George Moorhouse’s ‘Calcutta’
takes me to a different world, one where Calcutta still is taking baby steps
into the form of today. It flashes in front of my eyes a time bygone, buried in
the dusty books of history, being revealed only to those interested in the
city’s origins. And that’s why I decided to read it on my way to Calcutta on
the 15th of March. I remember being completely engrossed in the
tales of the foundations of the city, the treacherous and the duplicitous ways
of the British, the oppression of the masses of our country and the battles to
take control of Calcutta, which raged from time to time, since Calcutta in
those days (mid 1700 s) was the first major city in Asia and the fourth city of
the world after New York, Paris and Tokyo.
As the plane started descending
towards its destination, I could look out of my window and the view I beheld
filled me up with joy. The dazzling city in the night lights seemed so very
beautiful, so very beyond words at that time. It had a life of its own. The
miniature toy cars, the neat rows of houses(which were at the same time so much
dense with so little space between them), the flickering lights and the non-existent
skyline were all magical, it seems. It is
a modern cosmopolitan city on the one hand, yet it has not renounced its
historical look. Fort William, Victoria memorial, various old theaters and
several ‘rajbadis’ (buildings made in the British style) are still present and
it seems that they are not going any time soon.
After stepping down, a different
world, completely opposite to the one at Gandhinagar, was awaiting me. I stood
there mesmerized, in fact pretty happy from inside to see such a mass of
confused coteries of people moving around in every direction possible. There
seemed to be an immense confusion about me. There was some contrast in
everything around me and myself, since I seemed to be the only creature which stood
there motionless, because I did not wish to move. I was there completely silent
looking about myself to the vitality and energy flowing around me. Yet in this
chaotic confusion, the city had a unity of purpose, the same purpose which ran
through the minds and hearts of all, the same liveliness that not only bestows
upon the city its defining characteristic that it is famous for, but also
imparting to it a certain addictive nature, so much so that a person
indoctrinated to such a style of living shall find living elsewhere drab and
not lively.
I realized that this was Calcutta
and I smiled. Then I went on.
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