Bengalis and the scenario of political violence

I remember in the 1950s there was a stir in Kolkata over the increase in fare of trams by one paisa – it was much before the introduction of the decimal coinage. In those days, one paisa was just one paisa, a circular bit of copper with a hole in its middle. Well – the increase led to a stir and police firing. I was a school student and at home. The windows had been kept closed by my mother to shut out the unpleasantness outside, and I was trying to open a panel and peep outside when suddenly a bullet whizzed past my ears and embedded in the wooden frame of the window.
That was my first experience with violence.
Later, when I was in college, there was this milkman who used to deliver milk to our house – he was a jovial character, a Bihari and well loved by one and all. One morning, he failed to come. And, we learnt that he had been killed in a bomb explosion. He had tried to intervene in a political quarrel and paid the price.

In those days the Naxalite movement was always in the news. Young and bright students would form groups on the sly to rebel against the authorities. They felt that the country was not in good hands and they wanted to change it.
And, in order to tackle that thinking a new police officer came to Kolkata. He was young and it was rumored that he would go around the city in plain clothes and would stop when he saw a gathering of young boys. He would alight, go near them and eavesdrop. Then he would order his force to take them in and carry them far away where they would be released and asked to run. And – a bullet in the back would mark the end of a would-be rebel.
I have no idea about the truth of these reports because, by that time, I had left Kolkata and heard about these instances when I came home on leave. It seems at the time many of these youngsters left Kolkata for fear of being hounded out by the police. Rumor has it that one of them had fled to Mumbai and made a name for himself in the movies. Once again – I do not know whether it is true or just another imaginary tale.
Anyway, the Calcutta Coffee House on College Street in the educational hub of the city surrounded by institutions like the Calcutta University, the Presidency College, and the Hindu College played a major role in shaping the future of Bengal. Intellectuals gathered there and over cups of coffee would debate the future course of action depending on which the wind blows. (to be continued …)
(Image courtesy wikimediacommons.org)

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Growing up days – coffee at College Street Coffee House

The Coffee House at College Street, located in the vicinity of Calcutta University and Presidency College, was the well-known meeting ground for Bengali intellectuals of the 1960s – its regular patrons came from the fields of politics and of arts and aspiring poets would recite their poems aloud in the near holy coffee joint.

From film stars to movie directors and authors to politicians, everyone who mattered in Bengal of the sixties made it a habit to be a part of the Coffee House. Some of them were already established in their fields while others were trying to get a toehold in the highly stiff competition to climb the ladder of success.
There were two parts of the Coffee House – the upper floor was known as the House of Lords and the lower floor was the House of Commons.
The ever courteous waiters, dressed in white, flitted from table to table collecting orders and serving the patrons – but, one section of the patrons would not bother to order either a cup of coffee or even some snacks. They would be busy in arguments with others and, at times, their voices would cross normal decibel levels and draw the attention of others.

The legendary singer Manna Dey sang a song on ‘Coffee House’ and the adda for which it was famous. Incidentally, adda was and still is something unique to Bengalis because it is all about total involvement of all participants to voice his or her opinion on the subject, it could be any subject under the sun. (to be continued …)

School days – Wading through knee deep water in Kolkata

It was raining cats and dogs and when I arrived at the bus stop with my brothers after school in 1957 or was it 1958! The time was around 3.30pm and I found rainwater everywhere. Buses had stopped plying as had the trams. In those days, there were no mobile phones and even landline phones were few and far between. There was practically no way to let my mother know that we were stranded.
As I was debating on the next course of action, there appeared the BC boys – BC or Balachandra boys were all from the same family. They were 8 or 9 brothers and sisters and, they asked us to come along with them to their house from where we could contact my father.
Well – with no other viable alternative, we brothers fell in step and walked through knee deep water evading the swirling leaves and pieces of cloth and what not. It was a fairly exhausting journey from Bowbazar Street passing through Medical College, Calcutta University, Presidency College, Harrison Road and College Street market to the famous temple of Goddess Kali at Thanthania. That was where the BC family lived.
Their mother immediately took over charge and forced us to change out wet clothes, gave us glasses of hot milk and snacks and with new energy, my brothers and I began the remaining journey – to Shambazar. By the time we had reached the tram depot, we saw a police van approaching with my father in it – he had come to know of our absence when he came home from office and contacted the police.
The time was nearly 6.30pm and we had been in the waters for nearly three hours. (to be continued..)
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