Santa Came to Kolkata

Christmas in Calcutta has always been a nice time. Hailing from a liberal family we always enjoyed the revelry of the festive season in Park Street. Nahoum’s cake ( the last Jewish shop in New Market), Flurys pastries, Jim Reeves, midnight mass at St. Paul’s cathedral and fairs in Maidan were parts of Calcutta living. As a child, I always received goodies in Christmas. That none other than Santa Claus brought them was my firm belief until my age of innocence was gone.

So it was natural that my nephew Harsh would be treated likewise during Christmas. And being a little child Harsh always believed in Santa. But the winter of 2003 was different. Harsh was 6 years old now. He demanded the proof of existence of Santa. No longer could he be placated with the story that Santa daddu brought all the goodies from distant North Pole riding on a sledge.

Seeing is believing. Being his dearest uncle I was entrusted with the duty of taking him to Santa. Many wise men and women suggested me shopping malls, restaurants and churches as probable places of Santa’s presence. Persons dressed up as Santa generally entertain little children in these places- they said. Now with this piece of information Harsh offered his help also. Every morning my cherub would scuttle pages of newspapers and Santa’s photo in any advertisement or news would herald Santa’s arrival to him which I had to take note of seriously. Why did these papers have Santa’s photos? To build a festive mood or attract children? Uff !!!

Anyway armed with this information Harsh and I embarked on the journey to find Santa on 25^th December evening in Kolkata (politically correct rechristened version of Calcutta). A visit to St.Paul’s cathedral and scenes of nativity therein did not show presence of Santa. With anxious nephew on tow I meandered through traffic filled roads of Kolkata to reach Park Street at 8’ o clock.  It was choc-a-bloc with revelers. But to Harsh it meant nothing.  Looking for Santa we reached Music World. The guard, to my nephew’s dismay, declared Santa was there but he left just now.  I was not prepared for what happened next. Harsh started crying and blaming me. A little child crying on the street can be a difficult proposition. This scene and my explanation thereafter attracted many sympathetic passersby who suggested that last resort of Santa may be shopping malls. We headed to Shopper’s Stop. It was 9.30 p.m. Santa was there in the morning. He has left in the evening. Harsh was furious. He would not budge a single inch. It was my entire fault and I had to pay the price by standing whole night in the December cold, declared harsh. Lot of coaxing and cajoling had us on the way to home. And voila! Our luck shined. Santa was there, in front of a restaurant. But spotting a real Santa Harsh became transfixed. When Santa said Hello and handed him a chocolate, Harsh was already speechless with awe. That white-bordered red velvet coat and white cotton beard of Santa bowled him over!

We did not walk back home; we flew. We soared on ecstasy; the ecstasy of seeing Santa brought wings to my nephew’s long cherished wish. On that day I realized the power of the sentence “Seeing is believing”. I shall never forget those twinkles in a little child’s eyes.

College Street Boi Para

As an exiled Calcuttan I witness with deep sadness the decline of a great city. Calcutta these days looks like a rich zamindar (landed gentry) falling into hard times. Yet in this city there exists an institution which I consider to be one of the best in the academically inclined world. I am talking of College Street ‘boi para’ (The ‘book shops/stores’ of College Street). Noted Bengali writer Shankar once lamented on closure of Thacker Spink, a Barnes and Nobles of India. But my story of College Street will show not all is lost.

It was 2007. I went home in June after joining IIT Bombay as a research scholar. I was looking for some books and what better place can be than College Street! I visited almost all the pavement book stores in search of ‘The Meditations’ by ancient Roman philosopher king Marcus Aurelius. Ever since I read Upamanyu Chatterji’s English August wherein the reference of this book I found, I got interested to get a copy. From the reference I knew Penguin India published this book way back in the 1960’s. But my search in College Street was in vain until I went to Dasgupta & Company, one of the oldest book stores in India since 1880’s. Following is the transcript of my dialogues with the affable Mr.Aurobindo Dasgupta.

Me: Hi, Do you have a copy of ‘The Meditations’ by Marcus Aurelius?

Mr.Dasgupta: No. That book is out-of-print for pretty long time in India. Penguin used to publish it in the sixties. But why do you need that book? Where are you from?

Me (surprised, thinking this man already knows what I know about the book!)  : Oh ! it is not there. Well…actually I am from IIT Bombay. I read a lot and I am interested to read this book.

Mr.Dasgupta: I see. You are from IIT. So you must have an internet connection?

Me (a little more surprised): Yes, but why do you ask?

Mr.Dasgupta: Well…then please log in to MIT library website. You will find the book. They have a copy. You can download the chapters and print.

Me: Thank you. I shall try that.

Now I was more than surprised. Could a College Street book store owner be so knowledgeable? My doubt was put to rest once I logged in to MIT library site. OMG! The book was very much there, for free!

Now tell me which book shop owner in this whole country can surprise you with such erudite all-encompassing love for book?

A Loyal taxi Driver in Calcutta

It was winter of 2003. We sold out our big ancestral home in posh South Calcutta location due to some unavoidable reasons and purchased two flats in a not-so-posh locality in Calcutta. Understandably we were sad since our distinguished forefathers who were a part of Bengal history enjoyed almost a century of residing in that posh locale. But one incident that happened to me in that time etched a deep memory.

It was a wintry morning. I was going to see our new property. I came out from our three-storied building to the street in front and hailed a cab. The taxi driver looked at me quizzically and then gave a long stare at our ancestral house. The moment I hopped in and told him my destination, he asked me “Is it your house? Does this place belong to you?” while starting his taxi. I was perplexed and became a little uneasy because many-a-times when you sell out a big property a lot of people in locality get to know somehow and become extra-inquisitive about the deal and its paraphernalia. And ours was a disputed property. So I had reasons to be alert. Anyway I said a curt “Yes” and kept mum through rest of the journey except while giving directions. When I reached my destination after half an hour or so I asked him how much should I pay? His reply baffled me more. He said “Babu, I will not take a single penny from you. This ride is for free. Even I can offer you a free ride every time you or your family member boards my taxi. I am forever grateful to your family. My father survived because of your ancestor’s kind refuge”. You do not expect this kind of answer from a cab driver who generally minds business. I was clueless. I asked him the reason for such kindness. Then he told me a true-story that shows loyalty, chivalry and humanity is not all lost in these days of all-pervading consumerism and capitalism. Hold your breath dear readers; I am going back to 1946!

16th August 1946 is a black day in Indian history. On that fateful day Muslim league launched their demand for a separate Islamic nation (Pakistan) strongly across India. Calcutta was the worst hit. History says at least six thousand people were butchered in Calcutta alone due to Hindu-Muslim riot ( Readers may watch a movie ‘Hey Ram’ starred by Kamal Hasan and Rani Mukherji to get a gut-wrenching glimpse of what actually happened on that very day on the streets of Calcutta or read ‘Bangalnama’ by Tapan Raychaudhuri). The said taxi driver is a Hindu whose father was young in 1946. Their family was disturbed in the said riot. Our family with the leadership of late Sri Kushi Prasun Chatterji ( my paternal grandfather’s eldest brother), a noted lawyer and Congress patron of his time in Calcutta offered refuge to many riot-stricken Hindu families including this said taxi driver’s family in our big ancestral mansion. Angered by this the local Muslim league leaders barged in and demanded Kushi babu’s intervention in supporting riot-afflicted Muslim families also. Kushi babu showed exemplary courage that day which is still remembered by old-timers in Bhowanipore locality of Calcutta. He immediately wrote a pact with Muslim league leaders that innocent Muslims will also be given refuge in our home given that they should not fight at any cost with the Hindu refugees. Realizing the graveness of the situation the said leaders signed the pact; the Muslim victims of riot too came in our house. For next seven days or so until the riots and hostilities subsided, until the communal hatred ebbed away the Hindu and Muslim riot-afflicted victims stayed in our house peacefully with their food and shelter completely taken care of by our family. This taxi driver was not even born then, his young father  took our refuge. Then they went back to their own homes after situation improved. And Kushi babu’s benevolence became folklore in Bhowanipore, Calcutta ( Kushi babu’s courageous tale got recounted recently albeit with less details than mine in 2007 by Dhritikanto Lahiri Chowdhuri in Anandabazar Patrika after he received Ananda Puroskar for his book ‘Hatir Boi’).

Now recounting his tale the cab driver told me with tears in his eyes “ Babu, once your forefathers saved mine. And my father always told me showing your house that anybody from that house is my guest and savior. Your house is our temple, babu ! How can I forget that you stay in that house and come from that family which saved our family from perishing for sure? Babu, my father is dead. But as long as I am alive I will follow what he said. I will not take a single penny from you, babu. Please tell this to your family also.” Now my eyes moistened as I heard his story. He left. But he left an indelible impression on me. I understood it is not a building that a man resides makes a man. It is not money that makes a man. It was Kushi Prasun Chatterji’s life-saving measures and good deeds that saved so many families from perishing away. And this extra-ordinary loyalty of an ordinary cab driver restituted my faith in humanity.