north kolkata adventuring

a day of explorations... things new to me but old to the world.

marble palace. mid-19th century mansion of raja rajendra mullick bahadur. hidden down some small streets off of chittaranjan avenue, where everything looks much the same as everywhere else in kolkata. then you look up, and there it is. this extravagant creation in a dazzling white, a leftover from the days of the "city of palaces" (since replaced by the city of probably no palaces unless you mean ones that are fallen apart or else hidden where you will never find them). there is no photography allowed but i sneak a snap of the exterior anyway. then me n laura walk up to the gate with our permits in our hands, and the gatekeeper motions for us to enter. the grass is green, the statues that dot the lawn are motley (lions and buddhas, etc) and there is someone’s laundry hanging in the corner of the garden. at the entrance (not at all grand, some sad little side door) we are given a guide who mostly just sweeps us on along thru the rooms, giving us names of objects but very little other information. there is a queen victoria of oak as big as an elephant. there are in fact many images in various media of the english queen, scattered throughout the house. there are ming vases, chandeliers, paintings, some by famous artists like rubens or reynolds, some of them disintegrating. busts of bare-chested curly-haired women, statues of greek athletes. gorgeous marble floors. and in the courtyard, cages of sweet little birds, chirping away.

college street. really i had meant to go here for a long time. it is an impressive place, stall after stall chock-full of booksbooksbooks, piled high. the street is really and truly bursting with books, some new but mostly old, ranging from classic english literature to guides to computer science to test-preparation manuals to political tracts to lord knows what else, in both bengali and english. with this as a permanent kolkata institution, i wonder at the excitement around the annual book fair (boi mela)—compared to this, it is nothing. i feel overwhelmed, unable to take in all of the choices, which is probably better what with the limited space in my suitcase; i cannot afford any more books. we slip out of this commotion and into the coffee house.

the indian coffee house. that college street institution. a legion of whirring fans in a cavernous space made to feel cozy by the crowd of tables, clusters of conversationalists, the clutter of cutlery and talk. cigarettes are smoked with abandon and waiters circulate in turbans that seem a little silly considering the informal atmosphere. an image of tagore looks down on the assembly from above... too bengali for words. delicious coffee, both cold and hot, paired with a miserable tomato and cucmber sandwich and some hopelessly spongy, cold pakoras that no amount of ketchup could save. the food is lucky to be rescued instead by this being the notorious college street place to be...