Independence of India – I was there on that day

Yes, I was present on 15th of August 1947. It was the Independence Day of India and I was a three-year old child at the time. On this, the 75th Independence Day, I still remember how people enjoyed the occasion. At that time, I stayed with my parents and younger brother in Belgachhia. It was in North Calcutta and my father owned a lorry. He with two of his friends had a business of sorts. They used to transport coal from the coalfields and distribute them to the local dealers. They had a very trusted driver who was a Muslim and played a crucial role. It was a period of unrest with riots between the two communities prior to the partition of Bengal. The driver would ensure that the lorry with my father and his friends would move out safely through sensitive spots. He carried a change of clothes in the lorry and the occupants wore them, as necessary, to avoid any local problems. These are what my father told me much later when I could understand the intricacies.

Anyway – to come back to details of 15th of August 1947. It was raining and I was in the lorry. It was crowded and my parents were there as were the families of his partners. There were many others and the, lorry was crowded as were the roads. They were jam packed with people who carried the Indian flag and shouted slogans of Bharat Mata ki jai. There were also lines of vehicles and all of them were moving at a snail’s pace in one direction. All of them wanted to see the huge statue of Bharat Mata that a shop in College Street had put up. The shop was a landmark. It sold readymade clothes and the statue was enclosed in a glass case on the first floor and visible from the road. It was still there in the 1960s when I used to travel to my school in Bowbazar Street and college in Park Street. I do not know if it is still there.

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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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Marriages are made in Heaven

It was a big relief when my son announced his decision and, when we wanted to know why he had not confided in us earlier, he just grinned and said ‘marriages are made in heaven’. We realized that he had grown up and we have to respect his decision.
Once the first part was over, we had to make a trip to Kolkata to meet the would-be daughter-in-law’s family members. Yes, she was from Kolkata and was from a small family. It was a match that was a sort of made-for-each-other affair. The date had to be finalized and the invitation cards had to be selected, printed and distributed.

The selection of the cards was another confusing affair. My wife and I went to College Street where there are rows and rows of outlets who specialize in invitation cards of all types. We could have selected it straight away but, for the sake of maintaining decorum, we brought back a couple of samples and returned back the next day to place the firm order.
There had to be two sets of cards – in Bengali for relatives and friends in Kolkata and in English for those back in Nashik. We also had to have two sets of reception – one in Kolkata, the other in Nashik. And, for the reception in Nashik, there would be a few selected invitees from both sides. Their railway reservations had to be made. The date settled upon was in July – monsoon season.
And, we had to do the marketing disregarding the rains and flooded streets. It was all very exciting and, when the event was finally completed and when we all boarded the Geetanjali Express to return to Nashik, we all heaved a sigh of relief.
Out five year plan had successfully ended. (to be continued …)
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A magazine Editor and his magic of creating a masterpiece

I had lunch with my new found friend and Editor of Mashik Rahasya and, as he cooked and later as we finished the meal, I was surprised to learn of the struggles he had to go through to set up the magazine. The odds were stacked up against him but he had that never-say-die attitude and he surmounted all obstacles.
I was impressed as he narrated his experiences and, after lunch and a bit of rest, I set out with him on his journey to the world of books and the world of writers and poets – namely, the Coffee House on College Street.
Coffee House was the meeting place for everyone who mattered in the world of those who worshipped creativity in any form – from writers to artists to people associated with the movies and the theater. There would be groups seated at the tables and arguing on any conceivable topic under the sun. They talked about their own works and heaped criticism on the works of others.
My Editor friend introduced me to a few of them and once they came to know that I was not from Kolkata, they heaved an unmistakable sigh of relief – they knew that living so far away from the city I could never become a competitor for them.
Anyway, after spending the afternoon in their company, we parted company and he requested me to create a new character specifically for his magazine – of course, he admitted that he could not afford to pay me any honorarium but assured that the exposure would benefit me in the long run. And thus was created the detective Nero Mullick – a retired officer of the Indian Railways. He had a devoted friend in the form of a police inspector and a loving daughter-in-law who gave them both company. (to be continued ... )


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Writing crime stories is fun because they have variety

It is but natural for anybody to ask why I chose to write crime stories – that too in Bengali. One reason was an old book that I had found and purchased from an old book stall in College Street – it was a copy of a thesis submitted by a high ranking police officer on crimes in Kolkata. It was full of facts and figures of crimes in Kolkata from the times of the birth of Kolkata. How that particular copy came to be among the old books on College Street is and always remain a huge mystery but I bought it.
Moreover, from my schooldays I have been brought up on stories of William (of Richmal Crompton), Five Find Outers (of Enid Blyton), the Hardy Boys (of Franklin Dixon), Billy Bunter (of Frank Richards) etcetera.
Then, in my college days, I was always an avid reader of crime story and novels. Our library in St Xavier’s College had wonderful stock of books by authors like Agatha Christie, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and Ellery Queen. And – I had got addicted to books of Earl Stanley Gardner, James Hadley Chase, Ian Fleming, Nick Cater and the likes. The paperback came cheap in the days when $1 was equal to Rs 5 only.
To add to my repertoire were English movies that had themes of crimes – it was the era of James Bond and his clones. The first James Bond movie was Dr No released in 1962.
All these inputs egged me on to put pen to paper and I began to try my hand at writing crime related stories in Bengali. In order to ensure that no one got a whiff of what I was up to, I gave myself a new name, a pseudonym. (to be continued…)

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Growing up days – the fragrance of old books

There is a special and unmistakable appeal of old books, especially their fragrance. Some of these books are moth neaten, others appear to be falling apart from their bindings and have outlived their usefulness but, these are still considered to be treasures in the hands of connoisseurs.
In Kolkata, there are two major outlets for old books. The biggest ones are in College Street scattered around the boundaries of Presidency College and then there are the ones in tiny shops that line Free School Street.
All the stall owners take the utmost pride in their inventory and preserve the books because some of them are real gems which they have procured for next to nothing but which can fetch for them good money provided the proper customer comes along.
The books range from every conceivable subject under the sun and books on engineering or medicine can be found nestling in between books of Shakespeare and Dickens. The owners are always ready to help out the customer and can even oblige by booking an order to locate a specific book for you – he will not guarantee positive results but will try his level best to satisfy your needs and admit failure if he does not succeed. He could bring for you an alternate book and would not bother if you do not accept the alternate - he will add it to his shelf and wait for someone else who might need it.
To such people, it is the fragrance of old books that matter. (to be continued …)

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 …)