Thursday, December 18, 2018
Puri-Calcutta
Namaste from Calcutta!
An early-morning alarm on my phone at 4. 30 am woke me up in Puri on our last morning in Orissa. We had a 5.45 am train from Puri station—the Shatabdi Express—to Calcutta, where we would arrive at 1. 30 pm. We had also arranged for a cab to take us from our hotel to the station at 5.00 am and the driver arrived as planned.
Train Journey to Calcutta:
I was really excited to be riding the Great Indian Peninsula Railway as I had many happy memories from my childhood of journeys of several days taken with my family as we traveled across the length and breath of India in separate family coupes that had offered us space and privacy for journeys that were often two or three days long! So when I entered our air-conditioned chair car and found the chair that I would occupy for the next several hours, I was a tad disappointed. The entire train had a very shabby look about it. It definitely needed to be redecorated, reupholstered and, in general, better shod. As Nafisa and Hosefa were seated a few rows away from me, I gave myself up to the thrill of reading my Helen Fielding Bridget Jones’ book and typing as I had my IPad with me.
There was frequent service on the train starting with bed-tea served with two Marie biscuits. This was followed by a breakfast tray of two slices of bread, a two-egg masala omelette served with tomato ketchup and a bar of Kit Kat chocolate. The train made stops at Bhubaneshwar and Cuttack (former capital of the state) and on a series of bridges, we crossed the mighty Mahanadi river on which the huge Hirakud Dam had been a pride and joy of post-colonial India. It was not long before we crossed the state border into West Bengal which I could tell easily by the fact that the Oriya script proclaiming the names of the stations changed to Bengali.
At lunch time, we were served the most disappointing lunch you can imagine—mine was supposed to be Fried Rice with Chilli Chicken but I cannot even tell you how tasteless it was. I barely ate anything at all. The Anglo-Indian writer Bridget White-Kumar has written books on Anglo-Indian cuisine that includes sections on Railway Mutton Curry and Dak Bungalow Chicken! Hopefully, the dishes would not taste like this!
Among the many Bengali stations that we passed, I became extremely excited by our arrival in Kharagpur, about an hour and a half from Calcutta. Kharagpur had been an Anglo-Indian stronghold during imperial times because it was one of the hubs of the Bengal-Nagpur branch and a huge Railway colony had sprung up just beyond the station where the typical culture of the Anglo-Indians had flourished for decades before they emigrated en masse from India after Independence. In the post-colonial period, the development of one of the Indian Institutes of Technology (IIT) in this town had put Kharagpur on the student map. I dearly wish I could have actually stepped down and explored the town—but, of course, all we had was ten minutes there while I took photographs of the station.
Arrival in Calcutta:
It was not long before we arrived at our destination—the great city of Calcutta. By 2.00 pm, we were fighting huge crowds on the platform as we tried to make our way out of the station. We had arrived at Howrah Bridge Station (the other big Calcutta railway hub is Sealdah) and both Nafisa and Hosefa who were seeing the massive expanse of the Howrah Bridge for the first time, were filled with excitement. I was arriving in Calcutta for about the fourth time in my life and I had some familiarity with the city. Howrah Bridge, which has also given its name to a famous Bollywood movie of the 1950s or 60s, stands astride the mighty Hooghly River—the body of water that had contributed through history to the immense wealth of the city.
Nafisa’s cousin Juzer was waiting to receive us at the station and he led us to the Uber taxi stand from where they hired a vehicle that took them off to their place in Entally. I also hired an Uber that took me to my hotel—the Fairlawn—on Sudder Street in the heart of downtown Calcutta. This is the fourth time I am staying in this gorgeous hotel that I adore, both for its unbeatable location (you can walk to most places of interest from this spot) and for its distinctive decor and ambience.
Taking Up Residence at The Fairlawn Hotel, Calcutta:
A word about the Fairlawn Hotel would be in order here. I am not entirely sure of the historical details, but the hotel was established by an Armenian woman called Violet Someone whose family settled in Calcutta before World War II. I believe it was her parents who had bought the hotel that subsequently fell under the management of their daughter. During the war, Violet met a British soldier named Ted. They married, stayed on together in Calcutta and ran the hotel. It is a hulking, old Calcutta two-story bungalow with a sprawling general or public area on the ground floor that consists of a terrace garden or loggia, a porch where the Reception is housed, and a large living area that has been converted into the community dining hall. In Violet’s time, breakfast and afternoon tea were served in this dining room.
The last time I stayed here, Violet was already on her last legs. She used to leave her spacious apartment on the first floor and come downstairs each morning to sit in the terrace garden where she would interact with all her guests and pass her time. Also, the last time I stayed here, in addition to meeting and chatting with her, I also met her daughter Jennifer who told me that for part of the year she lives in Cornwall in the UK and spends the rest of the time in Calcutta so that she can keep a watchful eye over her mother. In the time that has elapsed since I was last here (three years ago), Violet passed away, Jennifer (who inherited the hotel) sold it to the Elgin Group of Hotels on the condition that they retain it exactly as it was and do not change a thing.
As such, the vast collection of press clippings, photographs, lithographs, paintings, etc. that line the wall of the stairwell of the gorgeous wrought-iron and wood staircase that is thickly carpeted and every other wall inside, still remain. They are a capsule, in a word, of the history of Calcutta from colonial times (there are pictures of Viceroy Lord Curzon as well as of Queen Elizabeth and the Duke of Edinburgh’s visit to Calcutta in the 1960s) to contemporary times (there are pictures of the multiple visits of the cast and crew of the Merchant-Ivory filming unit who always stayed at the hotel including Shashi and Jennifer Kendall-Kapoor and of Mother Teresa for Violet was a big fan of the nun and generously supported her mission in Calcutta).
I have a favorite room in this hotel. It is on the upper floor and I love it because it has its own little balcony that comes equipped with a table and two chairs—the perfect place to prop up my laptop to write or to sip a tray of afternoon tea which I often order when I am here (alas, the Elgin Hotel management no longer offers complimentary Afternoon Tea in the dining hall downstairs). I was delighted, therefore, when I was allotted this room again and it was with excitement that I moved upstairs. Not much has changed inside the rooms—they are still fairly shabby and wear the air of a place that is long past its prime. But this does not bother me. As long as a place is clean, safe and centrally located, I have never had any qualms about temporary hotel accommodation anywhere in the world. This probably explains why I have seen so much of the world while having very shallow pockets. And this place met my three criteria quite easily.
I did not unpack as I had only two nights here, but I did stretch out on the bed and tried to get some shut eye—although I’d had several short naps in the train. After a while, since there was still light, I decided to go out and do some shopping as I really did not have too much time in this city on this visit.
A Visit to New Market:
In Calcutta, the place to shop is New Market. It is one of the great Victorian covered markets that the British built in all their important colonial cities—so it is similar to Empress Market in Karachi and Crawford Market in Bombay. Inside, hundreds of dealers sell everything you can imagine from food to clothing to luggage. I had a few, very specific, items I wanted and it was thanks to my foodie friend Marianel who knows where to buy the best foods in any and every part of India, that I went in search of lemon tarts and rum balls from Nahoum, a Jewish bakery, barley sugar twists (also known as Calcutta Candy) and kasaundi (a mustard sauce) that is perfect on grilled fish or seafood.
As it turns out, New Market was a mere five minute walk from my hotel in what also used to be the Anglo-Indian heart of Calcutta. It was the part of the city that was inhabited by the Christian community in general—besides Anglo-Indians, Goans and Manglorean Christians also congregated in this area. Being that their inhabitants were always of low income, these areas were awfully decrepit because the homes they inhabited were barely better than chawl-type tenements. They were always rented at a time when tenants paid very low rents (which, they were also barely able to afford at the time). Because the kind of work they did (secretaries, teachers, railways personnel) offered barely any prospects of financial prosperity, the majority of them saw emigration as their only way towards better standards of living. Hence, come Independence, they emigrated en masse. These localities fell into disuse or were occupied by even poorer tenants who paid paltry rents to landlords who did not have the means to spend on maintenance (forget about improvement).
The end result is that these areas are horribly decrepit today. The buildings are so terribly shabby, the streets on which they stand are so filthy, there is garbage every which way you look and the crowds and congestion have to be seen to be believed. They say that when Americans travel anywhere in the world, they realize how fortunate they are that they live in America. I would add that when Bombayites travel anywhere in India, they realize how fortunate they are that they live in Bombay. This is certainty how I feel every time I come to Calcutta. I never cease to be appalled by the general squalor of the city and the total lack of any kind of civic pride, in this, one of the grandest colonial outposts. It was through a street (mercifully short) and choked with humanity (including dozens of beggars) that I made my way to the rust and cream facade of New Market.
New Market (which is over a century old, really) is also called the S.S.Hogg Market and it was built in the last quarter of the 19th century. The easiest way to find what you seek is to ask one of the touts that accosts you as soon as you reach the market. I asked for Nahoums and, in no time at all, I was directed to a very large shop with glass windows (similar to the glass-fronted shops of the Covered Market in Oxford) whose shelves had been swiped clear of its wares! Inside mayhem prevailed as dozens of people tried to buy the plum cakes, rich fruit cakes, sponge cakes, Dundee Cakes, etc. that were behind a vast counter and the few smaller pastries (rum balls, chocolate rolls, etc) that were left. The shopping demand was augmented by the holiday season and I thought it interesting that the customers were mainly Hindus and Muslims buying for Christmas (as the Christians would have been buying ingredients from the various shops to make their own goodies). I could not get any lemon tarts as they were over, but I did get rum balls and chocolate rolls as well as plum cakes (which many think is the best in the city).
Getting out of the shop was a huge relief. More inquiries led me to a certain J. Johnson who sold the barley sugar twists and the mustard sauce I wanted. The salesman also sold me a candy that he said is made by burning the sugar—he told me it is made only during Christmas and he strongly suggested I buy a packet. Armed with my goodies, I thankfully made my way out of the market and was back in the busiest part of the city before the light went out for the day.
Afternoon Tea with Robyn:
It was as soon as I returned to the hotel that I ran into my colleague, the New Zealander Dr. Robyn Andrews, who is an old friend of mine and one of the main organizers of the conference I had come to attend. We greeted each other warmly as she informed me that she and her Anglo-Indian husband, Keith Butler, originally from Calcutta and also a good friend of mine, were staying in the same hotel. She invited me to join her at Afternoon Tea in the dining hall and it was over a tray and a cake stand that we caught up. I honestly could not think of a more civilized ritual in a more gracious setting after the grueling ordeal I had survived in trying to do some typical Calcutta shopping during the Christmas preamble.
Exploring Park Street at Christmastime:
When I returned to my room, I resumed contact with Nafisa and Hosefa who told me that they would meet me at 6.00 pm on Park Street as we wished to see the lights for which this street in Calcutta is famed. Accordingly, I dressed warmly (for Calcutta is much colder than Bombay) and arrived at the spot in about ten minutes after another very interesting stroll past the Indian Museum that is beautifully illuminated in the evenings.
Once I reached Park Street, it was like a fairyland, truly. The lights would easily give Oxford Street or Regent Street in London a run for their money. They were extravagant and glorious. Every shop was lit up, every street lamp had lights strung from it. It was bright and colorful and simply awesome. Park Street was also the heart of Anglo-Indian Calcutta for all the posh restaurants and hotels have been based here since the time of the Raj. Anglo-Indian bands, individual musicians (such as jazz pianist Louis Banks) and crooners (such as Pam Crane) who went on to have successful national careers, began their lives in the restaurants in this part of the city. Among the better known ones were Firpo’s and Mocambo (now closed) and Trinca’s and Kwality (that still stand). Just off Park Street, on Russel Street are Waldorf (a Chinese restaurant) and Floriana (where we will be dining tomorrow after the conference). The Anglo-Indian live bands have gone (just as they disappeared from the restaurants of Bombay and Karachi) but the lively ambience of the long-fled era still remains.
This is also the home of Flury’s, the upscale British-style bakery, that has also produced mouth-watering confectionary for generations—its Christmas cakes and pastries, chocolates and marzipan, are also legendary, and this establishment too was mobbed. I took my friends inside so that they could really see what the place is like and they were deeply impressed. We took any number of pictures of the road with its incessant traffic, which is probably augmented by the fact that the lights were turned on today for the first time and the tree-lighting ceremony was supposed to occur later further up the road.
We did not wait for it as we thought of going on to dinner. And since we all wanted to taste traditional Bengali food, we made our way by Uber to Kewpie’s, a restaurant at which I had eaten before and where I remember the food being simply outstanding.
Dinner at Kewpie’s:
To say that that the prices at Kewpie’s were staggering would be an understatement. They were off the wall! We ordered vegetarian Thalis (which came with a bit of rice, two pooris, a stingy serving of dal, a tinier serving of dum aloo and a single slice of fried aubergine). This cost us Rs. 475! My friends told me that in Bombay, in even the most expensive eateries, you can get a vegetarian thali for Rs. 350 that includes all of the above plus at least three varieties of vegetable and far more generous quantities of everything. We were served in the tiniest earthenware (terracotta) bowls you can imagine. To subsidize our meal, we ordered hilsa (a Bengali river fish) in a mustard sauce—this cost us Rs. 400 and, I swear to you, it was a single piece of fish (what in the US, we would call a steak—not even a fillet). This was highway robbery. I was paying more than $5 for a single piece of fish. How exorbitant was that!? We also ordered a serving of Dab Chingri (which is Bengali-style prawns in an onion-mustard-coconut gravy). This too cost us Rs. 400. If you would think that we would get huge tiger prawns for this price, you’d be sadly mistaken. We got about four tiny prawns (I know—-I am using the word tiny a bit too often in this post!) in one of those minuscule terra-cotta vatis! Finally, Nafisa ordered Mutton and this too cost us Rs. 400. Only one person could eat of each Rs. 400 serving! The meal ended with mishti doi (sweet yoghurt) which was dessert and it was the best part of our meal. The end result was that with a non-alcoholic drink called Mango Panna (which cost Rs. 116 each), our bill came to about Rs. 1,000 per person. I was mortified as it was the most expensive meal we had eaten on our entire travels and it was I who had recommended the place to my friends—never for a second believing that we would become so much the poorer for it. Never again. I am never going to this restaurant again and I am never going to recommend it to anybody again. I understand that other places offering Bengali cuisine such as 6 Ballygunge Place and Kasturi are far more economical (and I shall certainly keep them in mind for next time).
We finished our meal, got another Uber to drop me off to my hotel before my friends went off to their cousin’s place. We made plans to meet tomorrow (possibly for dinner in the evening as they shall be sightseeing during the day while I will be busy with my conference).
Once in my room, I was too exhausted to do anything more than brush my teeth and get ready for bed.
Until tomorrow...
No comments:
Post a Comment