248. A visit to "BoShanKo": Part 3: Old Kolkata

(ही पोस्ट मराठीत इथं वाचता येईल.)

Finally, our stay in Bolpur came to an end and we started towards Kolkata. This journey was by train. We went to a railway station called “Prantik.” A small station. Just three or four platforms.

Prantik Railway Station

There was hardly any crowd. While looking for the meaning of the name “Prantik,” I realized that it is the title of one of Rabindranath Tagore’s poetry collections. For those coming by train, Prantik is close to Shantiniketan. In a way, it is like a gateway to Shantiniketan.

These days trains are often late, and ours was about two hours late as well. In Bolpur, with so many food options around, I had somehow missed eating jhalmuri. I wasn’t even hungry, but just for the sake of it, I finally had jhalmuri on the train.

A short visit

Debahuti had come to receive us at Howrah station. What I really liked about the station was that at some platforms, cars can come right up to the platform. Seeing a wide road between two platforms was quite interesting.

Howrah Junction

We stepped out of the station. Instead of going home directly, we decided to take a short round. Very soon, the usual traffic of a big city (like any other large city) became visible. We went towards the Hooghly river. We spent some quiet time at the ghat. The wide stretch of water in front, the gentle movement of the waves, and behind it the grand Hooghly bridge. From a little distance, we could also see the famous Howrah Bridge, and it somehow confirmed that we had truly arrived in Kolkata.

the Famous Howrah Bridge

A local train thundered past on the tracks right next to the ghat. We all stopped talking and watched it like children.

There were some large idols floating in the river. When I asked about them, I learned for the first time about Saraswati Puja here. For me, Bengal was always associated with Durga Puja. I didn’t know much about Saraswati Puja. On the day of Vasant Panchami, Saraswati is worshipped in homes as well as publicly. For children, it is considered the beginning of their education—the day they learn their first letters. In schools and colleges too, books are worshipped. The public idols are large and kept in big pandals. It feels like both Durga and Saraswati traditions come together in Bengal’s culture.

While returning from the ghat, we could see the Vidhan Bhavan and the Akashvani building in the distance. We ended this short outing by eating Kolkata’s famous roll—hot, spicy, and very tasty.

Old Kolkata

Kolkata—a city with a rich cultural and historical tradition. Even if you stay for a month, there will still be many things left to see. I had only two days. It is possible to see many places quickly, but that kind of rushed tourism does not make sense to me. Before coming here, I had long discussions with Debahuti and Anasua. Based on that, we decided to spend half a day in old Kolkata (North Kolkata).

Subirda was our driver. He had worked in a mill in Solapur for three years, so he happily tried speaking to us in broken Marathi. When I first heard the guide’s name, I couldn’t understand it—“Jogobondho.” Then I realized it was “Jagabandhu.” Within the first ten minutes itself, it became clear that the two had very different ideological leanings—especially from their discussion on a sensitive topic like SIR (Special Intensive Revision). Also, one supported Mohun Bagan and the other East Bengal football club.

While moving around Kolkata, we passed by roads near many stadiums—Eden Gardens, Salt Lake Stadium, Netaji Stadium. Kolkata’s love for sports is a separate subject altogether.

Our first stop in old Kolkata was Swami Vivekananda’s house.

Swami Vivekananda's home

Swamiji was born here on 12 January 1863. This house had fallen into disrepair, but in 1962 the Ramakrishna Mission took it over and restored it. Now it has a museum, a research centre, a language centre, and a computer training centre. Since we reached early, we couldn’t visit the museum. In an open space, three children were practicing dance under the guidance of two adults.

In a small lane near Vivekananda’s house is the home of the famous singer Manna Dey.

At the entrance of the lane

Visiters cannot enter the house, but when the current resident came to know that we were from Maharashtra, he opened a large window of one room for us. Inside, there was a photograph of Manna Dey and his awards and memorabilia, neatly kept. Jagabandhu also told us that Mirza Ghalib had lived for a year in a building in this area.

Many houses in this locality have small temples of Kali and Jagannath (Puri). These have been preserved by families for generations. During festivals like Kali Puja and Rath Yatra, these small temples become very important. Jagabandhu mentioned that one Kali idol here was originally made for Dakshineswar temple but was not liked by Rani Rashmoni, and so it is now in a household temple here. However, I could not find any reference to this later. This area is also known for its sweet shops, but we did not stop there. So much history in just one locality!

While walking here, I finally saw the Kolkata tram.

Kolkata Tram

Started in 1873, it is the oldest tram system in Asia. Initially, trams were pulled by horses. They became electric in 1902. I remembered travelling by this tram during my Kolkata visit in 1984–85. Because of slow speed, traffic issues, and newer transport options, trams are now fewer. Earlier they ran on more than fifty routes; now only about three routes remain.

Kolkata Metro, started in 1984, is the oldest metro in India. The earlier metro was underground. Now the network has expanded to five lines and around sixty stations. There are both underground and elevated routes. Some station names were confusing for me. For example, Ritwik Ghatak, Kavi Subhash, Geetanjali, Satyajit Ray. These names are undoubtedly great, but for a newcomer, it becomes difficult to understand exactly which part of the city one is in.

Kolkata has many transport options. Some old ones are still in use, and that was interesting to see.

Later, on College Street, saw it with passengers!

This part of Kolkata still retains its old character—and that is what makes it feel alive. Narrow streets, old buildings, people leaving their slippers aside to pray on the roadside, men bathing at public taps, fresh vegetables and bargaining customers, posters of the upcoming assembly elections, people of all ages walking or cycling, others carrying bags and walking slowly…

Jorasanko Thakur Bari

“Jora” means pair, “sanko” means a bamboo bridge. It is believed that there were two parallel bamboo bridges over a stream here, hence the name Jorasanko. Others say there were two Shiva temples here. “Bari” means house—so this is the Tagore family house in Jorasanko.

This is the ancestral home of the Tagore family, built in 1784 by Nilmoni Tagore. It is not just a house—it is a huge mansion.

Entrance of Thakur Bari

Dwarkanath Tagore expanded it. Rabindranath Tagore was born here on 7 May 1861. He spent his childhood in this building. He wrote many poems here. He also passed away here on 7 August 1941.

Since 1961, one part of this building houses the 'Rabindra Bharati Museum'. There are more than fifty galleries. One gallery presents the history of the Tagore family—important phases in the lives of Dwarkanath and Debendranath Tagore, their work, and documents from that time. It gives a glimpse of how an influential, educated, and wealthy family in 19th-century Bengal lived.

Another gallery is about Rabindranath’s life. It displays his clothes, caps, pens, spectacles, watch, footwear, and many such objects. There are handwritten copies of his famous poems and songs. The words he struck out and the drawings he made from them are interesting. There is correspondence with Mahatma Gandhi, Albert Einstein, and other global figures. There are also his paintings and a replica of the Nobel Prize he received in 1913.

What I liked the most was the “map of Rabindranath’s world travels.” At that time, he had travelled to more than thirty countries. The map shows his travel routes and timelines. Along with it, there are objects he used during his travels, his passport, and rare photographs with global leaders. It helps understand how Tagore saw himself as a “citizen of the world” and how that connects with the idea of Visva-Bharati.

As we came out, we saw a long queue in the courtyard. On asking, we were told it was for SIR.

Boi Para

“Boi” means book and “para” means locality. Boi Para—the locality of/for books. Its official name is College Street. This is not just India’s but Asia’s largest book market. You get college textbooks as well as rare books here.

In 1817, Hindu College (now Presidency University) was established here by Raja Rammohan Roy, David Hare, and others. The book market seems to have started around that time. Boi Para is about one and a half kilometres long, with hundreds of small and big bookshops. Wherever you look, there are books. Except Sunday, the market runs the whole day.

Within a short walking distance, there are many colleges and universities—Calcutta University, Hare School, Hindu School, Sanskrit College - to name a few. Institutions like the Bengal Theosophical Society and the Mahabodhi Society’s headquarters in India are also here. We also noticed the humour of students.

On  a yellow paper at the top on the right side of the viewer, there was a complaint about canteen food written in a funny way: “Don’t make canteen food too oily, USA might invade our campus.”

When you visit Boi Para, going to the Indian Coffee House is almost a tradition. You can't escape visiting it. 

This place is a historic centre of Bengali culture, politics, and literature. Since 1876, this space was known as Albert Hall. It was the main centre of the “Bharat Sabha” established by Surendranath Banerjee. In 1883, the first All India National Conference was held here. Many political meetings of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose took place here. Writers, artists, and thinkers used to gather here for discussions. Personalities like Rabindranath Tagore, Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose, Satyajit Ray, and Mrinal Sen were regular visitors. Kolkata’s famous “adda” culture developed here.

In 1942, the Coffee Board took this hall on rent and started a coffee house—this is the Indian Coffee House. 

While climbing the stairs, we saw paintings on the walls. Inside, there were high ceilings, old fans, and waiters in white uniforms. There are photographs of many such personalities inside. Luckily, it was not very crowded when we went, but we could not sit for long. We had coffee and left.

In this area, it felt like there is still space for organisations and people working on civil rights issues. We even saw preparations for a protest—complete with police vehicles—before the crowd had gathered.

Victoria Memorial

This is a very famous and grand monument in Kolkata. It was built between 1906 and 1921 in memory of Queen Victoria during British rule. The building is made of white marble, and its design shows a blend of British and Indian architecture. There is a large museum inside. I would have liked to visit it, but we did not have enough time, so we just walked around outside.

The memorial stands in a campus of about sixty-four acres. Around the main building, there are gardens, pathways, and water bodies. Walking near the water in the afternoon sun felt pleasant.

Often guides give us information, but it needs to be verified. Here, the guide told us two things. One—that water from the Ganga (Hooghly river) is directly brought into these water bodies through a system built by the British. Second—that even today the British government contributes to the maintenance cost of this monument.

When I checked both these points later, they turned out to be incorrect. There are six water bodies in the memorial area. The Hooghly river is about three kilometres away, and there is no system to bring river water directly here. The water bodies are mainly maintained through groundwater and rainwater recharge. After independence, this monument is fully under the Government of India’s Ministry of Culture. It is managed by an autonomous trust under the Governor of West Bengal. The British government does not provide any funds for its maintenance now.

I don’t know why the guide gave such incorrect information. Once I realised this, I found it difficult to trust the rest of what he said. Exaggeration is quite common in our society. 

Next time, I will definitely visit the museum inside.

St. Paul’s Cathedral

This is an important church built in the 19th century. Completed in 1847, it was the first Anglican cathedral in Asia. Since Kolkata was the capital during British rule, such a grand church must have been necessary.

This is an Indo-Gothic style building. In simple terms, Indo-Gothic means a mix of European architectural style and Indian needs. So the building looks tall, with pointed arches, large windows, and an impressive structure—features that come from Europe. But while building it in India, changes are made for the local climate—better ventilation, thicker walls, and a design that keeps the interior cool. So it looks foreign but functions locally—that is Indo-Gothic in simple words.

Inside, there are memorial plaques and information about some people from the British period. Some plaques mentioned other cathedrals, but I could not understand why. There was no one to ask. Photography was not allowed, so I could not even take pictures to check later. Since mobile phones are not allowed, the atmosphere inside is very quiet. Of course, this did not last long, as several busloads of school children arrived. So we left.

Kolkata Book Festival

The Kolkata Book Festival was very crowded. I got separated from my friends. Still, I walked alone through around twenty stalls. The enthusiasm of the sellers was impressive (very noticeable compared to the Pune Book Festival). There were a huge number of Bengali books; Hindi books were almost absent. The moment you picked up a book, a seller would come and start explaining it. Since my Bengali vocabulary is limited, I would wait for them to pause and say, “Ami Bangla jani na.” Then the conversation would continue in broken Hindi-English. They would show me English books. Despite saying no, I ended up buying some books—one in Bengali as well.

Interviews of writers and poets are fine at a book festival. But if there were no dance, music, speeches, and especially food stalls, the crowd would be less. And book lovers could browse in peace—that is what I felt once again. As usual, I know I am in the minority.

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When I think about this one and a half days, it was not just about “seeing places.” It felt like a beginning of understanding Kolkata a little. On one side, there was the journey from Prantik to Howrah, the Hooghly ghat, and the experience of Saraswati Puja. On the other side, there were the lanes of old Kolkata, its houses, the legacy of thinkers, and the intellectual buzz of book streets. Everything seemed interconnected.

Here, history is not locked inside museums—it is alive in daily life, in festivals, and in people’s behaviour. Because of lack of time, many things were left out, some were only partially understood, and some raised new questions. Perhaps that itself is the real character of Kolkata.

243 Vivekanandapuram

 (Part 1: To Kanyakumari) 

(ही पोस्ट मराठीत इथं वाचता  येईल.) 

Kanyakumari railway station is, in its own way, a charming little station.

Yet this time, when I arrived, my first glimpse of it felt oddly depressing. Dust lay everywhere. Only when I stepped outside did I realize that repair work was going on. It struck me how easily our expect joy from smallest things, and how quickly they could get dashed. I didn’t even bother to take a photograph of the station. A day later, while walking towards the Gandhi Mandapam, I didn’t cast a glance in its direction.

The photo I share here is an old one—clicked back in 2011. 

Outside, rickshaws stood waiting in line. The distance from the station to Vivekanandapuram is barely a kilometre and a half—walkable if you’re travelling light. With luggage, though, there’s no alternative. The driver quoted a hundred rupees, a standard rate by the look of it, usually shared by a few passengers. Without argument, I hopped in, and soon enough, I was at Vivekanandapuram.

Inside Vivekanandapuram

Spread across nearly a hundred acres, Vivekanandapuram is the headquarters of the Vivekananda Rock Memorial and the Vivekananda Kendra. The campus houses a training center  and residential facilities for their workers. There are provisions for nearly a thousand visitors to stay at a time. There is a canteen, a library, a picture exhibition on Swami Vivekananda, a Ganapati temple, a freedom fighters’ memorial, a Ramayana exhibition, and even an environment awareness center. Within the grounds lie the memorial of Late Shri. Eknath Ranade—the Kendra’s founder—with an exhibition on his life. There is also a meditation hall, a school, groves of trees, peacocks roaming freely, and the private beach from where the sunrise is visible.

In the late afternoon, I made my way to the “Vivekananda Picture Exhibition.” It has long been one of my favorite spots. When I first visited in 1983, it was neat, inspiring, and offered me a new perspective. Today, it retains that timeless quality. At the entrance stands a striking full-length portrait of Swami Vivekananda.

The exhibition, which originally displayed around seventy illustrated panels, has now expanded to include panels detailing the Kendra’s work. I did not know the name of the artist, nor could I find it on the internet. I asked about it to a senior Vivekanada Kendra worker. She told me the name of the artist.  The paintings, created by Raghunath Goswami of Kolkata, are vibrant and evocative. My personal favorite remains the depiction of Nachiketa, a story dear to me.

Captions are provided in English, Tamil, and Hindi, covering Indian history, the journey of young Narendranath Dutta into Swami Vivekananda, and his impact on India and the world. For anyone visiting, I would recommend setting aside ample time rather than skimming through it in half an hour, as most tourists do. I wonder whether the younger generation (used to Instagram and twitter) would read these posters. 

A Disappointing View

Later, I went to the campus beach. The shoreline is protected by a wall; only during sunrise do they open a small gate for an hour, when a guard is on duty. From here, the Rock Memorial should appear majestic.

But to my disappointment, land reclamation work was underway. One reclaimed patch now lay directly between the Rock and the beach, blocking the view.

A morning view

An evening view

An Unexpected Encounter

That evening, apart from the guard, there was just one other person on the beach—a young man. After I answered a phone call, I heard him address me: “Didi, are you from Maharashtra?”

He was from Mewar, Rajasthan, on foot for the Char Dham and twelve Jyotirlinga pilgrimage. For a month, he had been staying at Vivekanandapuram.

At first, we exchanged pleasantries. But soon his words drifted—as such conversations often do—towards politics and religion. He spoke of “attacks” on non-Marathis in Maharashtra, the aggression of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), the mistakes of Uddhav Thackeray in joining hands with Congress party etc. I listened quietly, realizing quickly that he had no interest in dialogue—only in speaking. He was too predictable and hence it was boring to even listen to him. A typical aggression under the name of history, culture, tradition, patriotism etc. 

When he began lamenting that nowadays /in this area girls while visiting temples are “half-dressed" (meaning - wear indecent clothes), my patience was over. “Brother,” I said firmly, “let girls wear what they want. Who are you to decide? And why are you staring at them in temples instead of focusing on God? Don’t be such a  hypocrite in the name of God. Change your ways, man!”

He looked embarrassed, then shifted to criticizing Non Resident Indians (NRIs). They, he said, abandon parents at home while enjoying life abroad. I reminded him gently: “Aren’t you too away from your parents for months on pilgrimage? How different is that?”

He faltered again, then made me laugh outright: “Didi, I promise I will remain unmarried and serve my parents all my life.”

I couldn’t help smiling at the irony. I had travelled thousands of miles seeking solitude, and here, on an almost empty beach, the only tourist I met was him. The world, I thought, is always the same—people good and bad, kind and selfish, naïve and wise. Some use lofty spiritual language; others don’t. That is the only difference.

Suddenly rain swept in. I had no umbrella. He ran. I lingered—soaked, listening to the waves, chatting briefly with the guard, and then walking back slowly, content.

Old Places, New Reflections

Over the next few days, I wandered across the campus. At one place, I was the only visitor at that time. The person in charge was listening to radio. I spend about forty minutes there and that person completely ignored me. I thought you can't train people into passion, it has to come from within. 

At the Ramayana exhibition, with 108 paintings by Bhaskar Das of Chennai, I found the art monotonous, though respectful of the artist’s effort. As I very well know the Ramayana story, I did not spend much time in reading all the text on the panels. On the second floor there are  more images and statues. Next to it is a digital exhibition on “Sustainable Living,” However, I could not understand anything. Only later when another senior karyakarta took me through that exhibition, it became clear to me. This exhibition  building is beautiful. 

What I liked most about this building is it is powered by solar energy and it also harvests rainwater. I guess this building could be a good confluence of religious education and application of science and technology - both aim to improve human life, isn't it! 

I also met a few old acquaintances, exchanged names and memories, and spent quiet mornings by the samadhi of Eknathjee  Ranade.

One morning at sunrise, I sat long after the crowd dispersed. 

The waves roared, The gentle breeze touched time and again. I could see the rock memorial at a distance. No humans around. Birds chirping. An Indian Roller  danced in the air for a long while. Two peacocks strolled by and made their calls.  It felt like as if everything was foe me, I belonged there. Such a blessing.

Traces of the Past

Back then, we had lively debates about what is the relationship of  Vivekananda Kendra with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS). We had even some innocent colleagues who asked, "What is this RSS you are talking about?" I had some basic knowledge because during a process of forming an organization, we had an introduction to different existing ideaologies in India. It was pretty basic. (Only the other day I met a friend and we laughed at our innocence - of not knowing much about RSS). Today, there is no such debate required—the signs of the Kendra-RSS relationship are everywhere, plain to see.

For me, though, this visit was not about politics or institutions. It was about returning, looking at the memories. The memories were not only about outside, they were about me too. I can see that those strong bonds exist no more. Acknowledging  what has vanished was not difficult. That is the law of life. As we move on, old things disappear. However what remains, is still valuable to me. Though I know that it too will vanish as life goes on. 

The journey to Kanyakumari mattered. But leaving Kanyakumari mattered too. Both were turning points for me. The journey, after all, continues—always.

198 Acceptance

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 40; the fortieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "MAKE A WISH"

“Make a Wish to Mother,” ordered the Master.

The young disciple faced harsh realities of life. Initially he had requested his Master to pray for him. He was a beloved disciple of the Master “I cannot ask Mother for mundane things,” replied he.

Disciple went inside the temple. He felt the presence of the Mother. He understood why his Master could not “ask for him”.

“Mother, Give me  Knowledge and Devotion” – he prayed.  

Second and third time.

“Your people will never be in want of plain food and clothes” said the Master.  

“Naren has accepted Mother”, Sri Ramkrishna beamed joyfully.

*****

This is a Drabble. 
Reference: 

http://www.kalimandir.org/library/swami-vivekananda-on-mother-kali/

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