Pataldanga was once ruled by Teni-da. No, to be honest, Calcutta cult-figures are too cool to rule. But that doesn't suit my dramatic purpose. Taking a couple of friends around College Street today, we passed through Teni-da territory.
It was Arshdeep's idea to proceed straight down Mahatma Gandhi Road (we were coming from Central Avenue), rather than turning right at College Street. We took the right at Shyama Charan Dey Street (no, I didn't know the name of the lane before today), past a shop displaying a variety of invitation cards - very colourful and glittery, needless to say, and a few not-so-famous book-shops, mostly selling text-books. This is the lane that runs roughly parallel to College Street, and joins what is known as Tamer Lane (I believe there is no pun intended there). Turning right from Tamer Lane one enters Bankim Chatterjee Street, on which stands the justly legendary Paramount. And that was our destination.
Anyone who has taken a walk through these lanes (roads, if you will) at prime-time will know the kind of chaos that grips them. One has virtually no control over the trajectory they wish to trace to get from point 'A' to point 'B', and it is impossible to be sure of where your foot will land with the next step that you take. While Arshdeep and Anushka had gone on ahead, with Kevin following closely, I found myself at the rear-guard, walking with Upasana and Arnab. Chandrima, Deeptesh and Olivia were somewhere in between. A van-gari carrying a load of paper (I think) was following us closely down Shyama Charan Dey Street. The van-puller was, of course, shouting out to pedestrians, cyclists, aakher rosh sellers, ill-advisedly parked cars, and self-cursing taxi drivers, instructions on how precisely he wanted them to move. His intended audience, paying no heed to his recommendations, were shouting out what they would like him to do. I can bet that several knocks or scratches, of varying degree, are delivered to one another on these daily lanes. I couldn't help recalling Patrick Geddes's (oft unheeded town-planner) idea that a lane can be understood to be a pavement without a road beside it. It's a beautiful way of putting it, I think, although I don't remember Geddes's exact words. Many thanks to Partho Datta for sharing this with us!
College Street - including Presidency College, Sanskrit College, Coffee House, College Square, and so on - have celebrated many heroes through the decades, through the centuries. But today the person who ruled College Street was this little girl in red, who was riding with nothing short of regal charisma her father's van-gari. The load it was carrying was urgently needed somewhere, as a result of which the van had its own fore-runner, and some other kid pushing it with all his might from behind. The little girl cared neither for where her chariot took her, nor for those who were brushed aside. She cared even less for those who tried to brush them aside. With none to dispute her right, she sat as a monarch of all she surveyed. I barely managed to take a couple of hasty shots with the mobile phone camera.
It was Arshdeep's idea to proceed straight down Mahatma Gandhi Road (we were coming from Central Avenue), rather than turning right at College Street. We took the right at Shyama Charan Dey Street (no, I didn't know the name of the lane before today), past a shop displaying a variety of invitation cards - very colourful and glittery, needless to say, and a few not-so-famous book-shops, mostly selling text-books. This is the lane that runs roughly parallel to College Street, and joins what is known as Tamer Lane (I believe there is no pun intended there). Turning right from Tamer Lane one enters Bankim Chatterjee Street, on which stands the justly legendary Paramount. And that was our destination.
Anyone who has taken a walk through these lanes (roads, if you will) at prime-time will know the kind of chaos that grips them. One has virtually no control over the trajectory they wish to trace to get from point 'A' to point 'B', and it is impossible to be sure of where your foot will land with the next step that you take. While Arshdeep and Anushka had gone on ahead, with Kevin following closely, I found myself at the rear-guard, walking with Upasana and Arnab. Chandrima, Deeptesh and Olivia were somewhere in between. A van-gari carrying a load of paper (I think) was following us closely down Shyama Charan Dey Street. The van-puller was, of course, shouting out to pedestrians, cyclists, aakher rosh sellers, ill-advisedly parked cars, and self-cursing taxi drivers, instructions on how precisely he wanted them to move. His intended audience, paying no heed to his recommendations, were shouting out what they would like him to do. I can bet that several knocks or scratches, of varying degree, are delivered to one another on these daily lanes. I couldn't help recalling Patrick Geddes's (oft unheeded town-planner) idea that a lane can be understood to be a pavement without a road beside it. It's a beautiful way of putting it, I think, although I don't remember Geddes's exact words. Many thanks to Partho Datta for sharing this with us!
College Street - including Presidency College, Sanskrit College, Coffee House, College Square, and so on - have celebrated many heroes through the decades, through the centuries. But today the person who ruled College Street was this little girl in red, who was riding with nothing short of regal charisma her father's van-gari. The load it was carrying was urgently needed somewhere, as a result of which the van had its own fore-runner, and some other kid pushing it with all his might from behind. The little girl cared neither for where her chariot took her, nor for those who were brushed aside. She cared even less for those who tried to brush them aside. With none to dispute her right, she sat as a monarch of all she surveyed. I barely managed to take a couple of hasty shots with the mobile phone camera.
Very good
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