This
city is more relaxed than some of its modern Indian counterparts, and residents
claim a strong relationship to its colonial past.
By
Lucas Peterson
 |
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Boats
moored along the Hooghly River, which runs through Kolkata.
Arka
Dutta for The New York Times
|
The sticky heat had finally begun to break
and people were out sitting on the banks of the Hooghly, chatting, eating, or
just watching the sun glitter on the water as it began its descent. A young man
approached me and, apropos of nothing, asked if I liked Kolkata. When I replied
yes, he nodded and said, “Kolkata is the heart of India.”
After four days in Kolkata (or the Anglicized
“Calcutta”), the capital of West Bengal and known by the nickname, City of Joy,
it was difficult to argue. Kolkata, a city strongly associated with British
rule and the East India Company, has a fascinating relationship with its
colonial history. With a rich literary tradition and strong educational
institutions, Kolkata also has a more relaxed and peaceful feel than some of
India’s other modern metropolises. Combined with spicy Bengali cuisine and a
love of fried street food, it proved a rewarding place to explore — and
naturally, I managed to keep my budget in check.
My comfortable room ($27 per night) in the
Ballygunge area of the city was centrally located and ideal for exploring the
rest of the city. I rented the room through Airbnb, which I use judiciously.
When traveling solo, I’ll typically rent a room in a family’s home: In many
instances, hosts have happily clued me in on things to see and do. One tip:
Click on the host’s profile picture to see how many properties they have
listed. If I see that a host is managing a large number of places, I may choose
to stay elsewhere — I’m more interested in using Airbnb as a cultural exchange
than as a hotel.
My hosts, Saroj and her daughter, Mrinalini,
knew their city well and were happy to offer insight. They both loved the
intellectual curiosity and open-mindedness of the city. “Calcutta is laid back,
old world, colonial. People have time; it’s a little easier,” said Mrinalini.
“In Bengali culture, women are generally considered equal,” she added, compared
to places like Delhi. “In some cases they’re actually considered superior: It’s
very progressive. I didn’t even think about being feminist because I never needed
to be.”
A
history of British Colonial rule
Kolkata’s colonial history is on display at
the Victoria Memorial, a grand museum with attractive surrounding gardens that
began construction in 1906 and opened to the public 15 years later (Tickets are
500 rupees, a little less than $7, for foreign visitors, and 30 rupees for
locals). I made the 30-minute walk from my room in Ballygunge, dodging taxis
and weaving between vendors selling fresh fruit and chaiwalas pouring searing
hot tea into thin, earthen cups. (On the way there, I made a quick stop to
appreciate the soaring Gothic Revival beauty of St. Paul’s Cathedral, an
Anglican house of worship completed in 1847.)
Within the Victoria Memorial’s magnificent
marble walls are some interesting artifacts and exhibitions. “The Artist’s Eye:
India 1770-1835” has a number of handsome paintings from the likes of Thomas
Daniell and Tilly Kettle, who arrived in India in the 1760s and was one of the
first prominent English painters to work in the country. On the other side of
the exhibition hall, a more intriguing exhibit catalogs the timeline of British
colonial rule in India through photos, prints and historical relics.
Kolkata was made the capital of British India
in 1772, but growing nationalist sentiment and resistance to British rule led
to Britain moving the capital to Delhi in 1911. A devastating famine during
World War II killed millions in Bengal — some lay blame for the tragedy
directly at the feet of the British. A caption under one of the last photos in
the exhibition reads: “Calcutta benefited from British rule more than other
Indian cities, and also paid a greater price.”
I was mulling over those words when I struck
up a conversation on the street with Aradhana Kumar Swami, a teacher who was picking
up his wife and buying supplies in Kolkata before embarking on a 40-hour train
journey home to the Kerala region. “No, not at all,” he responded, when I asked
if there was any lingering resentment toward the British. “We have no problem
with the British.” Some people, he said, had an issue with the opulent Victoria
Monument, however. Queen Victoria, he said, never once visited the city. “That
could have been a school or something,” he said, and shook his head.
It’s easy to see where Kolkata’s reputation
as an educated city comes from: simply visit the College Street Book Market,
near the University of Calcutta. I took the underground Metro to the Central
station (5 rupees) and cut over to College Street. I immediately heard
chanting, and came face-to-face with a large group of student protesters,
waving signs and yelling slogans. I asked a couple of people what the protest
was about — they said it was government-related but wouldn’t be more specific.
Books,
from markets and shops and roadside stalls
The energy from the protest carried over to
the book market, probably the largest collection of books I’ve ever seen in one
place. Piles of books of all kinds — from engineering to Shakespeare to Dan
Brown — spilled over from roadside stalls onto the street. I saw one barefoot
vendor precariously negotiating his wares as if he were a mountain climber,
looking for a particularly hard-to-find volume.
I wanted something by the Nobel Prize winner
and Kolkata native Rabindranath Tagore, and after asking around, I found a book
of his short stories at a shop called Bani Library for just 95 rupees. I took
my book around the corner to the College Street Coffee House, a favorite
hangout for students, writers and intellectuals for the past 75 years. The
place has an immediate shabby charm — waiters dressed in green uniforms with
gold belts navigate the cavernous, dimly lit room full of tables packed with
people having animated discussions. I shared a table with a young couple and
enjoyed a coffee with a plate of chicken chow mein noodles (100 rupees).
There is a strong spiritual side to the city,
as well. I hopped into an Uber and rode up the Dakshineswar Kali Temple, north
of the Nivedita Bridge (the ride from the city center was about 250 rupees).
The beautiful riverside structure has temples to Shiva and Vishnu, and the
surrounding area has a festive, carnival-like atmosphere. Vendors hawk strings
of bright yellow and orange marigolds; others call out, telling you that
they’ll watch your shoes while you go into the temple. Nearby, people selling snacks
and drinks shoo away monkeys trying to steal a quick bite.
Security is tight at the temple — no photos
are allowed, and you’ll have to check your cellphone, too (3 rupees), as well
as your shoes (2 rupees). I joined a long queue of worshipers carrying gifts of
money and flowers and got a peek at the Sri Sri Jagadiswari Kalimata Thakurani
idol, bright red tongue visible and a foot placed onto a man’s chest. I asked a
stranger if he could tell me more about the significance of the idol, and he
simply replied, “Mother!”
The Mother House of the Missionaries of
Charity, or just the Mother House, is another essential place to visit. Mother
Teresa, the Roman Catholic nun and founder of the Missionaries of Charity who
was canonized in 2016, worked and lived primarily at the Mother House from 1953
until her death in 1997. On the ground floor, a simple but elegant tomb marks
Mother Teresa’s final resting place, and all are welcome to pay their respects.
The
flavors and spices of Indian street food
I spent hours walking the streets of Kolkata,
and found this to be the best way to get to know the city. I worked up a decent
appetite, naturally, and fortunately found a number of good options right there
on the street. A deep love of Chinese cuisine pervades the city, as is
evidenced by the number of stalls selling 30-rupee plates of fried chow mein
noodles. I walked up and down Circus Avenue near my lodgings and indulged in
another favorite, crunchy fried pakora made from chickpea flour (20 rupees) and
sprinkled with spicy salt. Generous 10-rupee cups of spicy, milky tea are
nearly omnipresent.
The area around the Hatibagan Market, several
blocks of sprawling chaos containing seemingly anything you could possibly want
to buy, is another prime area to seek out street food. Navigating beeping cars
and buses, gleaming displays of wristwatches and knockoff Tommy Hilfiger
shirts, I found a sweet, earthy cup of freshly-squeezed sugar cane juice (30
rupees for a large cup). Down the street, I indulged in aloo chop, a deep-fried
latke-like treat made from shredded potato and held together with chickpea
flour (20 rupees for four pieces).
A word about street food: Be careful. A nasty
stomach bug can potentially ruin a trip. If you’re going to risk it, look for
places to eat that are busy and churning out food — it’s a good way to ensure
it’s fresh. Be wary of fresh produce and raw food items, and don’t drink things
that contain ice. The tea on the street, however, is frequently kept at a
rolling boil, making it safer than some of your other options. If you have
doubts, don’t eat it.
Indian street food is a veritable wonderland
of flavor and spice. The use of mustard oil distinguishes local cooking, giving
certain dishes a vaguely sinus-clearing quality, like eating wasabi. Jhal muri
(30 rupees) is one good example, and the one I picked up north of the Victoria
Memorial, a spicy concoction of puffed rice, chili sauce and diced vegetables,
certainly caused me to break a sweat.
The restaurant Peter Cat on chic Park Street
is a popular, meat-centric option for those wanting a more formal dining
experience. I also had a fantastic meal at the upscale Oh! Calcutta, on the
fourth floor of the Forum Mall, enjoying a freshwater bhekti (barramundi)
prepared in a piquant fermented mustard sauce (675 rupees) with a local
gobindobhog rice.
But it’s the humble confection that might
distinguish Kolkata, and its cuisine, more than any other food item. The city’s
deep love of sweets is demonstrated in the number of shops peddling different
varieties of sandesh (made from sweetened curd), coconut-covered cham cham, and
mishti doi, a tangy, yogurt-like dessert. An assortment box at Girish Chandra
Dey & Nakur Chandra Nandy, one of the oldest and most revered sweet shops
in the city, cost 270 rupees.
It turns out that Kolkata, in addition to
being India’s cultural heart, also has a fierce sweet tooth.
Lucas Peterson is the Frugal Traveler
columnist. He has written for GQ, Lucky Peach, Eater, LA Weekly and Food
Republic. His video series for Eater, "Dining on a Dime," is now in
its 11th season. @FrugalTraveler
