Salt Lake and my grandparents’ second home in Haltu. Both of which were upcoming townships, which occasionally witnessed human life.

Wild undergrowth, specked with tea stalls is how I remember those visits. But then again that was Calcutta. In Kolkata, Salt Lake is a ‘tony’ township, with sprawling bungalows, malls, international brands, eating joints and a new metro line. For those who might draw parallels with Navi Mumbai or Vashi, the area’s quiet and snootiness can only be compared to Mumbai’s JVPD Scheme with Jyoti Basu taking Big B’s place.

In Haltu, too, I saw shocking changes — real tar roads; multi-storey apartment complexes and a Delhi Public School branch. However, not all changes were heart-warming. The inexpensive life of Calcutta is fast being replaced by competitive pricing.

The world’s most brilliant deal of five puchkas (pani puris) for a rupee is now one puchka for one rupee and shopping at Garihat is no longer a steal. The Calcutta, of my childhood has smartened up, leaving me with not just fond memories but a pride that the city has at last gone higher in my popularity rating.