WEST BENGAL- DAY 5 – PART 1
PART I
Jan 29th
A LONG-DESIRED WISH GETS FULFILLED
In many ways today is the final day in Kolkata. Tomorrow the city will share only half day with its visitors before they return to the airport.
Hari Singh, the hotel driver is on the dot with his brand new Innova. He has come from the 5-star sister hotel, which automatically makes him and his car get seen with awe. Yesterday’s adventure with public transport is over. Today will be a day of controlled luxury.
“Let’s go Hari Singh ji. On to Jora Sanko.”
It’s a dream about to get fulfilled. Jora Sanko, the family home of Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore, the 1913 Nobel Prize winner in Literature, is about to get visited.
“First, ma’am, I will show you Marble Palace. It is at present closed to the public, but you must have a view at least” says Hari Singh.
So be it!
Sure enough, the Marble Palace is closed. The 2 guards on duty inform that since the Covid pandemic, the public viewing rooms have been shut. The palatial mansion is impressive even when seen through the gaps of the gate. The zoo housed on the premise is closed too. That’s an interesting bit of information. A private zoo, but open to the public, until recently.
The grass is growing a bit wild in the lawns, and the edifice is a bit run down. But, as Hari Singh adds “This is only one part of the mansion. The family lives on the other side and obviously, that part is better taken care of.”
The Marble Palace was first constructed in the 19th century by Raja Rajendra Mullick, a wealthy city merchant. He was a passionate art and antique collector and decorated his magnum opus with all his collections.
But now, with nothing more to see here, it’s time to move on. To Jora Sanko.
The inner lanes of the city get driven again. To the right, to the left, a reverse here, a dead end there. Meandering through these narrow lanes which today seems more narrow due to the Puja pandals, the roads take a life of their own. Forced to ask directions, Hari Singh is truly lost in his city.
Jora Sanko is not easy to reach.
However, finally, Hari Singh achieves the near impossible. A narrow lane eventually comes to a dead end. Jora Sanko has arrived.
Beyond the big open gates is the place where Tagore lived, worked, and died. There is a ticket counter on the right and Rabindra Sangeet’s office on the left. These small buildings and the immediate neighbourhood were all once part of the colossal family residence.
A large lawn dotted with several trees and flower bushes leads to a red brick building, the main part of the house. A bust of the poet, gifted by Japan, stands on a raised brick structure. The main door opens to a courtyard, where recorded Rabindra sangeet is playing.
The courtyard feels like it would come alive at any moment. From one end a matriarch would be shouting instructions to the cooks, while guests of the family seated on the raised platform would be watching a performance while the children would be playing around. And, with his arms resting on the railing of the first-floor balcony the young, handsome Rabindra would be looking down, his thoughts already working out his next composition.
Photography is not allowed inside the premise, though many visitors try to click on the sly. The guard on duty once in a while enlarges his eyes and moves his head from left to right in a silent NO.
Stairs from the courtyard lead to the family rooms. Rooms after room and the never-ending corridors highlight the life and times of the star of the family.
Tagore’s small room has the bed on which he breathed his last, as also his writing desk, photographs, his clothes hung in the wardrobe, and the long mirror in which he must have looked at his reflection umpteen times.
One part of the house has got converted into a museum. Walk barefoot along the corridors, cross one room after another, and pass by visitors who have come from all over the world to glimpse some facets of the Tagore family. The huge family tree, covering almost a complete wall, is a source of great curiosity for many. And then there are galleries, aptly named Japan, the US, China, and Thailand, countries visited by Tagore.
Many rooms, corridors, and a complete floor are locked, adding to a sense of mystery. The home where once rang footsteps and where music wafted, where the aromas from the kitchen floated gently by, where the family of philosophers, musicians, poets, writers, and painters debated, discussed, and wove tales that have surpassed time and eras and remain so true and evergreen today as they were when written, is now silent. Its walls have buried deep within them the joyous occasions and tragedies that were the hallmark of the Tagores.
Reluctantly leave gets taken from Jora Sanko with one final look from the car window. An hour or two here seems unjustified.
A SCULPTOR’S PARADISE & SHOPPING GALORE
It’s back to the meandering lanes of inner Kolkata. Hari Singh continues from where he left off. It’s a turn to the right, then a reverse, a drive around a circle, the Puja pandal gets crossed, then, a left, a right.
Then all a sudden the main road arrives, as if saying “I was here all the while. You got lost.”
“There’s nothing much to see in Koomartoli” replies Hari Singh to a query. “But if you insist, we will drive through.” Koomartoli is the traditional potters’ quarters in Kolkata. This is where the magical Durga idols and others get sculpted by potter families for generations. It is recommended, so a visit is needed.
Hari Singh is correct, though. On the face of it, Koomartoli is just like any other business area. The workshops where the sculptors work are behind gated boundary walls. But at least it is a ‘been there and done that’.
Finally, it’s time to shop. Hari Singh once more is the guide. He drives into another part of the city, again meanders through narrow lanes, and ultimately halts in front of a big building. The board at the entry announces RCK Saree Shop. The 4-floor family-run enterprise is a haven for textiles shopping. It’s like being spoilt for choice, though the experience is slightly run down. The ‘I couldn’t care less’ attitude of some staff is unsettling. Perhaps, it’s nothing more than a language issue. Something like lost in translation. Even so, several shopping bags accompany on exit.
CALCATA PAAN
Soon enough, though, the mood becomes upbeat again. Thanks to a scrumptious traditional Bengali cuisine lunch at 6 Ballygunge Restaurant, once again highly recommended. Sometimes, though recommendations do not work out. Ballygunge is extremely popular, seeing the waiting queue of hungry guests, well past lunchtime. The food is good, especially the baked Sandesh dessert. Memories of similar meals at Murshidabad, however, are still strong. The Murshidabadi version of Bengali cuisine raised the bar too high. Ballygunge has a lot to catch up on.
Across the road from the restaurant is a lone paan shop. “What is so special about the ‘calcata paan’? What makes it different from others?” The young man manning the shop smiles and replies that he doesn’t know the reason. The paan does taste different and the leaf used seems not as rough as in the north. That may be the secret.
It is late afternoon now and though the desire for a siesta is strong, the thought has to be pushed away. Kolkata has many more treasures to be discovered.
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