Esplanade On A Winter Day

I chose not to do a conventional annual vacation in some corner of India this year. With the greenback ruling above 63, a trip beyond the shores was a non-starter. So back it was to enjoy the salubrious winter of the city I was born in and lived for a major part of my life......Calcutta.

Beyond re-unions with the few friends who still prefer Calcutta as their operational base and the seasonal food attractions like the `nolen gur’ and `phoolkopi’ offerings, there was much to observe and absorb as I moved around the city and beyond. What follows are vignettes from my walk-about at the heart of the city...... Esplanade.

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West Bengal’s populace manifests their unceasing demands through rallies that perpetually choke Esplanade and brings the city to a standstill. The Metro corridor and Rashmoni Avenue are favourite haunts for these `michhils’ and `dharnas’. On this day, CPI(M) held fort at this venue. It was an ongoing `awnoshawn’ (agitation); not a one-day affair. Surya Kanta Mishra, the leader of opposition in the Bengal assembly, was leading the charge as a retinue of mildly detached cops hung around to ensure things remained manageable. And then I saw `technology’ coming into play at a CPI(M) forum. Goutam Deb, a senior party functionary, delivered his fiery gibberish to the assembled crowd through a VC from his hospital bed on a giant screen on stage. My mind went back to the 90s when CPI(M) members of the trade union at the nearby office where I worked violently blocked all efforts to computerise the accounting system. For a party that had adopted such a sharp anti-technology stance, Goutam Deb’s contorted mug on the big screen confirmed completion of the volte face.

`Dharna' in progress at Esplanade, overseen by the cops

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Tucked between Peerless Inn and Anadi Cabin, behind a mountain of readymade garments on offer by hawkers who occupy the entire pavement, you will find this ramshackle joint called `Pen Hospital’. It has been there for 90 years, in the same dilapidated state that I first saw in my childhood. A man named Raj presides alone over this establishment. My wife had earlier given me a Sheaffers that she inherited from her grandfather. The pen’s convertor had outlived its utility. This was a model that had long gone out of circulation. I tentatively handed over the pen and inquired if something could be done about it. “But of course! It will cost you Rs.250 if you need an original convertor for this model.” Ten minutes later, I was enjoying the finest writing experience. Would he also have a convertor for a Waterman model that a friend had asked for? “This is a hospital. I do not administer anything without seeing the patient.” Professional pride!

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Talking of Anadi Cabin, I am happy to note that business remains brisk. Anadi-babu’s garlanded portrait watches over hungry patrons devouring the legendary mughlai paratha. The place has remained a hole-in-the-wall outlet. It accommodates about 15 customers in primitive wooden stools that a five year old would find difficult to squeeze in. The only change I discerned was the introduction of a `No Smoking’ sign on the wall. I recommend the mughlai with the double duck egg. It sets you back by Rs.58, but leaves you with a benign smile and tingling taste buds.

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Moti Sil was one of Bengal’s beloved merchant princes. The road named after him runs parallel to the Metro corridor and is better known for its rows of shops dealing in rubber goods. What is less known is that an extension of Moti Sil Street houses an esoteric range of photographic equipments in stuffy outlets that cater to customers from all over the sub-continent. This is popularly called Metro Gully. I ventured here to upgrade to a Canon 60D. The salesmen at these outlets can match Senhor Oliveira de Figueira. A couple of hours later, I emerged from the Gully in a semi-bankrupt state with the assured grip of a new EOS 7D in hand, much like Tintin did after his first meeting with Senhor.

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Calcutta was called the City of Palaces. Most of the city is a mass of brick skeletons and gray cemented walls. The gems emerge as soon as these classical buildings receive a coat of paint. My favourite at the Esplanade `paara’ is Victoria House. I spent seven formative years of my career here, where I made lasting relationships and, not to forget, where I also met my would-be wife. In step with the local Government’s obsession, Victoria House was re-christened CESC House after the Goenkas took over in the 90s. I don’t think the new name has found acceptability till date. The building adjacent to Victoria House is the equally impressive Statesman House. But it wears a forlorn look, bearing signs of the much-lamented decline of The Statesman where I once contributed weekly columns.

These two apart, Esplanade Mansions at the mouth of Sidhu –Kanhu Dahar and the building that houses Central Cottage Industries Emporium at one end of S N Banerjee Road also dazzle, thanks to the upkeep by LIC which owns these properties. Old-timers relate stories about late night drives by Uttam Kumar with friends on the deserted streets around the Strand, after hard partying on the domed terrace of the Cottage Industries building.

 

Victoria House. S P Mukherjee's statue stands guard in the foreground

Statesman House

Esplanade Mansions

Central Cottage Industries Emporium building

Next to these lovely buildings, you'll also see this juxtaposed

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Curzon Park still houses the main tram `goomty’ of Calcutta Tram Company. The trams continue to amble around the dusty park, though they are outnumbered now by CTC buses. Developed cities like Hong Kong and Melbourne have found ways to showcase their trams as prime tourist attractions and revenue generators. It takes a potent mix of apathy, warped priorities and lack of vision to supervise the imminent demise of one of the oldest tram networks in the world.

Around the bend at Curzon Park

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A friend informed that the iconic Great Eastern Hotel had re-opened its doors after seven years of refurbishment. As an articled clerk in the 80s, I had spent time doing internal audit here, whilst the establishment crumbled all around under the administrators of Govt. of West Bengal. Nostalgia drove us for a lunch date to Al Fresco, the new restaurant there. The spread was extensive, the hospitality impeccable, and it could have been any slick new hotel on earth with no distinct identity. This was a place that Mark Twain judged `the best hotel east of Suez’. This is where Wilson Jones won his world amateur billiards crown in 1958, the first Indian to do so. And what about Maxims, the most happening evening out affair in the days of the Raj? It may be unfair to expect the Suri’s to have a sense of Great Eastern’s history.