The City that Feels Like a Warm Hug

I have always wondered what a city could possibly offer for it to be named the ‘city of joy’. So, in the pursuit of finding a piece of that happiness, what better place to go to than Kolkata itself? As soon as I reached the Howrah station, I was greeted by a porter in a white dhoti and red shirt who came up to me and offered to carry my luggage for me. Before I could say anything, he was already on his way with one suitcase balanced on his head and 2 duffel bags hanging from his arms, as he made his way through the crowd. I offered him some money and thanked him. He smiled at me and rushed towards the next person. I made my way to the yellow taxi stand, and after some bargaining, the driver finally agreed to take me to the hotel. I rolled down the windows to let the early morning breeze in. As soon as I entered the city, I could feel a sense of warmth. There was something romantic about this city. I watched as the sun’s touch turned the Hooghly River into molten gold. At 6 am, the sidewalks came alive as women balanced baskets of flowers, filling up the air with the scent of a portable garden. I finally reached the hotel. 

After a quick nap, I went out to explore the city. I first headed towards 6 Ballygunge Place, known for its authentic Bengali cuisine, for lunch. The restaurant was situated in the midst of other Italian and Asian restaurants. After glancing through the menu, I ordered ‘Macher Jhol’. Before I even had my first bite, the pungent aroma of the mustard oil blended well with the freshness of the coriander wafted its way to my nose. I mixed the curry with the rice and took a bite. It exceeded my expectations. The broth was soupy and light, contrary to what I had imagined. The earthiness of the turmeric and green chillies was balanced by the sweetness of the tomatoes. The fish brought a rich flavour to the broth. The subtle hint of lime seeped a subtle flavour into the dish. No ingredient was overpowering another. The food felt like a warm hug. 

Afterwards, I headed towards College Street. Every inch of the road was overflowing with endless rows of bookstalls. The shelves were filled with all kinds of literature to the brim. I was engulfed in the smell of old paper mixed with hot piping tea in clay cups being sold after every 5th book stall. By the time afternoon rolled around, the city went into a drowsy hush. The streets were not bustling with people. Some of the shops had their shutters closed as the owners went for their afternoon nap after lunch. Contrary to what I was used to, here people lived life at an unhurried pace. Maybe that is why the city was named ‘City of Joy’, where people did not live to work but rather worked to live. After buying some old classics, I headed towards the famous Indian Coffee House. 

In this city, tradition and modernity coexist. It was not like any regular modern cafe. It might not have looked like an aesthetically pleasing place, yet there was something that made it stand out. The heritage attached to it. It is considered to be the melting pot for people from all walks of life. From students to intellectuals, and even poets and artists. The vintage walls carried decades of conversations. Being the first work cooperative coffee shop to open after Independence had its charms in ways you might not be able to see when you first walk in, but as soon as you have the first sip of the cold coffee, it is as if the coffee house is welcoming you home. The heritage of the city thrived in the face of modern developments. Hidden corners like these keep the charm of the city alive even as new art cafes and Starbucks open up on every 2nd street. 

By the end of my 3-day trip, one conclusion that I have reached to accurately sum up the city is that it is a museum of contradictions. In one corner, there are old heritage buildings like the Victoria Memorial, Writers’ Building, or St Paul’s Cathedral, among many others. The walls of these colonial architectures whisper their tales, while on the other hand, there are modern cafes and art galleries humming with youthful energy. Rickshaws are being hand-pulled by men working to get enough money for their next meal past sleek metro lines. The streets echo with both people reading namaz as well as jazz music drifting its way through the nearby bars. It did not take long for the city to answer my question. Everyday life feels like poetry. No wonder it is labelled as the ‘city of joy’. 

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