STREET FOOD OF KOLKATA

Occasional Jottings

 

STREET FOOD OF KOLKATA

-Dr. C. V. Ananda Bose

 

My bachelor days in State Bank of India (SBI).

I worked in Jalpaiguri, Chowringhee and Shyambazar branches. On several days I could not get proper home-cooked meals. Firstly, because I was perhaps not well-organised when it came to my own chores and personal activities. Secondly, perhaps my own efforts at cooking up something often resulted in ghastly faux pas. The so-called edibles I conjured from my fanciful culinary skills, my palates refused to accept.  Dejection crept in.  I realised that the line between hunger and anger is a thin one.  Finally, my sane friend, Subhas Parmanik, confided in me that it was better to be angry in West Bengal than hungry. It fits in with Bangaliana.

Those were days when we had the right to experiment with our thoughts, our beliefs, our life and our cuisines.  Our young team had formed a Mess (between you and me, my dear reader, we did mess up a lot of things there, but had fun though). On a holiday, we decided to have a go at cooking.  And each one of us took part in the process with elan and each one contributed what he remembered of his mother or grandmother cooking exquisite dishes back home and the ingredients that went into these.  And we started to cook.  We all put in our recollected ingredients into our Royal dishes.   And pleased with ourselves and our handiwork, we looked at the royal spread on the dining table with satisfaction and a sense of ‘challenge’ to our siblings and peers far away in our homes and native places.  We piled large portions from the spread on our thalis and started eating.   After a few chews, we looked at each other in utter disbelief – what on earth was this.   Surely, the oil was bad or the spices were of low quality, or perhaps the vegetables were rotten.  We cursed the vendors at the market.  Thimmayya – the most sober amongst us –  somberly said – “Let us not blame others.  We have messed it up.”  Joydeep Sarkar rushed out to the balcony, took a peep, rushed in to inform us that the dhaba at the corner of the street was still serving food.  We dashed out and had a hearty meal.

Once, my colleagues in my branch in Kolkata gave me the idea of stealing a fast bite from the food hawkers and vendor stalls on the footpath just a few paces away from the branch.  So, on a cloudy afternoon, Anjan Chakraborty, a colleague, took me to his favourite stall among what appeared to be a train of stalls lined up by the footpath.  There was a huge rush of office-goers having their fill from these stalls.  They seemed to relish what was served to them.  These stalls served a bevy of dishes ranging from dahi-chewda, dahi-bhaat, biryani, plain rice, veg and non-veg dishes, South-Indian dishes, North-Indian dishes, rotis, luchi-aloor dum, pakodas, chapatis, Chinese, momo, kochuri-torkari, doodh-kola, sweets, lassi, sharbet, tea and what not.  The small areas of designated ‘office-pada’ food stalls cater to a multitude of office-goers working in countless offices in the area.  With extra ‘service charges’, delivery is also ensured right at your desk.  You name the occasion and you would have the food.  Be it abrupt office parties, colleagues catching someone wearing a new shirt, purchase of a new scooter, a promotion, birth of a child, marriage, marriage anniversary, or simply the colleagues catching the boss patting your back – everything called for a party at the office.  And you have the street food stall to ‘uphold your prestige’.  The same applies to the Burrabazar karobari, who coming out of a Bank, takes a quick bite at a stall, along with daily workers and a multitude of others, before going on to another assignment.  The food stalls come to the rescue of friends and families on holiday on their way around the city. 

Kolkata’s food is the culmination and ever-evolving trends, ranging from invasions in the past, continuing migrations and ceaseless adaptations.  Kolkata provides Chinese, Mughlai, British and European cuisines, Continental, and dishes from across the globe.  And most of all these are available right at the office doorsteps by the street stalls.  Kolkata has been the melting pot of cultures.  Kolkata’s street food too is the melting pot of cuisines.

We opted for the egg-roll.  And my highly informative colleague, Anjan, explained to me the origins of the egg-roll and why this item was a favourite bite among most – young and old alike – college-goers, cinema-goers, at addas, office-goers, evening strollers, family outings, intellectuals at discussions, common man at gossips, et al.   He said – egg rolls and Robert Clive are related.

Stunned by such a comparison – I did find the egg-roll more palatable, and once I took two egg-rolls at a go on a hungry afternoon, and did not have to bother about eating for the next 24 hours – I asked how is it so?

The enlightener revealed, as we dug into the hot and spicy snack.

“You see, the Calcutta Port, which was one of the largest ports on earth and was the focal point of the flow of wealth from the west to the east.  With the advent of the East India Company and the decline of the Mughals, workers in the city of then Calcutta began growing in number.  The docks were bustling with activity and there were workers in ever increasing numbers to cater to the increasingly busy docks since large ships sailed in and out ceaselessly. As Robert Clive wrested a foothold in India from the Mughal Emperor, Shah Alam, with the decree to raise taxes in Bengal, the outflow of wealth to the west increased steadily.  This resulted in more and more of ships and a steady rise of workers at the docks.  They had to work extremely hard and needed proteins and nutrients to sate their appetite at work.  And with slight improvisation, the egg-roll was created. 

He explained – chapatis are staple food in India, so are eggs.  The confluence of these two, with extra ingredients added, and you have the egg-roll evolved providing instant nutrients to workers, even as the wily Clive (who himself appeared surprised at the quantum of wealth he had usurped and taken back home) steamrolled on his sinister mission to subjugate Bengal and expand colonial tentacles across the sub-continent.

Almost absent-mindedly, Anjan continued: “That was the year 1765.  Within a few years, 250 company clerks backed by the military force of 20,000 locally recruited Indian soldiers, had become the effective rulers of Bengal. An international corporation was transforming itself into an aggressive colonial power. Within five years, the company - answerable only to its shareholders and powered by its own militia - had trebled the tax take, impoverishing the people of Bengal and helping cause one of the worst famines the world had ever seen.

A third of the population of Bengal - 10 million people - died, while the company, ever mindful of its bottom line, actually increased tax collection.

 

We finished our egg-rolls and felt like taking a stroll even as a light drizzle started.   We passed by colonial buildings – some in shambles, some well-kept and housing offices and even residential units – and passed by modern buildings, with spick and span offices.   And we passed by more food stalls and happy Calcuttans munching on egg-rolls.

 

Towards end-November 2022, I returned to Kolkata – the second coming –  and took my residence in Raj Bhavan.  A train of memories chugged in even as my flight was landing at the Dum Dum Airport.         I had returned to my old dear city, Kolkata. 

In the meanwhile, since my banker days, I had visited or lived in several cities – nay, monstrocities.  As T. S. Eliot would say – “Unreal City”

Now I was in the City of Cities; City of Palaces; City with a Soul; City of Joy.  Kolkata is a rare mélange of the past and the present, which has enthralled artists, poets, writers, filmmakers, photographers and tourists. 

A couple of weeks into my new assignment – and not particularly relishing my gubernatorial strappings (I felt like a caged Tiger) I decided to try those food stalls where I relished the afternoon snacks to have a little ‘freedom’.  I felt I should take a ride in a Taxi right up to an office-pada along the Jawaharlal Nehru Road - just for old times’ sake – not that I was a foodie by any stretch of imagination.  The Taxis of Kolkata, first making their appearance on the streets around 1906, have been regarded as the reliable ‘King of Roads’, one of the cultural icons and identifiers of the great metropolis.  People of Kolkata and its suburbs depend on these taxis for their daily commute.  And Hindustan Motor’s Ambassador cars fit the prescription for an ideal and sturdy vehicle to meet the gruelling existence of a taxi.  And Ambassador cars ruled the roads from around 1960 onwards.   During my days in Kolkata, we had two variants of the Taxis – the Black and the Yellow.  While the black ones were used for commuting within the city’s boundaries, the yellow ones were used for inter-city travel.                           I understand that now only the yellow taxis are plying.

Anyway, I must have thought out my plan aloud.  My officer told me: “Sir, you can’t just take a taxi ride to an office pada food stall and take your lunch there.” 

I said, “OK.  Point well taken.”

I thought – ‘Watch me !’

And a few days after that well intended caveat, I made my secret plan to try my ‘areas’ on the streets.  By now, my gubernatorial self was put under a security net.  As my car halted in the portico, waiting for me, and I decided to make my move, the burly in-charge of my Security hurriedly approached me.  He said apologetically, “Sir, we can’t let you venture on your own”.

That sealed it.  I could go out only in a carcade with security. 

I said, “OK.”

I move a lot in and around Kolkata to attend various programmes and while, crisscrossing the roads and lanes, the carcade passes by those train of food stalls on the footpath.  I look at people contently taking snacks and lunch there. And, by the way, each hoarding on the roadside stalls tells a story by itself.   All of them are poetic and intelligent with humour and information – something that high-end advertisers and marketing agencies would do for their clients.  Recently, I could decipher an interesting hoarding on one such food stall – it read ‘ChaiGPT’ – (Genuinely Pure Tea) Enhanced with AI (Adrak & Ilaichi).    Another – the one my convoy would inevitably pass before entering the Raj Bhavan few furlongs down the road – drew my attention.  It read ‘GST stall’.  It stood for Ghanshyam Singh Tea Stall, my attendant Simale enlightened me as if it was a matter of fact and I should have known it myself.   Yes, these boys grew up in the vicinity of Raj Bhavan in the quarters, so they know everything around Raj Bhavan like the back of their hands.

 

As Shakespeare would say, “Wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards it.”

 

Another abiding aspect of Kolkata is the presence of street hawkers.  Indeed, some regard it as a menace since this eats into the footpaths, leaving only enough space for pedestrians to wriggle along.  However, they can be useful too.  For instance, you could get almost every small item you want, while walking on the footpath from the Currency Building to Limton (the mobile shop) or, say, along the Hathibagan footpath – the one I frequented, while I was working at the Shyambazar branch of the SBI.

 

Security or no security;  Gubernatorial strappings notwithstanding; I decided to take my position one day among those with whom I had once shared my snacks and lunches.  I cannot let the me Ananda Bose be controlled by the Governor Ananda Bose, when it comes to my personal matters.

 

It was the wedding anniversary of Shanta Chatterjee, my senior colleague at SBI.  Phoni da, the middle-aged potbellied fountain head of banking knowledge and the foodie of our Branch, broke the news in an announcement like tone, followed by a decree – A day out with the couple on Vijayadashami – and specified the itinerary.  We were to assemble at Mitra Café at 9 a.m., take breakfast, visit some of the Ramakrishna and Sarada Ma sites along the Central Avenue, have lunch at Mocambo, watch a new release at the Globe and evening snacks at Flury’s.

 

Before Shanta di – who was very chirpy otherwise, and I would tease her sometimes as Shanta Chatter…Chatter…Chatterjee – could speak out, we all rose in unison – just like a bunch supporters accepting their leader’s diktat --- Phoni da jindabad.  Thank you, Phoni da for such a great advice.  And we look at Shanta di.  She smiled and said – done. 

 

And so, on Vijayadashami morning, we assembled at the historic Mitra Café.   As we waiting for Shantadi and her husband to arrive, to those of us who were still uninitiated to the sophisticated Calcutta palates, Phoni da gave a short lecture about the restaurants he had thought of for our outing.    But for my mess-bro Anjan’s guidance, I would have surely missed Mitra Café, near Sobhabazar.  Inconspicuously ensconced between a row of other shops, the small shop is over a century old café and one of the remaining ‘cabins’ of Kolkata.  Phoni da took pride as he declared: “This was my father and uncles’ favourite adda spot, and mine too during my college days.”  Indeed, Mitra Café is about old-world charm.  Its famous delicacies like Kabiraji, Mutton Chops, Fish Fries, and what not, are in great demand and recognised by a visibly cluttered room with a long queue immersed in causal talk.  We had our breakfast there, as soon as the couple arrived.

 

Subhas Parmanik quipped, pointing at the line of rickshaws at the rickshaw stand, “Shall we take the rickshaws?  It will be a vintage Calcutta city ride isn’t it.  Afterall, it is regarded as a cultural icon of the city isn’t it.”

 

Phansi da, our senior, chipped in with more information: “Yes.  But mind you, they are also regarded as a symbol of abuse of manpower.”   Phansi da went on, “Kolkata’s legacy of hand-pulled rickshaws can be traced back to Shimla, which was the summer capital for the officials of the East India Company in British India. The Shimla rickshaw was an iron vehicle and a favorite of the British ladies in India in the 1880s.”  By the time the wooden version of the Japanese rickshaw made its way to Calcutta, the then capital of British India, in the 1890s, the city’s aristocratic families and zamindars used to ride in palanquins. The man-pulled, embellished palanquin was a symbol of the elite’s socio-economic status. Soon, the hand-pulled rickshaw became the middle-class people’s answer to palanquins. In the post-independence era of India, the hand-pulled rickshaw, that the British had introduced to Calcutta to exercise their authority and establish their supremacy over the poor Indians, became a means of sustenance for the immigrants from West Bengal’s neighbouring states: Bihar and Odisha. It provided the immigrants from Bangladesh with livelihood during and after the 1971’s Liberation War.   As we can see, the rickshaws cater to several demands.  These deliver goods from one place to the other, ferry children to schools and take them back to homes, and take women to the nearby local markets.   These are the best means of transportation for the ladies, children and the infirm, especially in the old parts of North and Central Kolkata that have too narrow lanes for taxis and cars to negotiate.  Moreover, these are the only means of transportation along waterlogged and flooded streets. Kolkata is the only Indian city to keep up with the hand-pulled rickshaw, while this mode of transport, pulled by one human being for the other, has been ‘rolled back’ from the rest of Asia.   The popularity of the hand-pulled rickshaws can be gauged by their sheer numbers and their contribution to the livelihood of several people.    These rickshaws find mention in many literary works and have also featured in films of different languages. It is prominently portrayed in Rudyard Kipling’s ‘The Phantom Rickshaw’. The story is set in Shimla of the 1980s. Greg Vore, an international travel photographer, researched on the life, role and history of hand-pulled rickshaws in Kolkata and Bangladesh. Bimal Roy’s classic Do Bigha Zamin (released in 1953) tells the story of a farmer who becomes a rickshaw wallah in the then Calcutta. 

 

I was interested to ride the rickshaw on this tour of North Kolkata along the Central  Avenue.  But Phoni da – the heaviest among us and the eldest – exercised his veto.  No.  I wont be comfortable in that.  We wont ride the rickshaws. 

 

We will take the taxies instead.  He decided for us.   We obeyed.  And after hiring three Black and Yellow Taxies, we set out on a sojourn of the North Kolkata heritage tour. 

 

A film at the Globe followed. 

It was time for lunch and we trooped into Mocambo on Park Street.  Phoni da declared, holding the Menu card in one hand, and putting his other heavy arm, on my back with elan and confidence of a General on a battlefield who has already located his targets and was ready with his selection: Angels on Horseback, Mushroom Garlic Prawn, Chicken Ala Kiev, Mango Alaska, Crab Cocktail, Mixed Meat Risotto, Chicken Pavlograd – you name it and you have it here.  Frankly, I had never heard of these cuisines and had no idea then that these existed, even in dreams. These sounded almost like the name of homoeopathy medicine to me.  “Make a choice”, he looked at me and ordered.

I was stammering, unable to decide.  Phansi da – quite the opposite to Phoni da – came to my rescue, even as others looked on smiling as if some act in a play was going on.   “Just vegetarian dishes please”,  Phansi da said to my great relief.  Phoni da seemed to suppress a groan but was otherwise sporting.   We had a hearty meal and the food was delicious. 

Phoni da described Mocambo for us.  Mocambo pioneers dishes, that even the foreigners and tourists relish.   It is one of the most renowned restaurants in the area frequented by families.

Joydeep pointed at a tomato slice in the salad and mischievously asked “Phoni da you are our top foodie.  Is tomato good for health ?  Is it a fruit or a vegetable ?” 

Phoni da, with his mouth full of palak paneer, stopped munching and looked up at Joydeep a bit dejectedly. 

“What difference does it make if it is a fruit or a vegetable?  It tastes good.”

Thimmayya quipped, “like if eggplant is a fruit or vegetable, if cumumber is a fruit or vegetable, if avocado is a fruit or vegetable and if peanuts are nuts.”

“You are all nuts.”  responded Phoni da.

Shanta di’s husband, a Doctor, came to the rescue of the adorable and funny Phoni da:

“It is said that sometime in the 19th century, the U.S. Supreme Court faced the same question in a case that came up for its hearing: Are tomatoes fruits or vegetables?

“In those days, tomatoes were classified as vegetables, and their import was taxed.   A fruit importer argued that tomatoes were fruits.  Fruits were not taxed then.

“Dictionaries were referred to and definitions for “fruit” and “vegetable” were read out.   Finally, it was decided that there was a distinction between science and everyday life.   The court seemed to have admitted that tomatoes were technically fruits from the botany point of view. But in everyday life, tomatoes were used as vegetables as these were served along with or after meals – and not as desserts.”   

The good Doctor continued. 

“There is an interesting story behind the advent of tomato as a commercial crop in the U.S.  Tomato production in New Jersey can be traced to 1812. Tomatoes, at that time, were still feared by some—a nickname for the fruit was “poisonous apple.” There’s a story about how Robert Gibbon Johnson of Salem, New Jersey, stood on the town’s courthouse steps and publicly, to the great shock and horror of the spectators who had assembled there to watch the unfolding events, ate after tomato to prove that it was safe.  As the 1800s rolled on, and people overcame their fear of tomatoes, the savory red fruit started to catch on as a commercial crop. This story was kept alive for more than a century.   Now, of course, we have the tomatos fest (La tomatos) that is a great delight for the participants at the fest, as also the tomato growers.

“And mind you, just as in the case of onions, tomatoes too can make their grower fabulously rich.  These have become an inseparable part of most cuisines.”

I was doubtful if Phoni da would be bothered by such intricacies about food.  Food is meant to be eaten, and eaten good – was his motto.

He raised his thumb and wiped his lips.

Just seeing my senior colleague eat was a fascinating aspect of my participation at those dinners and lunches.   I would be reminded of a story that my grandmother had narrated to me as a child – when we used to tease our neighbourhood friend Balu for what seemed to be his insatiable appetite.  The more he ate, the more my grandmother would serve him.  The story was of Ganesha and Analasura.  It went thus –  Analasura was a very powerful and invincible rakshasa (demon). “Anala” means “fire”.  His breath would burn and destroy everything it came in contact with.   And his mouth emitted fire.   Lord Brahma had given him a boon that no weapon whatsoever could harm him.   Analasura became so arrogant and conceited, that he had conquered death and was immortal.  He went about tormenting, torturing and harassing people on earth, as well as the gods in heaven.  Tired of Analasura’s ceaseless attacks on them, the devatas went to Vaikunta (abode of Lord Vishnu) to seek the Lord’s help. Lord Vishnu told them that his Sudarshana Chakra cannot destroy him and told them to go to Lord Shiva and narrated how Analasura was creating havoc. Lord Shiva too told them that his mighty Trident would not be able to counter the evil rakshasa.

Lord Ganapati, who was also present there, heard everything. He immediately told them all not to worry and that he would destroy the demon.  Ganapati challenged the rakshasa to a dual war. The rakshasa fought fiercely and rushed forward in his huge form towards Ganesha.  Ganesha assumed his gigantic form, and swallowed up Analasura.   This caused tremendous heat in Ganesha’s stomach and the pain became unbearable. To reduce the heat, Lord Varuna showered water on him. Lord Shiva tied the snake around Ganesha’s waist, Lord Chandra, the cool moon, sat on his head and Lord Vishnu gave the Lotus, which is always in water to his hands, but of no use.  The tremendous heat generated by Analasura in Ganesha’s stomach was not to be cooled.

A group of Rishis who were performing a yagna heard of Ganesha’s trouble. They came there with a bunch of Durva Grass, which they were using for their yagna. They tied twenty one blades of Durva grass into a bundle and asked Ganapathi to swallow it. The moment the Durva grass entered His stomach, the heat and the burning sensation completely subsided.   Pleased and relieved, Lord Ganapati, declared that whoever worshipped him with the offering of Durva grass would earn his grace and blessings.

And here was our very own Phoni da. 

Our next destination was the St. Paul’s Cathedral.  We strolled along its sprawling lawns, even as the sunset over the horizon unfolding before us presented a stunning view of the reflecting sun on the Cathedral’s steeple and the spire shone in brilliant orange.

We headed back to Park Street for our last stop, the historic Flury’s, to cater to the sweet tooth of our Bengali team members.  This has been famous among the English as a popular tearoom.  Established in 1927, Flury’s took pride in serving the best confectionary to its patrons.

“If you want a taste of the city’s one of the finest baked cakes, pastries and other such Swiss and English delicacies, then this is the place not to be missed at all,” said Thimmayya.   Shanta di joined in.  “Yes.  One of the frequent customers here is Satyajit Ray, someone told me the other day.”

The great Satyajit Ray, I was thrilled.

Dear reader, as we all know, born into a family of reputed artists, Ray was a film director, writer, illustrator and composer.  He is regarded as the primary figure that put Indian cinema on the world theatre.  He had earned eleven international prizes for his masterpiece Pather Panchali alone, including an honorary Oscar in 1992 for his contribution to cinema.  Considered a cultural icon in India and acknowledged for his contribution to Indian cinema, Ray has influenced several filmmakers around the world, including Wes Anderson, Martin Scorsese, James Ivory, Carlos Saura, et al.   Besides films, Ray also wrote novels and short fiction for children and youth. 

As we settled down for some coffee and pastries, I narrated to the group what my elder brother, Mohan Bose, had told me once about the great Satyajit Ray.  He was a living legend and it was customary for film and theatre students around the globe to study his works.  Once, a group of film students, led by their experts, came from overseas to see Ray working at his sets during the shoot of a film.  They intently watched Ray’s every move.  The way he looked at the set, positioned his actors, explained each and every nuance of the acting expected of them, checked and re-checked the camera focus – everything.  They wanted to find the ‘secret ingredients’ of the master. 

Presently, for some shot, Ray went inside his makeshift office and brought out two-three thick volumes of books. 

That was it – the students and their teachers looked at each other.  The secret of Ray lay in those volumes.  He must have got those out to refer to some critical issues for the shots.

Ray calmly carried the volumes up to the camera and looked into it, focussing on the shot and placed the volumes strategically as a prop under the tripod legs for the required tilt. 

Ok…yeah, so there was no secret ingredient.  It was the vision of the master that extrapolated on to the sets and then spilled over on the silver screen in masterpieces.

The group clapped at me and I was happy to have shared a worthwhile story during my outing.

This was the story of a particular outing – my first rendezvous with culinary delights of Kolkata.

Similar outings followed during the course of my career with the SBI.  These included puchkas (I tried to avoid the tangy masalas, or the tetul gola, just took it dry) at Vivekananda Park, Kathi Rolls at Zaika, Park Street, (to Zaika went the credit of inventing the Kathi Rolls I was told), occasional luchi and Alu Dom at Stock Exchange, BBD Bagh (office pada), Ghugni Chaat at Dacre Lane, Mughlai Parathas at Anadi Cabin, Jawaharlal Nehru Road which was only about 15 minutes walk from my office,  Desi Chinese at China Town, Samosas at Tiwari Brothers, Burrabazaar, Kachori at Ganguram's, Momos at food stalls (during my visits to Raj Bhavan Darjeeling as Governor I had occasions to relish the authentic vegetable momos), Tela Bhaja at Kalika Mukhorochok Telebhaja, College Street, on days we visited the Coffee House and, of course, the Mishti Doi at Balaram Mullick and Radharam Mullick (it will be a crime if you are in Kolkata and you don’t savour mishti doi), and not to forget the fruit kulfi at Camac Street during the summers.   My purpose of accompanying my colleagues and quite a few friends, made during those days, was more to understand the fascinating tenets of people in Kolkata and, of course, Bengal – about whom I had heard several stories during my growing up at home – rather my desire to taste different varieties of food that Kolkata offered.  And I enjoyed every bit of it. The perennial food fest of Calcutta.

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