(ही पोस्ट मराठीत इथं वाचता येईल.)
You are probably reading the word “BoShanKo” in the title for the first time.
You might also be wondering who this “BoShanKo” is—a person, perhaps?
But “BoShanKo” is not the name of any person. In fact, I myself had never heard or read this word before. I have coined it today. It is a word formed by taking the first two letters from the first and third place and four letters from the second place. Sounds complicated?
Bolpur–Shantiniketan–Kolkata: I have just returned from these places. These are notes from that journey. Notes of “BoShanKo.” Or rather, the “BoShanKo” that I saw and experienced. (Note. Shantiniketan is in fact Santiniketan, S is pronounced as Sh here. But for non-Bengali readers, I am keeping Sh and not using just S.)
This series will have four articles. The first article is about experiences of an earthen house and food in Bolpur. The second article is about Shantiniketan. The third article is about wandering through old Kolkata. The fourth and final article will have my observations from a visit to Dakshineswar and a drama that I watched.
Towards Kolkata
I travelled from Pune to Kolkata by the Azad Hind Express. A journey expected to take thirty-four hours stretched to forty-two hours because the train was delayed. Such a journey is not just about kilometres; it is also about getting to know co-passengers. On such long journeys, one inevitably encounters both pleasant and unpleasant experiences with fellow travellers.
Somewhere around Manmad or Bhusawal, a large group boarded our coach late at night. In the darkness, berth numbers are not easy to see, so a bit of confusion was understandable. Also, being mindful that others are asleep is not exactly a common habit. But even after half an hour, their noise did not subside. When I asked them to lower their voices, they got angry, and their volume only increased.
The next day, while chatting with a few of them, I learnt that they were a spiritual group travelling to Gangasagar. There were forty people in the group, including twenty-five men. Some of these men had been allotted lower berths. Which meant that the previous night, they had been quarrelling with other male passengers to get lower berths for the women in their group—an act of sheer selfishness. They could easily have arranged lower berths for the women within their own group. But expecting benefits from others without giving up one’s own comfort seems to be a common habit of our society (or at least of its majority).
There was another man who spread his bedding and went to sleep as soon as the train left Pune. He would wake up occasionally to talk on the phone or eat something. But till we got down on the morning of the third day, he seemed to be sleeping. I once asked him if he was unwell. He said he was just resting.
A middle-aged woman boarded at Nagpur. She too was travelling to Kolkata. Her brother was unwell, and she seemed a bit distracted. When we offered her something to eat while we were eating, we ended up talking a little more. Her next question was—where are you headed?
That was a difficult question. Because I was going to stay at the home of my niece Anujna’s friends, people I had not met before. Staying or eating at the homes of people I do not know is quite normal for me. But this often does not fit into other people’s definitions of what is acceptable. So I vaguely replied, “I’m going to see Shantiniketan,” and changed the topic.
There was also a young co-passenger. He was a wholesale garment trader. Because of the delay, he was sorting out disruptions to his onward flight travel. At one point, he received a call from home. I could hear the entire conversation clearly. His daughter, who was in third grade, had to give a speech at school on the occasion of Republic Day, and he was discussing this with his wife. When he realised that the girl wouldn’t be able to read the speech and would have to memorise it, he paused to think. Then he said to his wife, “Don’t worry. Just tell her to remember three words—India, the Constitution, and Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar. Even if she says just these three words, it will be good.” I felt a deep respect for him. We spoke a little more after that.
On such journeys, a vast canvas of people, perspectives, and realities keeps unfolding.
Bolpur
When the train reached Howrah Junction, Debahuti had come to receive us. After having something to eat, we set off towards Bolpur. As a “senior citizen,” I was given the front seat in the car, and it remained reserved for me throughout the journey 😊
The distance from Kolkata to Bolpur is about 150 kilometres. Within the first ten or fifteen minutes, it became clear that people here are used to honking a lot and driving fast.
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| The Hihgway outside Kolkata city |
For those of us from outside West Bengal, Shantiniketan is a familiar name, but Bolpur is not. One could say that Bolpur’s primary identity is that Shantiniketan is located within it. But Bolpur has a history and an identity that predate Shantiniketan.
Paddy fields in Bolpur
The Earthen House
By the time we reached Bolpur, it was dark. But the moment we entered the house from outside, the cold disappeared and it felt instantly warm. I had arrived at Anasua’s home—a two-storeyed house made of earth. The architect who built this earthen house is Anujna. Another architect, Pratiksha, assisted her.
Anasua’s house is not just a second home meant for holidays; it is her primary home. She lives here permanently. Building an earthen house and living in it permanently in 2024–25 is not about going backward, but about looking ahead. Against the backdrop of climate change, rising temperatures, unpredictable monsoons, and excessive use of electricity, an earthen house is a meaningful response. Earth keeps the house cool in summer, warm in winter, and reconnects humans with nature. Instead of the noise of air-conditioners, fans, and heaters, one senses the quiet breathing of the walls. Living in such a house was a deeply restful experience. And because the house was built by Anujna, it felt even closer to me.
Anasua's house as seen from a distance
An earthen house is not only environmentally friendly; it is also a social and cultural statement. A house built with local soil, local artisans, and local knowledge creates employment in the village. It keeps alive traditions of skill and craftsmanship. An earthen house challenges conventional definitions of prestige and prosperity. It tells us that a relationship with nature itself is prosperity. Standing amid concrete jungles, such a house reminds us that we are not here to rule over nature, but to live alongside it.
Ducks at leisure
Anasua’s house is spacious and airy. Gentle winds flow around it, accompanied by the sounds of birds. The sky and birds are easily visible from the windows. The easy movement of dogs, chickens, and ducks in and around the house was delightful.
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| Siesta PC: A friend |
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| The house as seen from the courtyard waith a traditional paddy grannary on the side. |
Watching the ducks walk in a line and dive one after another into the pond was a joy. There is a vegetable garden. There is a paddy field. And one more thing—the house is full of books. One can sit anywhere comfortably, chat if one feels like it, or read quietly, sipping black coffee or black tea while listening to Bengali songs. The atmosphere is such that one almost does not feel the need to step outside the house for anything.
After watching one of Anujna’s Facebook Lives, Anasua felt that this was the architect who could build the kind of house she wanted. Two strangers spoke to each other, and the work began. Even after the work was completed, the bond between them remained. Through them, I too became connected. This is a living example of the positive impact of technology—and also an example of why we should question the repeated warnings that tell us never to trust strangers.
If you wish to know more about earthen houses, do visit the Matimol Facebook page.
Food
Strictly speaking, I do not belong to the category of food lovers. I always taste local dishes, but I don’t have rigid preferences of wanting some things and rejecting others. If someone asks me which vegetable or sweet I like the most, I can hardly give a clear answer. However, first at Anasua’s home in Bolpur and then at Debahuti’s home in Kolkata, I developed a distinct awareness around food.
We were all on vacation, so there was no hurry. For breakfast and meals, Tunididi would lovingly prepare different dishes every day. No meal ever began in haste. In the Bengali tradition, meals are eaten in a particular sequence. Rice is the main food, but only a small portion is served at a time. The meal begins with shukto or some mild (or mildly bitter) vegetable. The first portion of rice is finished with that. Then more rice is taken, accompanied by dal (masoor or moong). Next come vegetables like aloo posto and lau ghonto. Then fish—different kinds at every meal. Initially, I enthusiastically asked for names, but gradually gave up worrying about them. After that came chicken or mutton. Potatoes are a must in meals, but I noticed that for each vegetable, the potatoes were cut differently.
There was a procession of dishes, but no chaos. I used to think Bengali food was all about fish, but that isn’t true. There is immense variety even in vegetarian dishes. Each flavour has its own place, its own time. Eating felt like a journey—not a direct leap to the main dish, but a gradual progression. After eating, one felt full, but the head did not feel heavy—that is the strength of this sequence.
The meal always ended on a sweet and gentle note—payesh, chhena sandesh, rosogolla, or sometimes mishti doi.
Pati-Shapta stuffed with jaggery and coconut filling
A dessert that softly bids farewell to all the flavours eaten before. All the sweets were made with 'nolen gur'. 'Nolen gur' is the special marker of a Bengali winter. This jaggery is made from sap collected at dawn from date palm trees and is available only for a few months. When the sap is slowly reduced in the cold air, it loses the sharp sweetness of sugar and develops a smoky, soft, slightly earthy flavour. That is why nolen gur is not just sweetness, but a sign of the season. Its unavailability throughout the year is what makes it special. The use of jaggery and coconut enhanced the flavours of the dishes. During those eight or ten days, I strongly felt that in Bengali food culture, eating is neither a ritual sacrifice nor mere sustenance—it is a calm, unhurried journey to be savoured.
While living leisurely in the earthen house, we had of course not forgotten Shantiniketan. Over the next three days, we wandered through the Shantiniketan–Visva-Bharati campus for different reasons. Let us learn more about that in the next article.
