Tag Archives: Kolkata

Blackening the British perceptions of India and Indians

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THE FIRST TIME I  heard mention of Calcutta was when I was less than 11 years old. It was in connection with the so-called ‘Black Hole of Calcutta’. Without knowing anything about it, I got the impression that whatever happened there was extremely unpleasant. Today, the 27th of December 2024, we revisited the monument to the victims of the Black Hole incident, which now stands in the churchyard of Calcutta’s St John church. Formerly, it had stood in Dalhousie Square, where the Black Hole (a small prison cell) was located before it was demolished. Originally,  there was a memorial on the spot, but this disappeared. The viceroy Lord Curzon had a new one made, and this is the one now standing near St John’s.

Part of the Black Hole memorial

 When the British, unlike the French, refused to agree to the demands of the Nawab of Bengal,  Siraj-ud-Daulah (1733-1757), the Nawab attacked Calcutta. Despite having some forewarning of the attack, the British did little to prepare their defences. On the 20th of June 1756, Calcutta’s Fort William fell to the Nawab.

 

The British survivors were rounded up by the Nawab’s forces and locked into the small prison now known as the Black Hole. The number of people incarcerated varies according to which account you read, but suffice it to say there were far too many people crowded into the tiny cell, and many of them died of overheating and thirst. It was a tragedy. Of that, there is no doubt.

 

The news of the Black Hole disaster  led to an attack on the Nawab by the British led by Robert Clive (1725-1774). The Nawab was defeated at the Battle of Plassey in 1757.

 

The problem is that what happened in the Black Hole damaged British perceptions of Indians. As the historian John Zubrzycki wrote:

“The Black Hole would come to symbolise Indian barbarism in the minds of English policymakers and be used to strengthen the case for British rule.”

Worse than this, events such as the Black Hole and killing of British citizens during the so-called ‘Indian Mutiny’ of 1857, could be used to justify the many horrendous acts perpetrated by the Brits on Indians. Two notable examples of this are the cruel punishments meted out to the Indian soldiers who rebelled in 1757, and later the Jallianwala Bagh massacre of innocent Indian civilians in 1919.

 

That the monument to the victims of the Black Hole still stands in pristine condition so many years after India became independent is remarkable.  In 1940, several leading independence activists, including Subhas Chandra Bose, campaigned to have the monument removed from Dalhousie Square. In July of that year it was moved to its present location. Today, we saw visitors, both Indian and Westerners, viewing the memorial.

The power of faith and a polluted river

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!

ON CHRISTMAS MORNING (2024), we walked leisurely beside the Hooghly River (a stretch of the Ganges) between Prinsep Ghat and Eden Gardens, a distance of about 1.3 miles. With a good paved footpath,  this is a pleasant, picturesque, tree lined place to stroll.

 

Near Eden Park railway station,  there is a popular bathing ghat (a flight of steps leading into the water). From a  bridge that overlooks this, we watched people bathing in the river. Many of them immersed themselves fully several times. Others washed themselves. We saw people applying shampoo to wash their hair. I noticed a few men wading out into the water, carrying small trays containing flowers for puja. They threw these floral offerings into the fast flowing stream.

 The Ganges, of which the Hooghly is a part, is considered to be a place of great holiness by Hindus. They believe that bathing in this river conveys several benefits including: cleansing the soul; connecting with divine cosmic forces; washing away bad karma from the present or previous births; health giving and healing; and removing negativity. So, if you are a believer, bathing in the Hooghly/Ganges must be a good thing. But, must it?

 

Signs along the path on which we strolled exhort people not to dump rubbish in the river. But it is clearly obvious that these signs are not obeyed.  It is not only strollers’ rubbish that enters the sacred river. The river is being continuously polluted by sewage, industrial effluent, and decomposing corpses. This has resulted in high levels of toxic chemicals including heavy metals, and frighteningly large amounts  of bacterial and other microbial pathogens.

 

According to several official bodies, the Hooghly  has been deemed totally unsuitable for bathing. Yet despite this, there is no shortage of people entering the river to bathe, putting  their entire heads underwater, and washing themselves with this water that carries a real risk of causing ill-health. Such is the power of faith that the well-publicized risks of bathing in the river are outweighed by the belief that the water can only benefit the bather.

Oh no, the baby is missing!

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ON CHRISTMAS EVE (2024), we visited the Victorian gothic St Paul’s Cathedral in Kolkata (Calcutta). There was a creche (Nativity scene) in the garden. Unlike other such cribs we have spotted in the city, in which all the human characters look European,   all of the (lifesize) models in the St Paul’s creche depict Indians. The three kings look like Rajput maharajas,  a small boy near the crib is wearing kurta pyjamas, a shepherd carrying a lamb sports a turban, Joseph is wearing a dhoti, and Mary is dressed in a blue sari.

 This beautifully made ensemble illustrating happenings in Bethlehem, where there was no room at the inn, is lacking one person. There was no baby Jesus to be seen. The model of Mary seems to be looking adorably at an empty patch of ground. I wondered whether someone had stolen the model of Jesus. We asked a gardener what had happened to baby Jesus. He replied: “It’s Christmas Eve. Jesus has not been born yet. He’ll come tonight.

The Golders Green Complex in Calcutta  (Kolkata)

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DURING THE LONG taxi ride from Kolkata’s airport to the city centre, I noticed an intriguing sign on a building we passed. It read: “Golders Green Complex”. The reason that this interested me was that I was brought up in a northwest London’s suburb called Golders Green.

I have no idea if the proprietors of Kolkata’s Golders Green Complex know of the existence of my childhood haunt in northwest London. The idea that someone might suffer from a malady named the Golders Green complex flashed through my mind. How this would manifest itself, I will leave to your imagination. In my case, the lasting effect of a childhood in Golders Green led me to write a book about the place (https://www.amazon.co.uk/GOLDERS-GREEN-HAMPSTEAD-GARDEN-SUBURB/dp/B0BHG873FB/  )

A bridge across the river in Calcutta

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I HAVE BEEN to Calcutta (Kolkata) several times, and each visit I am impressed by the Howrah Bridge. It is a suspension type balanced cantilever bridge that carries pedestrians and road traffic across the Hooghly River, which is part of the mighty Ganges. This massive bridge contains 26,500 tons of steel riveted together – it contains no nuts and bolts. When it was opened for use in 1943, it was the world’s third largest cantilever bridge.

Before the present bridge was constructed, there was another bridge that crossed the Hooghly. Unlike the existing bridge, its roadway was close to the water. It was a pontoon bridge. Its roadway rested on floating pontoons. It had a section that could be opened to allow the passage of large vessels travelling along the Hooghly. The pontoon bridge was completed and ready for use in 1874. It served its purpose until the current bridge was opened in 1943.

The pontoon bridge

Recently, I obtained a book called “Wonderful India”. Inside its front cover, a former owner of the book had handwritten “LW Morris, Royal Air Force, Calcutta-July 1943”. The current bridge was opened in February 1943. The book does not contain a picture of that bridge, Instead, it contains a photograph of its predecessor, the pontoon bridge, with the caption:

“The famous pontoon bridge to Howrah, with the railway terminus in the background.”

I am guessing that had the new bridge been near completion when this book was compiled, it would have included this wonder of bridge engineering. As the book has no date of publication, the inclusion of the pontoon bridge rather than the suspension type cantilevered bridge, I feel that the book must have been compiled long before the new bridge was near completion, That the book includes a photograph of another bridge across the Hooghly: The Willingdon Bridge (also known as ‘Vivekananda Setu’). As this bridge (upstream from the Howrah Bridge) was completed in 1931, it would seem that “Wonderful India” was published sometime between 1931 and early 1943.

Crossing the Howrah Bridge as a pedestrian is a thrilling experience. One shares the footway with many other people. A large proportion of them are carrying loads on their heads, The water is far below one side of the footway, and the wide roadway is on the other. From the footway, one can see a huge flower market and several bathing ghats lining the riverbank. A steady stream of traffic flows across the bridge, including buses painted in many colours; ancient, yellow-painted Ambassador taxi cabs; hand-hauled carts; trucks; and other motor vehicles. And all of this crosses a stretch of the holy Ganges River. Although traversing the present Howrah Bridge is a memorably enjoyable event, which I am happy to repeat whenever I visit the city, crossing the former pontoon bridge must have been at least as exciting.

An accident in a crowded street in Calcutta

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SOME YEARS AGO (in 1997), we attended the first performance at London’s Nehru Centre (in Mayfair) of a work, “Samaveda Opus 2”, by the composer John Taverner (1944-2013). Taverner introduced the piece. During his introduction he repeated the sentence “India wounds me” several times. I have no idea what he meant by this, but the words have stuck in my mind. Until our latest visit to Calcutta (Kolkata), which was in January 2024, India has never wounded us. However, one morning, an unfortunate incident occurred, which I will now describe.

We (my wife Lopa and I) decided that we would revisit the 18th century Armenian church of St Bortola, which is in Bara Bazar in North Calcutta. Before leaving the Tollygunge Club, where we were staying, we found out from a website on the Internet that the church was supposed to be open. After enjoying good coffee at Blue Tokay in Bahrison’s bookshop on Park Street, we hailed a yellow and black Ambassador cab. The driver knew where we wanted to go and drove us through ever increasingly congested streets to Netaji Subhas Road in Bara Bazar. In this crowded street, the traffic was so bad that vehicles could barely move. As we were quite near to St Bortola, we disembarked, having decided to walk the rest of the way. As it happened, the narrow side streets along which we wended our way were so full of people that it would have been almost impossible for a taxi to go along them.

Busy bazaars always fascinate me. The streets in the part of Bara Bazaar near to the church were no exception. As we walked along them, we realised that we were in a district that was home to the shops and stores of merchants who sold chemicals in wholesale quantities. After negotiating the crowds in a couple of lanes, we spotted to spire of St Bortola, towering above the chaotic ensemble of buildings below it. We found the entrance to the compound containing the church. There were several men, including some security personnel, sitting in the porch. They all were very sure that visitors were not allowed to visit the church, nor even to photograph it. We protested that the website had claimed it would be open. We were told that if we wanted to view the church, we would first have to get special permission from the Armenian College (which is close to Park Street).

Having failed to gain access to the Armenian Church, we decided to visit the nearby Roman Catholic cathedral – The Cathedral of the Most Holy Rosary on Brabourne Road, almost opposite the Magen David Synagogue. Brabourne Road is one of the main thoroughfares carrying traffic to and from the Howrah Bridge, which crosses the Hooghly River. To say that this road as extremely busy is an understatement. Lined with stalls, the pavements are almost un-negotiable. So, pedestrians, including us walk along the edges of the roadway. People walk in both directions, often carrying heavy loads – usually on their heads. Added to this, many people seem to be in a great hurry and think nothing of rudely pushing aside fellow pedestrians. Meanwhile, buses, cars, wagons, rickshaws, heavy trucks, bicycles, motorbikes, and a variety of other wheeled vehicles rush past the pedestrians on the street. We experienced all this on a hot mid-morning.

We had to cross Brabourne Road to reach the cathedral. Fortunately, most of the traffic came to a stop briefly at a red traffic signal, and we joined a crowd of people swarming across the road. We began negotiating the crowds in an attempt to reach the cathedral. Then, it happened.

A wagon loaded with filled white sacks approached us. The sacks projected beyond the sides of the wagon. There were so many people walking along the side of the road that it was impossible for us to get out of the way of this heavily laden vehicle. Suddenly, one of the sacks hit Lopa’s shoulder, and she was sent flying. I was horrified. Luckily, she was thrown away from the road and her fall was cushioned by soft goods on the flimsy trestle tables of some pavement vendors. Although very shocked and extremely upset, she escaped major injury. Fortunately, her only injury was a small graze on her hand. She had had a lucky escape.

Much to my surprise, after a few minutes, Lopa decided we should walk the short distance to the cathedral. This we managed without any further unfortunate incidences. The compound – a peaceful garden in front of the west end of the church was open. However, when we reached the church, it was locked up. Someone sitting on the porch informed us that it was only opened once a week – on Sundays, and only for one mass.

By now, we had had our fill of Bara Bazaar. We hailed an Ambassador taxi to take us back to the Tollygunge Club. When Lopa related her unfortunate incident to the driver, he told us that Bara bazar is a bad area filled with ‘badmashs’ (i.e., bad or unprincipled people).

This unfortunate accident in Bara Bazaar was, as far as I can recall, the first time (in 30 years) that India wounded us. Having said that, I am sure it was not a physical injury that led John Taverner to say “India wounds me”.

RELICS OF A GREAT INDIAN WRITER AT A LIBRARY IN CALCUTTA

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THE CALCUTTA CLUB (in Kolkata) was founded in 1907. Unlike other ‘elite’ clubs in existence at that time, it admitted members regardless of their ethnic background. The Club has a library consisting of several rooms arranged in a line, each one connecting to the next. At the far end of the library, there is a locked door bearing the label:

“Nirad C Chaudhuri Corner”.

Nirad Chaudhuri was one of 20th century India’s great writers. Born in 1897 at Kishoreganj – a place that is now in Bangladesh, but was then in British East Bengal – he died in Oxford (UK), having passed his 101st birthday. He was an original thinker whose views have not been shared by everyone. He wrote about India and its history in an incisive way that was not fettered by the conventional ideas of his contemporaries. In the 1970s, he shifted from India to England, and settled in Oxford. A few years ago, we met and were befriended by his son Prithvi – now a physically and intellectually active octogenarian. When we are staying at the Tollygunge Club (in south Kolkata), we often meet him after breakfast to chat and enjoy cups of coffee.

During one of our morning meetings, he told us how his father’s books and other possessions were shipped to India after his demise. He mentioned that some of these things are now stored in a room at the library of the Calcutta Club in what has been called the ‘Nirad Chaudhuri Corner’. As we expressed interest in seeing this, he said that he would ring the relevant Calcutta Club committee member to arrange for us to view his father’s collection. Although the Club feel they were given the items, Prithvi said that he had simply lent them. The matter is currently being contested in court. He told us that although there is much to see at the Calcutta Club, some of his father’s collection – notably his collection of books written in French – have been stored elsewhere.

The following day, we visited the Club’s library, where a librarian showed us to, and then unlocked, the Nirad Chaudhuri Corner. Apart from books that belonged to Nirad, there are paintings and other objects. One of these is the Royal Proclamation that was written when he was awarded the honour of the Commander of the British Empire (‘CBE’) in 1992. There are also several objets d’art including decorative ceramics (plates and cups), an ancient Egyptian sculpture, some wine glasses, a bottle of vintage port, a set of the first UK metric currency coins to have been issued, and many other things. The paintings include a well-executed hand-painted copy of a picture by Monet – a famous French impressionist. Prithvi told us that when his father bought the painting, he paid a great deal of money for it. Some of the family disapproved, but as Prithvi rightly said, it was his own money.

After examining the Corner, we walked back through the library. On the way, I spotted a small, framed manuscript. It was labelled “Original Signature of Mr Satyajit Ray Membership No. R211”. For those who do not know, Satyajit Ray (1921-1992), born in Bengal, was one of India’s most famous film directors.

Thanks to Prithvi, we were able to see a fascinating collection of possessions once owned by a great Indian writer. Almost hidden in the Calcutta Club’s library, I doubt that many of its members have seen it or are even aware of its existence.

Exclusion of Indians even after India became independent

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WE HAVE STAYED in the guest accommodation at Calcutta’s Tollygunge Club several times. On our most recent visit, I spent a few minutes looking at the boards on which the names of the Club’s past Presidents are listed.

Between the year in which the Club was founded – 1895 – and 1968 – twenty-one years after Indian Independence- all of the Presidents had British surnames.
In 1969, the post was held by Brigadier RB Chopra. His surname is Indian. He was succeeded in 1970 by HA Whittle – someone with a British surname. Mr SP Achary, who was the next President (in 1971) had an Indian surname.

Mr Achary was followed by CJN Will CBE in 1973. Thereafter, most, but not all, of the Presidents had Indian sounding surnames. An exception was the President in 1979, who was AWG Macintyre, CBE. He was a senior executive in the Dunlop tyre company.

Seeing all of these Presidents with British surnames holding their positions so long after India became independent got me wondering. Already I knew that even after independence, some private clubs and other institutions in India restricted admission to Europeans and refused entry to all but a very few Indians. I became curious to know when the Tollygunge Club began welcoming Indians as members. The answer is that the colour bar was lifted in 1961. Indians were then admitted as “Associate Members”. They had no voting rights. The first non-white Associate Member was the then Japanese consul. In 1967, the first batch of 30 Associate Members (I.e., Indians) were made Permanent Members. The first Indian President, Brig. Chopra was amongst this batch.

Various factors must have swayed the Club towards admitting Indians. One of these might have been the slowly declining British presence in Calcutta. Another was more serious. Cutting a long story short, in the late 1950s, the West Bengal government, acting to some extent on guidelines from Central government, began to question the future of the elite clubs of India.

The government of West Bengal drew up a plan to construct a housing estate on the extensive grounds of the Tollygunge Club golf course. The clubhouse would have then been converted to some kind of communal amenity. These plans caused great concern to Calcutta’s British community. This plan was aborted. I have heard one explanation of why this happened, but it would be best if I do not reveal it.

Declining Club revenues and increased taxation must have also led to the Club enlarging its membership by accepting Indians as full members. During the very early 1970s, my father-in-law, a senior executive in a large company, was offered membership by the Tollygunge Club. He turned down the offer because he was reluctant to join a club that had refused membership to Indians for so many years after India became independent.

It is fortunate that the Tollygunge Club with its lovely grounds has survived because, although still quite exclusive, it is a wonderful place to relax and make new friends.

Almost paperless at the airport in Calcutta

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OUR TAXI PULLED up outside the departure section of Calcutta’s huge airport terminal on the 20th of January 2024. We were dismayed to see the extremely long lines of people waiting with trolleys laden with assorted baggage. They were all waiting to pass through the police security check points to enter the terminal.

We soon realised that even if we were to have been at the head of one of these queues, we would not have been able to pass through the checkpoint without having first registered with DijiYatra.

If you have not flown from an Indian airport recently, you will be as puzzled as we were. DijiYatra is an electronic system depending on AI facial recognition to allow passengers to pass the various checkpoints on their way to the ‘plane without having to keep on showing paper documents at each point.

An app exists for DijiYatra, but we did not have this on our telephones. Looking perplexed, an airport official working for our airline, Indigo, led us to some electronic terminals. A man standing by it entered our PNR code, and took pictures of our faces. Following thus we were each handed small flimsy squares of paper bearing our names, flight details and a QR code. We were directed to a policeman standing nearby.

The policeman scanned our DijiYatra paper slips and checked our passports against the faces now recorded in the system. After this, we were sent to one of the checkpoints next to the entrance to the terminal. There was only one person in front of us. After having our small paper slips and our faces scanned, gates opened and we could proceed to the baggage drop-off counters.

At another checkpoint at the entrance to the security checking area, we scanned our DijiYatra slips once again. When the system matched the slip to a scan of our faces, we proceeded into the security control area.

The idea behind DijiYatra is to reduce the use of paper checking and to replace it by facial recognition systems. All well and good, but in our experience the system did rely on keeping two easy-to-lose tiny bits of paper. I guess that had we downloaded the app, the paper slips would not have been required.

What puzzled me were the long queues. Everyone in them had registered for DijiYatra.

Words of advice to an early shopper in India

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TODAY, MY SHOULDER bag broke suddenly whilst on my way to Calcutta’s New Market – one of my favourite shopping districts. Humayun Place, which leads from Chowringhee to one side of New Market, is lined with pavement vendors. We stopped at one selling bags, and asked to see one that I hoped might be a suitable replacement for the bag whose strap had just broken.

Inside New Market in Calcutta

The bag was ‘ok’ but not ideal. We asked the price, and were quoted 950 rupees (about £9.50). We told the seller that seemed too much for such a bag. We told him that we had paid about 500 for the old bag less than a year ago. Hearing that, he said we could have it for 500, and as he spoke those words, he put it into a plastic carrier bag.

I was still not sure that this was the ideal replacement, and we began to walk away. The seller then offered us the bag for 400, saying that if we bought it would be his ‘bohni’ for the day. Hearing that and feeling that the bag was worth 400, we purchased it.

In India (and Pakistan), the custom of bohni is commonly observed. The bohni is the vendor’s first sale of the day (or at the start of some other defined period of time). Many shopkeepers believe that the bohni establishes the success of his or her business during the rest of the day.

So, one of the risks faced by those who shop soon after the stores or stalls open is they will be made to feel that they ought to buy something in order not to jeopardise the vendor’s success during the rest of the day. For, being the first to enter a shop or halt at a stall without purchasing a bohni is a bad omen for sellers.

Although I am sure most vendors who tell you that by making a purchase you are doing the bohni for the day are bona fide, there must be a few who try to achieve a sale by saying it is the bohni when it is not.