tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post5070082966753207114..comments2024-03-23T15:12:26.734+05:30Comments on Reinventing memories: Snapshots from a city called …Santanu Sinha Chaudhurihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15062744470522359652noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-56712351564820721182009-06-11T02:27:52.075+05:302009-06-11T02:27:52.075+05:30Thank you for this post. Though I do not belong to...Thank you for this post. Though I do not belong to the time which you describe but it aided my nostalgia. That resulted in a new post on my blog too. <br /><br />Kolkata was never the best city in the world but like every old times it had its uniqueness. I did think though it was among the most cosmopolitan cities in India hosting not just Non-Bengalis but also Baghdadi Jews, Armenians and Chinese.Tanmoyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10472125805572571597noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-45214522277333264212009-06-08T21:10:36.621+05:302009-06-08T21:10:36.621+05:30No smoking, Sudipto.No smoking, Sudipto.Santanu Sinha Chaudhurihttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15062744470522359652noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-66026012833973754192009-06-08T11:07:12.423+05:302009-06-08T11:07:12.423+05:30I 'missed' the part about "No some ki...I 'missed' the part about <i>"No some king"</i>. What did the line actually read?Sudipto Basuhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00272783734959529945noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-35345509077529547962009-06-08T00:24:06.804+05:302009-06-08T00:24:06.804+05:30Santanuda,
This and the previous post are just wo...Santanuda,<br /><br />This and the previous post are just wonderful, especially to me, as I just LOVE these memories of old Kolkata/Calcutta. <br /><br />Although I grew up in the 1970s/1980s, the 'impeccable English' of the Statesman was a constant factor even then, something to aspire to.<br /><br />And the various street cries were a soulful companion on long summer afternoons.Sucharita Sarkarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07802171314546508539noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-90651661147909376122009-06-08T00:23:41.520+05:302009-06-08T00:23:41.520+05:30And, of course, if you haven’t spoilt me already w...And, of course, if you haven’t spoilt me already with your indulgence, let me vent out a few of the collages still crowding my mind, on and off, making me soak in their warm, quaint, childhood charm. <br /><br />Do you remember the soft cakes that were carried in the biggish black trunks, head loaded by the vendors sweating it out in the Calcutta bylanes ? And the pink flosses neatly arranged in frosted glass cases carried by the candymen, enticing the small ones with the soft tinkle that would invariably draw hordes around them ? <br /><br /><br />And Santanuda, do you recollect the half-famished faces of the Chinese (were they?) showing the tricks of their Madareer Khel ? With heads half- buried under and their feet ‘dangling skywards’, they used to remain spread-eagled for, it seemed, an indefinite period and the little girl who would , with a slight nudging, accomplish the job of a professional funambulist with perfect non-chalance ! And most of us, eager onlookers, enjoying the spectacle with bated breath, already leaving in ones and twos as the feat drew to an end to eventually find the old man rummaging his metal container un-believingly, a few odd bit of clanging coins, bringing out a faint, pensive grin from him!<br /><br />And I still remember, even before the days of regular load shedding pounced on us with full fury, the entire city plunging under darkness with the onset of dusk, yes, you guessed it right, during the December ’71 days of the Bangladesh war ? The windows and doors had to be creaked shut, lest even a small pencil of light freaked out into the open, drawing streaks of shouts from the para-dadas? And the half blackened headlights of the ambassador cars making pockets of ghostly shadows in the dark as the cars negotiated stealthily, almost hornlessly, along the Calcutta streets ? And the emotion ridden, tremulous voice of Debdulal Bandyopadhyay on the radio telling us of the heroic exploits of the Muktibahini ?<br /><br /> And yes, we have that LP 331/2 RPM D.V Paluskar disc. The songs “Payo ri Maine Ramratan” and “Raghupati Raghava Rajaram " played out in the anachronistic turner still manage to ruffle us, stoking a rusted mind out of its stupor. <br /><br />Thanks Santanu da.Kaushik Chatterjeehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08712252983920471892noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-72907695319647800812009-06-07T23:03:16.872+05:302009-06-07T23:03:16.872+05:30Once again, a very beautiful post :-) Reminds me o...Once again, a very beautiful post :-) Reminds me of all the stories my mother tells me about her childhood in Madras. The old timely grace of all the four major metros have been undeniable, something almost comforting in its innate calmness, something which gives people of my generation (who can only dream of the haven that a Calcutta was or a Madras was)glimpses of just precious it used to be, like old microfilms you watch of your parents and your grandparents, something that you at once have never before experienced yet can wholly relate to in such a deliciously comfortable way :-) But I also love my city as it is now, I can gladly take the dirt, pollution, traffic, blah blah for the utter joy that Chennai gives me :-)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-37781128812847337412009-06-07T19:11:46.911+05:302009-06-07T19:11:46.911+05:30That was very rich and candid commentary.I got the...That was very rich and candid commentary.I got the feel of the era, though it sounds like a true bygone times. I do remember times when having a TV was enough to be considered rich. And colour TV was a novelty. I remember listening to the big box radio, and the AIR, hindi and Malayalam movie songs, and folks waiting for 1pm for it. <br /><br />During my times it was Amitabh bachchan who ruled.I remember our outing and Army open air theatres, lounging on the concrete floor, watching Sholey, Deewar, Mr.Natwarlal. The sporting event(my earliest remembrance) that I recall is the 1986 worldcup football and the power of maradona. He was god like, and was our hero for a long time. We switched to football for a time and collected maradona photos.<br />It was nice reading your memoir. :))ZBhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02447730465256670305noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5653188975343905818.post-75972277843018677682009-06-07T18:20:43.491+05:302009-06-07T18:20:43.491+05:30A Calcutta I've missed no doubt, but one that ...A Calcutta I've missed no doubt, but one that is idly floating in front of my eyes now. But has this heady, warm and gushing romance for a time and place been completely lost? Comparing today's Kolkata with yesteryear's Calcutta obviously underlines the massive change (for the worse) that has happened. And yet as I browse aimlessly in the book-stalls of College Street or walk on a mild breezy winter afternoon around Wood street and Middleton street, the past occasionally peeps back. Yes, inspite of the pollution and the maddening intensity of Kolkata's humdrum existence, there is something that draws me to it.<br /><br />A strange thought: the day has changed, but how refreshing the memory still is! Isn't it one meant for eternity? :)Sudipto Basuhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00272783734959529945noreply@blogger.com