Kolkata: Hooghly, Kalighat and more

Just returned from a visit to Kolkata for a friend's wedding. There were two of us, I and another friend, who reached Howrah station early in the morning, after a 34 hour train journey across five states. Whenever I step out of the grand old terminus, the sheer magnificence of the Howrah Bridge dwarfs me to immobility for an instant or two. It is almost like one is forced to pay obeisance to mankind's genius in straddling the opposite banks of the Hooghly without needing to spear the waters of the river with a single pillar. We were put up at a guest house at Camac Street. The Kalighat temple had been strongly recommended to us, so that was our first stop for the day. As soon as one nears the temple, one is accosted by all sorts of people volunteering to get you the best 'darshan' through the 'VIP' queue in exchange for a stiff sum. The hordes of them and the general atmosphere of chaos pervading the entire area was such that I decided not to go inside, while my friend, the devout worshipper, braved the 'pandas' - as the 'VIP darshan givers' are called - and went inside the temple. After parting with a hundred bucks for the 'quick darshan', he also had to deal with a pandit who performed an auspicious ritual for him and then demanded no less than 250 bucks in return, all of this unsolicited. Somehow managing to shake him off, he came outside where I was standing observing the ebb and flow of the countless devotees who thronged the temple for divine blessings. How queer it is, I thought, that this multitude of people are willing to place their destiny in the hands of a God who allows 'priveleged' access to those who are willing to pay. Maybe anything can be bought by money in these times. Disgusted at this ghastly mixture of religion and business, I was glad to get away from there.

After a trip to Vardan Market, we met another friend who was in the city for yet another wedding. We went to see the Victoria Memorial. The sheer size of the Kolkata Maidan overwhelms a Bombayite used to the cramped ways of life in the island city. I knew the Hooghly was quite close to the Memorial. I have always wanted to see the river from close quarters. A cab ride to Babu Ghat took us to the jetty where ferries take one to the opposite side, Howrah. The river, swollen with silt, is calm and soothing. The Vidyasagar Setu is on the left and the Howrah Bridge on the right. The din and bustle of the city is nowhere to be heard. The calmness of the scene permeates inside me. As ferries come and go, the conversation meanders slowly like the mighty but benevolent river in front of us. We talk about following your heart, doing things you want to do, things that make you happy. We talk about how supposedly Leftist Bengal is changing. About how India is being split up further, by the looters who double up as leaders. A friend, impressed by Rahul Gandhi's vision, has joined the Youth Congress. Talks about campaigning in the next assembly elections in Uttar Pradesh. We talk about the changes that India is going through. All agree that this is the best time to be alive in this country, with the future heavily pregnant with endless possibilities. The eternal hope of the youth. Like the eternal promise of the Hooghly. An hour and a half passes by unnoticed. It is time to go. As dusk settles over the expanse of the river, I take a last look at the distant Howrah shore, then at the two bridges cutting across the river. The cab ride back to Camac Street takes us past the Eden Gardens, that historic citadel, witness to the overflowing passions of a nation blindly in love with a game. The river already seems a distant memory as we are engulfed again by the noise of the city. But the scene will remain forever etched somewhere in my heart, three young men hopeful about the promising future of a young nation, with the Hooghly engulfing us in a shroud of serenity.