Calcutta Chronicles 2

I didn’t know when I would be able to come to the city next; it seemed improbable over the next couple of years. I didn’t know where my work would take me and moreover, my parents would be in Delhi, so clearly, there was not much incentive for me to come back here. All this added to this state of confused nostalgia in me. I remembered myself as a child who used to come here every summer vacations ritualistically and strangely was a part of this city for two months; it was almost like a parallel society though not completely my own. I just wanted to bring those days back, days where I enjoyed the attention of my relatives and cousins, of course it felt quite natural that time. But it is now that I feel this irresistible force tearing me away from the city and its people although I didn’t even entirely belong here.

Nonetheless, I made it a point to meet everybody I used to meet as a boy, even if it was just for the sake of a spectacular nostalgia trip. So, I visited my relatives and received hospitality which I couldn’t have expected to receive anywhere else, all this while braving the inhospitable climate. Here, I rediscovered all my body pores, sweat surfaced from orifices which have been dry for years, orifices which remained unyielding in the face of the most exacting of physical exercises.

I can’t help describing one of my visits to my aunt in Howrah, a crowded suburb in Calcutta. I had given her a buzz the other day to confirm her availability and directions to her place and she in turn had enquired about my choice of food. It was a Sunday, a truly sunny one, and I couldn’t manage to find a bus to go anywhere near Howrah. Patience might be a virtue, but not in Calcutta’s irrepressible moist heat. I hailed the first taxi in sight and reached Howrah. Again, after that bit of chatter and jokes, lunch was served. Though I had asked her to prepare fish and some mutton, I had no clue what was in store for me.

First I had some daal followed by some green leafy gooey preparation which is to be eaten with rice. Post that started a nightmarish tryst with tackling fish, the backbone of a bong meal. Just a disclaimer here, though I am used to eating fish and I quite enjoy it too, my ignorance is of encyclopaedic proportions when it comes to knowing their names or the means to cook them. I’ve kept myself blissfully unaware of it all because it never interested me. So, the following description is as crude and as it gets.

The first one I ate was fried, dry and easy to devour. The second one was the type we regularly eat at home with fairly large and identifiable bones, but this one was with curry. Here I finished my first plateful of rice and helped myself to a second plateful. The third variety of fish was intimidating and was clothed for deception. Two small, steamy and slimy bundles of banana leaf stared at me, glimmering with oil. They were tied with threads holding it together. The challenge was to free the banana leaf bundles of those menacing threads and I made a royal mess of it, much to the amusement of my uncle. The knots were too small for any effective operation and I couldn’t slip the thread from the sides of the bundle. Oil, natural fish oil, leaked from all sides before I finally saw the contents of the bundle. It was a small mass of some steamed fish flesh sans needle like bones, with mustard for seasoning. It was divinely delicious. Although I am not much of a food connoisseur and it’s the quantity that really matters, I really relished the richness of taste. After that, came along the fourth variety which was an entire fish, as opposed to fish parts I was eating till now, with a long trailing spine and with small spiky bones et al. This was again with gravy, and I finished my second plateful. Then I had a bowl of mutton with some more rice and some custard as dessert. The overhead fan dried the bones as I looked at the fossils on my plate, it was a frightening sight. It looked like the excavation site of a place where the whole fauna had become extinct due to some inexplicable phenomenon. It took an hour and a half to finish my lunch. If gluttony was a sin then I surely was on a highway to hell. I tottered to the nearest bed, drugged with sleep and exertion.

The nights were usually dedicated to didubhai as we sat in the veranda staring at the overcast black sky. I always preferred that arm chair and didubhai sat on a plastic moulded chair, her eyelids tightly shut as she spoke as if making a concentrated effort to maintain a single line of thought though she was always guilty of digressing without any forewarning or any apparent reason. Her efforts to take control of things was nothing short of heroic, her eye for detail, strict quality control, just-in-time kitchen warehousing policies could put any practicing manager to shame. Summer vacations were always a blast because of her. Though during the daytime the climate was quite intolerable, the night time weather was divine outside. There was a steady breeze laced with moisture that could be only described as sweet. This idle talk with her continued till midnight and then I slipped out of the house on the pretext of a walk as didubhai retired for the day, and I smoked while I took that walk. That was the only time in the day I smoked, not that I couldn’t do without it, but it seemed to add to the surroundings. And then began the writing/reading/ movie-watching sessions that continued till three in the morning, sometimes well beyond that.

Next day I visited Park Circus, and from there Shishu Manch, an organisation to promote music, dance and recitation among juveniles. Two of my nieces were performing there and that provided me with an opportunity to meet them, their parents, my cousins and their husbands (my brothers-in-law or is it brother-in-laws?). This chap, whom I had last met during his marriage, said that he empathized with my situation of having to endure the whole proceeding of myriad kids stammering, missing beats etc. for four hours. The auditorium was packed to capacity mainly with relatives of the young performers. I just smiled in return, trying not to appear rude; it might just have been a trap. Thankfully, it wasn’t. It seemed that he was equally peeved at squandering a holiday in this fashion. He made quite an acute observation after that, out of all the people in the audience only two were interested at any point of time, the parents of the performers! One and half hour later the audience had thinned down considerably validating his case and we cracked up loudly and volubly. The concept of an effective audience as opposed to a real audience made a lot of sense…