A few days back a young lady asked me to suggest a 'walk' in/around Calcutta. Calcutta is a city of such variety of colour and flavour, filth and spankiness, the old and the new. Any walk, just anywhere can be a delight if the perspective is correct and the power of absorption is high.
However to this young lady I suggested a trip to the Park Street Cemetery and a walk around the area..... Park Street, McLeod Street, Park Lane, Elliot Road, Ripon Street, Sheriff Lane, Kala Goonda Lane, Sudder Street. Lanes and by-lanes with narrow paths going through courtyards and bhaatikhanas and dhobikhanas. Strange and unknown cobbled paths ending in sudden cul-se-sacs. I have always loved this area and have wondered why an average Bengali is afeared of the Elliot Road para. It's safer than Kasba and Belghoria, let me tell you.
This area of Elliot Road-Ripon Street-McLeod Street used to be the Anglo Indiandom till about the mid or late seventies. In the seventies an exodus of Anglo Indians left for Canada and Australia and England. They left behind old magnificent rococo structures in various stages of dereliction. The houses had wooden staircases and crazy-china floors. And what ornate G.I balcony grille work !
It is not really strange that the Anglo Indians and the Muslims have always shared a symbiotic relationship. The culture, religion etc being different, they did however concur on some socio-economic indices, making them peaceful and friendly neighbours to each other.It is a matter of regret that once the Anglo-Indians started moving out, the Muslims (clearly the more affluent of the two) bought up most properties and converted the elegant old houses into slick- cemented tenements. The once gracious houses are but nostalgia today. The influx of the Muslim community in the last three decades has changed the entire picture of this kingdom. However, the charm still exists in bits and pieces and an occasional whiff of 'ball-curry and yellow rice' cooking on a Sunday afternoon can be most reassuring to lost souls like us who grew up with the Hennesseys and the Laurences and the Chaters of this ' Little England'.
To begin with, Anglo Indians and Eurasians, Portuguese and Goans are all clubbed together for the sake of convenience. Anyway they all lived together in more or less perfect harmony with, I think, religion (Roman Catholics and Protestants) forming an adhesive bond. The Bengal Baptist Union building (which is now falling apart, quite literally) used to be a solid octagonal shaped building with a deep verandah in the front. The wooden louvers (painted green) still exists and the steps (13 steps, if I remember rightly) going up gives the building a high plinth and the building has cellars underneath. (Incidentally so has several other buildings in this area).
The building which houses the Calcutta Muslim Orphanage at 25C Elliot Road is another beautiful red-brick building which obviously has seen better days. Yet the old charm still peeps out of the tall top floor windows and the magnificent balcony on the top floor. The old Naskar Bakery perhaps still exists. The Naskars came from East Pakistan, and started this bakery. The house is old and square with a courtyard inside which I do not think can be matched anywhere else in this city. A courtyard paved in golden yellow sandstone which in its moment of glory in the late evening shines like a sheet of gold. Neddless to say, the level of dereliction is high. At one time this area abounded in small-time bakeries making meringues and 'fairy cakes'. I wonder if anyone still remembers the street hawkers selling " Cakes....Cakes" in Ballygunge and Beadon Street, Kalighat and Bhawanipore. These hawkers came with black tin trunks on their heads selling pink and white iced cup cakes. "Saldhanas" was a popular brand. Old Mrs. Saldhana died. Her son emigrated to Australia. Another son stayed back, but he worked in the Tram Company. Alex, the grandson plays music for a living. End of fairy cakes in black boxes. These cakes were not too bad.
The Anglo Indians were (and are still are) warm, friendly fun living people. For many of us who grew up in the golden sixties and went to SXC or LH, their company, their homes, their festivals were shared by all of us. Similarly they had no qualms about coming to our Durga Puja or Saraswati Puja. Many of them were the best 'dhunuchi dancers' I have ever seen. These boys were naturally graceful and oh so full of music.
The Armenians too lived in this area. Old fashioned and gracious people. Old Mrs John may still be around. She does not however consider herself to be a 'true-blue' resident. First, her accommodation is rented. Second, Armenians are NOT Anglo Indians. Notwithstanding these two points, I consider her to be a very elegant lady (she can be a warrior too) for, she has been a great support to the Armenian Society, their Church and their School and College (William M Thackeray's house) for decades. The Armenian boys were mighty handsome and many of them went to School in the Darjeeling Hills. Many of them are still my friends. Old Mackertich John (the original Armenian) owned the Carlton Hotel, a part of the city's oldest hostelry. The building does not exist any more. It has been converted to an office block.
At one time there used to be trams on Elliot Road (now there are these monstrous autos) and there used to be a few 'ladies' special. These special trams used to take the Anglo Indian (read all those who lived on Elliot Road area) 'chicks' to office in the Dalhousie Square area. These girls were well dressed, and they knew how to carry their clothes. The SXC boys and the locals used to have big fights over these ladies in the 'ladies special'. The girls and boys were all very musical.
Mrs Misquita (from SXC) used to live in 61 Elliot Road and there are a few hundreds who learnt the piano from her. There were two pianos in her house, a Collard and Collard and also a high studio level Rachals. Even today, a search in this area might reveal a few dusty Steinway's or maybe a small English Holden. Mrs Peterson (also of SCX) was another true-blue resident and generations of SXC boys learnt their English Speech and Elocution from her and her sharp slaps. Mr. Melvyn Brown ( formerly of the SXC Library) and his son Warren still lives on what is called the Chotta Elliot Road in No.3. This old house is really beautiful inside. Warren Brown says it was built in 1901, and they have been living here since 1920. Nevermind the dates, the house is worth a visit and old Warren Brown is a store house of information on/about the community.
Mrs Misquita's house by itself was a large and airy flat. Huge bedrooms, huge verandahs. More to the point, the other house in the same compound still stands as a redbrick mansion. It now houses a nursing home.
All these old houses, with their old inmates have a story to tell. The wooden staircase (at one time polished), the cellars below the houses. (Shantam and Craig once broke open the netting and went in) hold such mysteries. There are so many stain glass windows, sandstone facades, regally constructed steps upto the high plinth ....... all these are waiting to give up the ghost, so to say.
The inside of the houses also are beautiful. Even now. Crazy china flooring, or else a bright red or black IPS flooring. An altar in almost every house, with photographs of Mother Mary and Sacred Heart of Jesus. Complete with small blue and red altar lights. Dark ebony or Burma teak furniture. Almost always some cats or dogs. Waterford glasses. Old Domit ceramic water filters. A hat/umbrella stand at the entrance. On Sundays the smell of yellow rice and ball curry. Chinese sausages on Free School Street. Osteria type of Chinese food (my children called it 'dirty anglo food') from a few old Chinese families. Heavenly taste. Authentic Chinese. Nothing dirty about it at all. We never fell sick. The 'gully' football which I played when I was six. Sanjoy played when he was a little older and Sajani and Shantam played till they were in School. Roughest version on 'footer' you can get in Calcutta. (Maybe the SXC backfield 'footer' games were as bad). Same gully, same football game. Equally rough. Only the ghost of the previous generation of players keeping a silent and watchful eye on the young and new boys.
A note must be made of all other communities who all lived here. All in complete harmony. Came from all parts of the country, all religion, all trades .... the tailor, the bhistiwallah, the butcher, the lala-man (grocer), the dhobi, the baker, the hooch-maker, the teacher, the priest, the jockey, the boxwallah, the telephone operator, the nurse, the law maker, the law breaker, the cabbie, the shippie, the old ricky men who carted the ladies to New Market, the bar tender, the can can dancer, the vet and the doctor. Such wonderful communal feeling. Never have I ever felt unsafe here. Never have I ever hesitated in letting my children run loose in the Elliot Road para. They played football, ate street food, learnt music, did choir practice, played hooky from School, danced on the streets, waded through floodwaters, went exploring wine-making on Sheriff Lane. And came out unscathed. Safest place to grow up in, no matter who says what.
One thing that is not be found on the streets of this mahalla is the typically Anglo Indian lingo. Not anymore. The soft sing-song accent, the choicest of expletives that used to splatter every sentence, the "I say, man" English which we grew up with is not here any more. The "Daramtallah" ( the h after the d is always dropped) trip of the young missy is greatly missed. The word "Ricky-man" (hand pulled rickshaw puller) is nonexistent . Gone too is the slow drawl of "....saalah". A totally local pronunciation of the word. All these have been replaced by the Bollywood Hindi / English. A version, I 'm afraid I am not very comfortable with.
With the old people nearly all gone (to Heaven or elsewhere), a walk in this area is sheer nostalgia. True enough some still live here. There are the Johnsons, the Braganzas, old Miss Eaton and her dogs and cats, the Futardos, the Pintos, the Purtys, the Bowens, the Rodricks, the de Donckers and some other families. There is also Debapriya Sen Gupta who lives in Nawab Sirajul Islam Lane. His is perhaps the only Bengali Hindu family to live here since 1949. Rahim Khan, the butcher stays on McLeod Street. Farley Rodrigues , a jolly old man on Elliot Road. The Bayliss family. My tailor old Masterji (Asraf) , who made my dresses when I was a baby and then a teenager. Who also stitches for Sajani and puts up with our collective nonsense.
A place to loaf. A place to gallivant. A place to sniff out nostalgia. A walk I take often enough. So does Sajani for old times sake. Shantam for 'footer' and music. Steeped in memories for me, but good enough for the new-comer.
Come, let's walk.
