An Insiders Guide to Surviving Calcutta’s Durga Puja

There are two types of people in this world: one) who love Durga Puja, two) who hate Durga Puja. There is another tiny variety though — of people who hopped over the fence somewhere along the way. I belong to that category.

Making the switch is not, however, the easiest thing even if you are a sucker of food, arts, music, and culture — elements that signify the festival. It takes grit, and a lot of time, to fall in love with the overwhelming Pujos of Calcutta. But it is not impossible. With a little planning & preparation, you can enjoy, if not fall in love, with the beautiful experiences that the festival brings with it.

So let’s get started.

Basics:

Durga Puja begins from the Mahalaya Amavasya, the day before the auspicious period of navratras, or nine nights of the goddess begins. The festivities however commence only on the 6th day, called shashti, when the goddess and the four children are invoked, and lasts until dashami, when she is sent off with a heavy heart and teary eyes. If you are planning a visit, plan to reach Calcutta by Pamchami and settle in before the action begins.

Timing:

In my 15 years as an insider at the Durga Puja — after my marrying a bong boy — if there is one thing I have learnt, it is to get the timing right. To witness the beauty and grandeur of the art, craft, and spirit of the festival, you will have to make an effort to beat the locals to it. In a Puja Pandal, it always pays to be early.

Shashti and saptami mornings are best to go pandal-hopping. The Puja Pandals are already up but the people have yet to come out in full force. There is still some space to walk, drive, breathe, the queues are smaller, and you can take your time to appreciate the themes, decor, aesthetics and the gods in each pandal.

It is important to know that Calcuttans do not sleep during the Puja, at least not in the nights. For that is when they are out with friends and families for a night full of revelry. If crowds intimidate you, avoid getting out in the night, especially on ashtami and navami, or be ready to swim in a sea of people and sway in whichever direction the crowds take you.

Commute:

Taxi drivers in Calcutta go crazy during the Pujas. They are in great demand and the public is ready to pay any price for their services, so don’t be surprised if they quote obscene amounts. Either hop in or walk off — they will not wait for you.

A better way to commute is by metro or bus. They are cheap, take you from point to point and ply all night. Also, be prepared to walk a lot. Imagine you are in Paris, or Rome, and it will be easier for you. In any case chances are you’d spot the Eiffel Tower and the Colosseum somewhere along the road. In fact, Calcutta now has its own Big Ben too: but for the sweat streaming down every part of your body, you can very well imagine walking the streets of London.

If commuting into the city from the station, cross the Hoogly on a boat, and soak in the beautiful skyline of the city, stock up your lungs with fresh air, and hop in on the taxi at Babu ghat. It will save you time, effort and a lot of traffic. If you decide to fly in to save travel time, you can rest assured about it being compensated in the cab. Fares will be equitable too!

 

Pandal Hopping:

Pujas in Calcutta revolves around two things Pujo Pendal, and Thakur. The pandals come in all shapes and sizes. So do the gods. So while you will have a 100 feet tall Durga at Deshopriyo Park, you will also have a rojger ginni at Hindustan park. The themes range from surgical strikes to demonetization, from Bhutanese tourism to a humble village set up, from the Meenakshi temple in Tamilnadu to the Somnath temple in Gujrat. Then there is recycling, global warming, deforestation. If the brilliance of Bengal is visible anywhere, it is in a Puja Pandal.

Every street in Calcutta has a Puja Pandal that you cannot miss and every para showcases something unique; how do you then decide what to cover and what to skip? You don’t — just start from one place and join the dots as you go. It is best to cover the most famous Pandals in the morning, and meander into smaller ones on the way. They are all interconnected and the crowds will lead you from one to another. Stay closer to your home/hotel/residence in the evenings — so that even if you have to walk home you can.

Do not miss the smaller Pujos in North and South Calcutta, for it is in these tiny pandals that you’d discover the most beautiful idols, and most innovative themes.

Some of the lesser known pandals that you should have on your itinerary are:  Mudiali club, Shib Mandir, Seebak Sangha, 66 Palli, Maddox Square, Jorashonko, Kumhartuli, Hindustan Park, Durga bari, Jodhpur Park, Dhakuria. Ahiritola, Kumhartuli. You can thank me later!

Food:

No one eats at home during the Puja. Not that they need to with a feast laid out at every nook and corner. Lined with stalls selling everything from biryani to korma, from coffee to cola, from ice cream to sweets, the streets of Calcutta transform into food courts during the festival. While most of the country fasts during this time of the year, Kolkata feasts.

Use the opportunity to sample Calcutta’s lip smacking variety of street food. Gorge on the tangy Puchkas, try the zingy jhaal muri, taste the aloo kabli, and stuff yourself with cups of mishti doi, and dozens of rasgullas and shinghara. When you are done with street food (I never am), get on with chicken korma, biryani, kheer and kulfi, and later to noodles, rolls, momos, and more mishti doi.

The best thing about eating so much is that the walking offsets the effects — at least it digestion part of it. So when you are hungry again, head to the evergreen Park Street where, open from noon till well after midnight, the iconic eateries of Calcutta await you. Choose from Mocambo or Peter Cat, or walk into Bar-B-Que or Trincas. But ready for long queues: the whole city is out to eat during the Pujas.

Exit:

Why would somebody need to plan the exit from a city? Well, because it is Calcutta and it is Puja. And I cannot leave you wandering on the crowded roads without a taxi — if I have got you in, I better get you out too!

So, first and foremost, never plan a train or flight out on Dashami. The city swells that day like a river on the rise; there are no cabs, there are no autos, there are hardly any buses either. Unless of course you have a friend who is willing to sacrifice the whole day battling traffic jams and barricades (trust me, no self-respecting Bengali will do this), it’s best to leave a day before, preferably in the day. Else, you can always walk back from the airport after a missed flight, or sleep over at the Howrah station post a missed train. The city will always have space for you.

Also featured in Huffington Post

Beauty.

She never thought she was ugly, on the contrary, she believed herself to be charming and pretty.

Her belief lent her a poise and grace that was not easy to find in girls her age.

She often admired herself --  the long slender fingers, the curvy eyelashes, the little button nose,

Her eyes, she thought, were a bit small, but it did not affect her confidence, which was very, very tall.

Of her height she was very proud, so what if some parts of her body were a little stout?

Her wavy hair were her pride, her smooth complexion made her apple of everyone's eyes.

And then one day she met her best friend, the meeting was the beginning to many a end.

The friend thought she was dark and totally out of grace, she commented on how her silver earrings shone on a sun tanned face;

When a photographer said she could be a model so proud, the friend laughed about it out loud.

The laughter burnt a hole in a heart, something she could never throw apart;

The comments continued to flow -- sometimes it was her skin, sometimes face, sometimes even her small toe.

The wavy hair now seemed unruly, the copper skin suddenly became dark and ugly,

Her slender fingers ceased to matter, the long eyelashes were used to conceal tears lest they would splatter.

Her confidence fled like mice from a sinking ship, her poise went away on a lifelong trip,

The mirror became her biggest enemy, and vanity seemed like the deadliest blasphemy.

The friend left long ago, but not before her words dug deep trenches in her ego,

For three-fourth of her life she bore the burden of her comments, hating herself for things that she thought she ought to lament.

Today she finally decides, she needs to no longer hide -- the hurt, the pain, the dark skin, the thinning mane, she needs to take everything in her stride.

For she don't know what the friend really meant, was it actually a vicious jibe or just a kid's innocent comment?

Beauty they say rests in the eye, but the real beauty is what radiates from inside,

It does not matter if you are dark or light, if your eyes are small or skin bright, what matters is your confidence and your pride.

Let no one tell you how you should look, feel or be -- others opinion of you is your greatest enemy,

Be proud of whoever you are -- the sun, the moon, or just a tiny star;

For the sun and moon maybe full of might, but all we wish for is some magical starlight. 

*

Following Tintin's Footsteps in Brussels

“Blistering barnacles! We are trapped!”

You can almost hear Captain Haddock shout as he leads Tintin and Snowy down the fire exit of a tall building. As always, they have landed themselves in trouble while trying to solve The Calculus Affair. A few miles away you find Tintin clinging to the wall outside his hotel in Chicago in a bid to get to the goon’s room. While the scene is from Tintin in America, it is being played at the Zuidstation in Brussels. You also see him perched up along with snowy over a multistoried building, smiling at the passerby, and walking along his entire entourage at an underground station in Stokel.

Tintin can be found everywhere in Brussels – on the walls, at underground stations, along the streets, in the marketplaces; in museums and even inside hotels, which have special Tintin themed rooms. And why not, Brussels after all is home to the world’s favorite reporter in baggy pants.

Tintin was first seen boarding a train to Russia from the Brussels station on 10^th January 1929 in his debut strip, in the youth supplement of a weekly. During this time, a young boy dressed as Tintin could be found roaming at the Zuidstation greeting the passengers. The antic worked and the tiny cartoon strip soon metamorphosed into an iconic series we now know as The Adventures of Tintin.

“If you are a fan of comics, Brussels won’t disappoint you. Often called the comic strip capital of the world, Belgium is home to many popular characters like Gaston, Smurfs, Lucky Luke, and Tintin. All of them are loved in Belgium but Tintin is popular across the world. There is no better place than Brussels for a Tintin lover.” Françoise Flamente, an elderly lady, tells me as she walks me along the Tintin trail in the Belgian capital.

The starting point of the trail is the Belgian Comic Strip Center set by Tintin’s creator, Hergé.

A large prototype of the red and white rocket from Explorers of the Moon stands tall in the lobby ready to take off. You can almost hear Professor Calculus say “That’ amazing! That’s tremendous! That’s incredible!”

It indeed is incredible to see so much of Tintin in one place. Books in multiple languages line the shelves, collectables of all possible characters stand in glass cabinets, life size posters and exhibits are displayed all over. A series of sketches trace Tintin’s origin from a black & white line drawing to the dapper ginger head with the trademark quiff. It also outlines the evolution of Snowy, Tintin’s wire fox terrier modeled after the dog at Hergé’s favourite café, the loud mouth Captain Haddock, whose name came from the curses that the creator’s wife often hurled at him, and the famous glass-shattering opera star Bianca Castafiore, who, it is believed, is a dig at the creator’s opera-loving wife.

The imposing grey and cream building of The Royal Palace can transport anyone back in time, for a Tintin fan however, it has only one significance: it formed the backdrop of King Ottokar’s Sceptre. You feel like a detective yourself as you trace Tintin’s footsteps through the Brussels Park, to the exact spot where he finds the suitcase that helps him solve the mystery.

A short walk from the Palace leads to Boulevard Adolphe Max, home to Hotel Metroplole. The street and the hotel are seen in The Seven Crystal balls when Mark Falconers taxis his way to 26 Labrador Road, Tintin’s home. If you stand across the road with the comic book in hand opened to page 20, you’d almost find yourself inside the book.

The flea market at the Place du Jeu de Balle that features in the opening sequence of The Secret of the Unicorn is a few miles away. The market, where Ivan Sakharine tries to persuade the Unicorn off Tintin, turns out just how Hergé had depicted it – an exciting mass of bric-a-brac and antiques laid out on the streets and tables. As you walk through the market, rubbing shoulders with the locals and tourists, you secretly wish to find the Unicorn, or perhaps Tintin, trying to guard the Unicorn from Sakharine.

The Tintin trail.

1. A mural of Tintin and Captain Haddock on Rue de L’Etuve from the book The Calculus Affaiar.

2. The Comic Strip House on Boulevard de l’Impératrice, depicts the evolution of the characters.

3. La Monnaie is the theatre that inspired Hergé’s drawings of the opera in The Seven Crystal Balls.

4. Park of Brussels at the Royal Palace, where Tintin finds an abandoned suitcase in King Ottokar’s Sceptre.

5. Across the park, is the Royal Palace, which inspired the home of the king of Syldavia in King Ottokar’s Sceptre.

6. Stockel Metro Station has two colourful murals with several characters from Tintin’s adventures.

7. Place du Jeu de Balle flea market featured in the Secrets of The Unicorn

8. Gare du Midi, the Brussels South Railway Station, features a Tintin mural at the entrance.

9. The first publishers of the Tintin books, Editions du Lombard, have a giant Tintin and Snowy sign on top of their office building.

10. The Tintin Boutique at Rue de la Colline 13, right in center of the town, stocks a host Tintin products including figurines, comics, stationary, and apparel.

What is my worth?

What is my worth and how do I calculate it?

My bank account says I have a couple of hundred thousands – is that my worth?

My salary statement says I make a fraction of what I used to years ago – is that my worth?

The husband says he cannot do without me. The girls think they may not survive without me. Is running their lives my worth?

My housekeeper requires me to constantly need her, so that my money can constantly feed her. Is her need my worth?

My colleagues think I am great at what I do, and should be in a corner office making a fortune. Is their opinion of me my worth?

A few who read what I write, say a book I hold inside -- is being a writer my worth?

My words, floating all around, tell me my calling I have finally found -- is the fulfillment of a long lost dream my worth?

My prized possessions, my meager earnings, my hard work, my tiny rewards; my lovely home, my lovelier girls; my few friends, my fewer loves. Do they determine my worth?

But if they did, I would not have been declared 'low on self worth'.

So what is my worth and how do I measure it?

My worth is in my lost dreams, it lurks is in the crevices my broken heart;

It can be found in the ambitions I killed, it lives in the compromises I chose to reach.

My worth is in every no I said to myself when I could have said yes, in every yes I said when I should have said no;
It is in every dream I should have nurtured but decided to let it go, and every relationship I murdered for the sake of another to grow.

My worth lives inside every friend I lost, it lays dead is in every love I left in the past, my worth is in my failures, my vices, my demons, and my choices.
It lives inside the rejections and my abjection, it thrives on my heartache and my heartbreaks.

My worth is in all that I should have seen, should have done, could have been,
It is in the truths that I should have perceived, in the life I could have achieved.

No wonder it is in a deep pit, along with my soul, spirit, and my being;
So deep inside a gutter that it can no longer be heard, felt, or seen.

Jamshedpur: a jampot of flavours

Every evening, after the sun sets in the steel city, the sky lights up. The orange glow can be attributed partially to the burning metal at the steel plant, and partially, to the illuminated carts of food street in the heart of the town.

Tatanagar was founded a little over 100 years ago, when Jamsetji Tata decided to set up a steel plant there. His decision resulted in two things. One: an obscure village metamorphosed into a cosmopolitan hub of people from all parts of the country; and two: it brought the time-tested recipes from their kitchens and streets into this little hamlet. In no time, Tatanagar turned into a melting pot of flavours and textures. The best way to sample this mélange of tastes, textures, and flavours, is through the food street. Positioned along the well-laid-out J road, where pushcarts appear magically after dusk and bring with them the most lip-smacking, mouth-watering food one can imagine.

Take Raja’s dosa for example. His dosas are golden, crunchy and stuffed with julienned onion, beetroot, and cabbage, apart from the standard potato mix. Served with the local version of chutney — made with channa dal, not coconut — and watery yet flavourful sambar, they beat the South Indian ghee roast hands down. Or Ashok’s littis for that matter — the thick balls of flour stuffed with sattu, roasted on charcoal, and dipped in pure ghee; they are served with chokha, a spicy preparation of roasted potato and brinjal, mashed with a generous helping of mustard oil. One bite of this is all it takes for your taste buds to come alive.

“Sometimes, it’s hard for non-Jamshedpurians to understand what the fuss is about, why people from Tatanagar rave so much about the food here. But if someone hasn’t lived here, he will never understand what we are talking about,” says Krishna, a homemaker and a regular at the food street, even as she waits for her portion of litti. Her favourite happens to be chilli chicken and noodles from the van, and puchkas from the nameless man in the corner.

Her children, however, are ardent fans of the papdi chaat made with dry puchkas, mashed spiced potatoes and topped with tamarind chutney. While spice rules the roost here, there is also provision for sweet. The freshly fried jalebis and imartis and the dabbewali kulfi with falooda add much needed sweetness to the palate, balancing out the spice. It is this balance that makes the street treats of Tatanagar so special.

This post first appeared in The Hindu

An Ode to the Roll

“Yesterday, I had a roll at New Town. It was horrible! Ekdom baje. I knew only Kusum’s roll would be able to offset the trauma, so I came here.”

You know you are in Kolkata when you hear passionate discussions about food around you, especially street food. The shop in question has been standing in an obscure corner off Park Street for almost 40 years, and though inconspicuous by its presence, the serpentine queues outside, and the intense aroma around it, ensure you cannot miss the humble stall situated behind a large iron gate.
“No one is certain when the roll came to Calcutta, but everyone who knows Kolkata knows about Kusum Rolls. You see, every corner has a roll walah here, but nothing beats Kusum’s rolls,” says Rajat Mitra, a regular, who, as evident, swears by the shop.

A bright yellow board tells you that the rolls come in 30 varieties — egg, chicken, mutton, veg, paneer, cheese, liver, prawn and their variations — and the prices range from a paltry thirty rupees to a whopping two hundred and twenty. A total of three men man the shop. Their hands move in perfect coordination as they dish out rolls by the dozen, customising each one as they go: extra chilli in one, no chilli in the other, fried onion in one, raw in another; sauces, spices, eggs, onions — everything can be added, removed, reduced, or increased to suit your palate.

If you are a regular, you won’t even have to tell them — they remember it. I am neither a local, nor a regular, but the shop remains my first stop in the city. I know the menu by heart and also the chronology of actions. The parathas are fried on the griddle till they are about half done, eggs are simultaneously beaten and poured onto the centre of the griddle, the two are then combined and fried again, until each paratha becomes thick, flaky, and golden. Next, these are transferred to the counter where they are assembled in batches: meat goes in first, then the onions, chillies, spices, and sauces. Each roll is then wrapped in butter paper and handed over to you.

“Do you know these rolls were invented when the busy workers had no time to sit and eat their meal? Someone put his meat into his roti, and voila, the roll was born. Isn’t that amazing?” A woman tells another, even as the man on the counter assembles half a dozen chicken rolls at once. It surely is amazing to see how far these rolls have come.

The post first appeared in The Hindu