The Old Dog Race Course in Behala

Approaching Taratala from the south, one might notice on the left-hand side of the road a curious white-on-blue sign-board, which reads "Old Dog Race Course Housing Estate." In Kushanava Choudhury's The Epic City, this is where Manoj grew up: "a compound with dozens of uniform low-rise apartment buildings that stretched for perhaps a quarter of a mile from the main road."

The name of P. Banerji of 24 Parganas Rural South is justifiably forgotten in Kolkata's urban history. But it was he who, as a member of the Legislative Council back in the mid-1930s, had attempted to legalize dog racing in the city.

Dog racing has a much longer history in Britain—dating back to the late 18th-century at least—but between the wars, they imported from their US counterparts, a game-changing (literally) piece of technology: the electric hare. The rest of England waited impatiently as Manchester became the first city in 1926 to witness the Greyhound Race 2.0. The hare and the electric traps grew popular across British cities. "By 1933," according to Higgins and Williams (2006), "there were over 220 [tracks], many running three days a week." By one estimate, this was thrice the total number of horse-racing tracks in London! The races in Manchester were hosted at the Belle Vue and White City stadiums. Their popularity in London is evidenced by the fact that Wembley, Stamford Bridge and West Ham Stadium introduced them soon after. Watch this film by Pathe, showing an electric hare:

It is possible that the aforementioned P. Banerji hailed from Behala, where the nominal vestige of the race course can be seen today. His non-official bill proposing to legalize dog-racing was heard by the Council but, no thanks to his rambling manner of arguing, it lost by 47 "Noes" to 8 "Ayes." Why did he think this a good idea?

According to the only speaker who appears to have supported Banerji's motion, the reason for proposing the legalization of dog-racing was, at the core, noble. Taxes had been increased by the government and this was affecting adversely poorer sections of the society. The proposed bill aimed to tax an upper-class pastime, comparable to horse-racing. Thus, Shanti Sekhareswar Ray argued that if the Government were to increase the tax on racing to 10% from the existing 2.5%, it could easily meet the budget deficit without increasing taxes generally. "This will be," he asserted, "an acid test for Government, and they will have to make their position clear whether they want money from those who can afford to pay or money from those poor people who perhaps would have to pay under compulsion."

In principle, this was acceptable to some members of the Council. But one S.M. Bose came up with with the following bizarre argument:

"I would support this Bill if in place of 'dog' he would agree to substitute the word 'donkey. Many of us, Sir, have seen a donkey race, but none of us has seen a dog race."

Banerji's case was presented rather haphazardly. He had started out with a general tirade against gambling, drawing the Council's attention to its rampant abuse in the city. For some inexplicable reason, he specifically implicated the Chinese community in Calcutta:

"I may just state for the information of the house," (completely uncalled for) "that in the Chinese quarters in Calcutta gambling is going on every day. To come to the incident to which I was referring on the 4th of this month, that is on the Chinese New Year's Day, the Commissioner of Police, Calcutta, allowed certain clubs, e.g., the Toong Tung Club..." Unsurprisingly, he was cut short.

More pertinently he cited an act that was passed in England in November 1934, legalizing dog races under section 3(b), whereby a license tax had been imposed on the races. The Hon'ble R.N. Reid, a member of the Executive Council, argued justifiably that the case of England and India were completely different, since in England dog-racing was prevalent. He felt no need to encourage something that had only just started by according it a legal status.

Shanti Sekhareswar Ray was quick to point out, that a dog race had recently been seen to take place in a "well-known institution in aid of perhaps some charity." This, ironically, turned out to be under the auspices of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Ray claimed that he had seen "a big advertisement on one of the buses belonging to that institution."

The clinching argument against Banerji's bill came once again from Reid. He pointed out the contradiction in Banerji's articulated moral position and accused him of being "quite prepared to debauch the populace by dog racing in order to raise money." But Banerji was adamant. He alleged, in turn, that the "members of the Government are members of the Royal Calcutta Turf Club," and it was their personal interest in removing a potential rival to their income, which motivated them to shoot down his proposal.

It is unclear to me as of now when this was legalized, but we are told that it was "subjected to heavy taxation by the Bengal Amusement Tax (Amendment) Bill, 1939" (Biswadeb Chatterjee, 1997), but was later abolished entirely.

The next time I pass by the spot, I'll try and take a closer look.

কল্‌কাতার দুপুর [A Calcutta Afternoon]

কল্‌কাতার দুপুর
কাঁশারিদের কাঁশির আওয়াজ ঝন্‌ঝনিয়ে বাজে,
ঘরের ভিতর একটা চড়ুই চেঁচায় কড়ির খাঁজে,
চিলের সরু কাঁপানো ডাক আকাশ হতে আশে,
একটা কাকে আল্‌শে-পাশে কেবল কলভাষে।
মাঝে মাঝে থাম্‌ছে ধ্বনি, নীরবতা জাগে,--
শব্দতীত কোন্‌ সে দেশের পরশ মোরে লাগে!
-শ্রীপ্যারীমোহন সেনগুপ্ত

Not the most inspired poem by this prolific writer perhaps, but these things tend to get lost.

"जीना यहाँ"

I manage to catch the last south-bound metro. It's 22.00 by the time I reach the Central metro platform. The north-bound train comes in at 22.03. Non-AC. With six minutes to go till my train comes, I sit down on the metal bench. One other person at the end, tapping the screen of his phone aimlessly, mutters "That means the next one will be AC." At 22.08 we hear the echo of the incoming train. I get up and look into the void. The man's prophecy has been fulfilled. I imagine he has a smug smile on his face right now. We get into the same coach and realize quickly that the AC is not running--as it often happens with these trains. I grimace at him. The doors slide back, and a few seconds later the wordless tune of जीना यहाँ, मरना यहाँ, इस के सिवा जाना कहाँ comes on the internal music system. Several passengers who were grumbling silently realize all at once that tragedy has turned into farce, and break into chuckles and gentle abuse.

Kolkata Documentary with Sue Perkins on BBC

I read a few mixed responses on Facebook to Sue Perkins's Kolkata which aired earlier this week on BBC 2. Although I am in the U.K. at the moment, not being a regular Tv-watcher I missed it completely, until a friend of mine pointed out this oversight on my part and helpfully emailed me a link. (Thanks, Ariadne, for the link. I would never have watched it otherwise.)

To be honest I was completely unaware of who Sue Perkins is. I understand that she has a number of fans and I found her quite pleasant on the show to be honest. When I was told later that she is a comedian, some moments of fine comic timing in the documentary made perfect sense. I realize that the documentary was made for a specific viewership and on the whole I didn't find it quite as horrendous as some of my friends seem to have found it, and I would be happy to engage on specific points if more problems with the documentary are pointed out to me. For my part, let me try and put down my thoughts on it.

As opposed to the older tourist guides--and by old I mean early 20th century--which were mostly in the form of books and took the form of annotated journeys through the city, Perkins did not take the city by places of interest. Nothing absolutely new in that either, but it's refreshing all the same not to see the oft-repeated images of the Writers' Building, of the Raj Bhavan...you know the list. Although strangely, a blast from the past, the Jain Temple did make an appearance. I thought recent tourism had all but forgotten it despite the fact that it is one of the enduring images from the first half of the twentieth century.

There were some shots that were truly breathtaking, probably taken from a helicopter: views of the city that aren't so common at all. A literal detachment and height that few cameras that ply their everyday art in the city can achieve. Apart from panoramic sweeps, there was one shot I enjoyed in particular where some of the courtyard designs of even the taller buildings became evident. A few top-shots of the bazars were also quite impressive.

I personally disagreed on several counts with Abhra, who was guiding Perkins for the first thirds of the film. Unlike him, I don't think that we have inherited the train, the tram, (the tea) and the grand buildings from the British, and that because the past is past, it's all good now. “Post-this, post-that, post-the-other, yet in the end. Not past a thing.” Sure, but surely it's not quite so easily dismissible? Also I couldn't agree that it's quite common for people eating at the next table in a restaurant to swoop in on the conversation at your table. And I personally have never had someone from another group claim food from my plate! I'm not sure if he's joking, but he seemed to say in the same vein as the claim regarding conversation-joiners.

As for Perkins's narrative: I don't think Kolkata is “known to the locals as the City of Joy”, although I am willing to concede that some of us may have a tendency to internalise and reproduce tags that catch our fancy. (The strange and vague claim that it is a “city with a heart” comes to mind.) I personally would also have been more comfortable with a more nuanced view of the "white town/black town”--it seemed as though she was suggesting it was a clear divide planned by the British administration--even with the grey town thrown in. It certainly is a most fascinating aspect of Kolkata. The phrase full of “Armenians, Chinese, Jews and Arabs”, again, rung somewhat inaccurate. For one thing, there were other European settlers here, such as the Portuguese who were based roughly around the neighbourhoods in Bowbazar that are home to the Bowbazar branch of Kolkata's diminishing Chinese population today. And secondly, because I thought it was misrepresenting things a bit to give the impression that these communities are still there in significant numbers.

From tea, Perkins takes us to a cup-maker's family. It was refreshing to see clay-work other than Kumartuli for a change, although, yes, I do admit that the clay-cup too is fast emerging as a stereotype. And from there they go to an Anglo-Indian household, via Bow Barracks. A member of this family believes that it would be much better if the English were to come back to rule. They have a dog called Brooke Shields. (Named after the actor and model??) And from there to the Kolkata sewers--a marvel of Victorian engineering, as she said. These are glimpses that I had never seen earlier and was quite amazed to learn about them, but I'm not sure they are easy to access for a lay person.

One of the Tagore houses got coverage, where Souraja Tagore takes us around. We get a few rare glimpses inside, but perhaps the most embarrassing moment comes when the host is asked what she thinks of the view that people without a place to live in grudge the older families their enormous property. She says that she does see the other side of the coin as well, “But you have to understand that life is not about just having a space to live. Give them…give them culture.” I'm glad that Perkins clarified her misgiving following this dialogue, and on that note a few words about what I thought of her role.

In almost any documentary that involves the host working with people who may not know her language, things can get tricky. Some of the people shown in the documentary can understand English (the boys at Rajarhat, Souraja Tagore, Abhra, et al), but there are many who can't. The English viewer can. Many Indian viewers likewise. But there are a few jokes that are shared with the English-speaking/comprehending viewer that may not be so evident to the people in the film. For example, the joke about the rickshaw puller winning the moustache of the year award. It need not operate only at the linguistic level but can work on cultural divide as well. Such as Perkins comparing a moment at the Laughing Club with Michael Jackson's “Thriller” video. This sounds like a dangerous thing that a host can employ, but in my opinion Perkins doesn't make any really mean joke at any point.

A glimpse of the lives of street and pavement -dwellers, ends in a somewhat fraught valorisation of ambition--“So there's been plenty of times tonight where I've wanted to cry my eyes out at the things I have seen and the things I have heard,” she says, “which have sometimes been too unbearable and probably too difficult to broadcast, but at the end of it we have someone like Rakhi, who is, through the Hope Foundation, getting an education, speaking English and wants to be a doctor.” There are other things as well that are worth celebrating surely, but I suppose certain images and phrases strike us as more dramatic.

From there we go away from the city centre, as Perkins says, to see the transformation the economic miracle is delivering over the last few years. In Rajarhat we encounter a group of property developers who sport their Ferraris and Lamborghinis. One of them believes that the “car [a Lamborghini] is so beautiful, it should inspire other people to work hard, to be honest, and to be successful in life.” Funnily, one of the Ferraris (a Testarossa I think) blows the clutch when they try to take Perkins out on a drive! She has a good laugh but I'm not sure all parties concerned saw it as a funny incident.

Kolkata has been projected, fashioned in ways that have suited Western ideologies of viewing. It has been a City of Palaces, a City of Dreadful Night, a Dying City, a Living City, a City of Joy, and of Rumours. This particular documentary seemed to hint at the dominant discourse of the present day: that it is a city of poverty as well as development. Communities, social organisations, idiosyncrasies that seem to hold out a promise of retaining all that is strangely marked off as the “human” elements of the city being retained while its moneyed class propels it forward economically. That there is much between these is somehow lost. The point a lady at the Laughing Club makes about the city developing and how most of their children are moving abroad after education, isn't examined for its (not-so-obvious?) contradiction. This is true geographically as well, because like most other guides of Kolkata, this documentary too does not seem too familiar with South Kolkata's residential areas, for example. When the Black Town is spoken off, the two images that are shown are of a person sweeping the street, while an office-goer deftly dodges the broom-stick and a street vendor. When refugees are referred to, the dominant image seemed to be that of the street-dweller or hawker.

Likewise when Perkins talks to Souraja Tagore about those who want to break these houses down, the visual is that of these street-vendors; who, I am sure, entertain similar questions. But the decisions probably are taken higher up, by those who stand to gain from it rather than those who claim ideological opposition to such mansions. Much that is between the two binaries, I thought was lost. The economic class I refer to would be somewhere closer to Abhra or the lady who shows Perkins around the pavement dwellings, but whose name I couldn't catch (was it mentioned?).  The colonies around Jadavpur are ignored completely as are neighbourhoods such as the ones surrounding Gariahat, or places further South. Even without a systematic geographical exploration an hour-long capsule shouldn't find it difficult to locate narratives in these parts that are pertinent to an understanding of the city. Is it not good subject matter for the camera, I wonder.

The final thing I wanted to mention is the music. I'm not too sure why I come away from most BBC documentaries of India with a Hinustani classical track playing in my head. These serve the background, theme music for the documentaries. When we enter the Tagore palace there is Western classical, which my lack of training didn't allow me to identify correctly. There are other kinds of music too, but perhaps the Western audience will not easily identify those with “India”. So on the whole I can't say I disliked it much more than I dislike most Western documentaries on India. I found Perkins pleasant enough, although that too isn't unqualified and at points I found myself getting fairly irritated. But I think it was well-intentioned on the whole. There is much that the documentary stays silent on, and I can't help fear that a new discourse of what the city stands for is gradually being consolidated even as I write.

Midnight Drive

A few months ago, when Sroyon was in town, the family went out for a dinner. The Cousin Sister (credited at the end of the video) drove us around town till we reached Balwant Singh's Dhaba, photographs whereof have been posted before. Here's a silent video shot from the front seat of a Maruti 800. I am not sure if this will be of interest to very many, but may be one day we'll look back and wonder at how the city has changed. I thought it might be interesting to not mention the specific route that we took. I hope I'll remember. And that readers will figure it out, if they so wish.