Showing posts with label Kolkata. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kolkata. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
RAJEN BALI
What did I do in Kolkata other than watch cricket on TV, drink beer and over-eat? Talk with Rajen Bali - two septuagenarian chums sharing experiences and opinions and teasing each other. The teasing grows from affection and trust in a relationship. Rajen is a fine man, honourable, generous, determined in his principles. highly literate, widely read, widely traveled...and skillful in the kitchen.
DISGUST WITH LABOUR
KOLKATA: MARCH 28
Cooked by the Colonel, delicious prawns for dinner and one more sad good-bye.
The Kolkata edition of The Telegraph ran a flattering piece on me this morning. I am stopped twice by bikers on the road to the station.
Loading the bike is easy, the sleeper comfortable. I chat with an English woman, a child psychologist, member of a tour group off to trek in the foothills of the Himalayas. Where did trek originate? Is walk inadequate? Less sexy? Less commercial?
She has been a Labour supporter since childhood and a Labour Councilor. The present Labour hierarchy disgusts her. She will either vote Liberal Democrat or abstain.
Cooked by the Colonel, delicious prawns for dinner and one more sad good-bye.
The Kolkata edition of The Telegraph ran a flattering piece on me this morning. I am stopped twice by bikers on the road to the station.
Loading the bike is easy, the sleeper comfortable. I chat with an English woman, a child psychologist, member of a tour group off to trek in the foothills of the Himalayas. Where did trek originate? Is walk inadequate? Less sexy? Less commercial?
She has been a Labour supporter since childhood and a Labour Councilor. The present Labour hierarchy disgusts her. She will either vote Liberal Democrat or abstain.
FAREWELL TO KOLKATA
KOLKATA: MARCH 28
My last day in Kolkata and Rajen Bali promises me a treat. Off we march for breakfast, the Colonel leading, three swings of his arms, three claps. Come on, chaps. First the South India Restaurant, then to buy prawns for my farewell supper.
Crows and a few dogs pick at a heap of stinking refuse outside the market. Why isn't it cleared away? Ask the Municipal Government.
Rajen has shopped at this market for the thirty years. He barks witticisms at the stall holders, pokes at strange (to me) vegetables and fruit, explains their culinary usage – such is shopping with a two-legged encyclopedia of the subcontinent's food.
A small skinny fish merchant scoops prawns from a basket for the Colonel's inspection. The Colonel approves. Fish gleam on a slab, no ice. Trussed chickens lie silent. Two black goats wait the knife. A fresh carcass hanging from an iron hook drips blood into an open drain; a teenage butcher drags the skin from a second.
The Colonel selects limes, a red onion.
We are pulled home by a bare-foot rickshaw wallah.
Easy to salve your conscience and take a tuk-tuk.
Rajen Bali, ever practical, has pushed up the rickshaw wallahs' wages.
How?
By hiring them and paying 15% above the standard fare. Do this frequently and the raise becomes the norm.
My last day in Kolkata and Rajen Bali promises me a treat. Off we march for breakfast, the Colonel leading, three swings of his arms, three claps. Come on, chaps. First the South India Restaurant, then to buy prawns for my farewell supper.
Crows and a few dogs pick at a heap of stinking refuse outside the market. Why isn't it cleared away? Ask the Municipal Government.
Rajen has shopped at this market for the thirty years. He barks witticisms at the stall holders, pokes at strange (to me) vegetables and fruit, explains their culinary usage – such is shopping with a two-legged encyclopedia of the subcontinent's food.
A small skinny fish merchant scoops prawns from a basket for the Colonel's inspection. The Colonel approves. Fish gleam on a slab, no ice. Trussed chickens lie silent. Two black goats wait the knife. A fresh carcass hanging from an iron hook drips blood into an open drain; a teenage butcher drags the skin from a second.
The Colonel selects limes, a red onion.
We are pulled home by a bare-foot rickshaw wallah.
Easy to salve your conscience and take a tuk-tuk.
Rajen Bali, ever practical, has pushed up the rickshaw wallahs' wages.
How?
By hiring them and paying 15% above the standard fare. Do this frequently and the raise becomes the norm.
MOI AMORE
KOLKATA: MARCH 27
The Colonel and I are invited to lunch at a new restaurant opened by Kolkata's prophet of fusion cooking, Pradip Rozario. Padrip trained with the Oberoi Group both in India and in Europe. The Kurry Klub at 176, Sarat Bose Road was his initial gamble. The first two years were tough. Next came K K's Fusion. Now Moi Amore on the top floor of a plush new shopping mall and cinema complex. The décor is light, smart and friendly. The food is delicious – giant tiger prawns lightly grilled.
The Colonel and I are invited to lunch at a new restaurant opened by Kolkata's prophet of fusion cooking, Pradip Rozario. Padrip trained with the Oberoi Group both in India and in Europe. The Kurry Klub at 176, Sarat Bose Road was his initial gamble. The first two years were tough. Next came K K's Fusion. Now Moi Amore on the top floor of a plush new shopping mall and cinema complex. The décor is light, smart and friendly. The food is delicious – giant tiger prawns lightly grilled.
BRIT BRITS ARE CRAP AT 20/20
Indian Premier League 20/20 competition is in full swing. Sadly no matches at Kolkata's Eden Gardens before April 1. Rajen and I make do with television. Sachin Tendulkar is God. Collingwood is the only Brit with Brit grandparents. The two other Brits have parents or grandparents from the subcontinent. Thank God for Asian immigration.
IS HOGARTHIAN TRITE?
KOLKATA: MARCH 26
I love Kolkata. Communist State Governments, unfriendly to business, have curtailed investment. One result: the city suffers from less industrial pollution than Delhi or Mumbai. A second plus: no arguments with cab drivers. Cabs have meters, drivers switch them on. Shopping in the markets is a pleasure. Stall keepers are friendly. The language is musical. More English is spoken. I can communicate.
I explore the city while Rajen organises the final stages of my journey into Sikkim and the North East States. Few relics of the Mughals survive. Those of the British Raj have done better. The Writers Building (1780), headquarters of the East India Company, now houses the Government Secretariat. Built to impress the natives, the palatial Government House in immense pleasure gardens is home to the Governor of West Bengal. The Governor is a political appointee. I haven't written of the slums, that vile Hogarthian world glimpsed down alleys. Nor did I photograph them. The denizens deserve more of us than serve as illustrations for a Blog.
I love Kolkata. Communist State Governments, unfriendly to business, have curtailed investment. One result: the city suffers from less industrial pollution than Delhi or Mumbai. A second plus: no arguments with cab drivers. Cabs have meters, drivers switch them on. Shopping in the markets is a pleasure. Stall keepers are friendly. The language is musical. More English is spoken. I can communicate.
I explore the city while Rajen organises the final stages of my journey into Sikkim and the North East States. Few relics of the Mughals survive. Those of the British Raj have done better. The Writers Building (1780), headquarters of the East India Company, now houses the Government Secretariat. Built to impress the natives, the palatial Government House in immense pleasure gardens is home to the Governor of West Bengal. The Governor is a political appointee. I haven't written of the slums, that vile Hogarthian world glimpsed down alleys. Nor did I photograph them. The denizens deserve more of us than serve as illustrations for a Blog.
CHINESE STREET MARKET
KOLKATA: MARCH 26
Street breakfast at the Chinese street market: a ten liter aluminum pot of chicken soup simmers over coals on the sidewalk. The squatting stall holder rinses bowls in a bucket – sufficiently clean for the Colonel and I. One of our party, a woman, has brought her own cup. Her husband talks on his mobile while Rajen discusses chicken stock with the cook. Rajen remembers her mother. Beyond the stalls, women chop piles of salvaged timber into kindling. One feeds a baby at the breast. A family have roofed a crack between two shacks. The mother washes two toddlers in the gutter. Our next stop, stuffed dumplings...
Street breakfast at the Chinese street market: a ten liter aluminum pot of chicken soup simmers over coals on the sidewalk. The squatting stall holder rinses bowls in a bucket – sufficiently clean for the Colonel and I. One of our party, a woman, has brought her own cup. Her husband talks on his mobile while Rajen discusses chicken stock with the cook. Rajen remembers her mother. Beyond the stalls, women chop piles of salvaged timber into kindling. One feeds a baby at the breast. A family have roofed a crack between two shacks. The mother washes two toddlers in the gutter. Our next stop, stuffed dumplings...
Sunday, April 04, 2010
KRAZY KEBABS
KOLKATA: MARCH 25
Krazy Kebab is newly opened and designer modern - somewhere to take a business client. The food is superb and Westerners will find ordering easier than at Kasturi. The kebabs are good. Try the lamb chops, Adrak ke panje. They melt in your mouth. Or the chef's own invention: Ghost Aftab. And there is an excellent value lunch-time buffet. The chef in his whites and tall hat sits with us. He was an executive chef with the Taj Hotel Group. He left to build his own small Empire. Good fortune to him.
Krazy Kebab is newly opened and designer modern - somewhere to take a business client. The food is superb and Westerners will find ordering easier than at Kasturi. The kebabs are good. Try the lamb chops, Adrak ke panje. They melt in your mouth. Or the chef's own invention: Ghost Aftab. And there is an excellent value lunch-time buffet. The chef in his whites and tall hat sits with us. He was an executive chef with the Taj Hotel Group. He left to build his own small Empire. Good fortune to him.
KASTURI
KOLKATA: MARCH 24
Kasturi at 7/A Mustaque Ahmed Street is the oldest Bengali restaurant in Kolkata. Climb stairs to a narrow room. Sit at a plastic topped table, no table linen, no menu, and eat fresh sea food. A waiter offers a dozen different dishes. I would be bewildered, nervous. Rajen selects. All are delicious. Salt water prawn in a sauce is extraordinary.
We sit in the proprietor's office after lunch. Rajen and the proprietor talk of cooking. Why no menu? Because dishes and prices change each day. The proprietor does the buying at the fish market. Quality and knowledge of what his customers can afford govern his choice.
Kasturi at 7/A Mustaque Ahmed Street is the oldest Bengali restaurant in Kolkata. Climb stairs to a narrow room. Sit at a plastic topped table, no table linen, no menu, and eat fresh sea food. A waiter offers a dozen different dishes. I would be bewildered, nervous. Rajen selects. All are delicious. Salt water prawn in a sauce is extraordinary.
We sit in the proprietor's office after lunch. Rajen and the proprietor talk of cooking. Why no menu? Because dishes and prices change each day. The proprietor does the buying at the fish market. Quality and knowledge of what his customers can afford govern his choice.
OLD MEN ENTRAPPED IN MEMORIES
KOLKATA: MARCH 24
Travelers eat mediocre food much of the time. Ignorant of where to eat we consult guide books or trust to chance. Writers of guide books are equally ignorant and chance is seldom the path to glory.
Encyclopedic knowledge of Kolkata makes Rajen Bali a brilliant pilot through the city's culinary highways and byways. First a cold beer at a bar. One bottle is sufficient. We sit quietly, content in each other's company, and tell tales of what made us who we are.
"Boring," my younger sons would say. Or, "Heard that..."
True, perhaps, but what would they prefer? Silence?
As for food, Rajen's tastes are eclectic. Plush or plastic table is immaterial. Only the food counts.
Travelers eat mediocre food much of the time. Ignorant of where to eat we consult guide books or trust to chance. Writers of guide books are equally ignorant and chance is seldom the path to glory.
Encyclopedic knowledge of Kolkata makes Rajen Bali a brilliant pilot through the city's culinary highways and byways. First a cold beer at a bar. One bottle is sufficient. We sit quietly, content in each other's company, and tell tales of what made us who we are.
"Boring," my younger sons would say. Or, "Heard that..."
True, perhaps, but what would they prefer? Silence?
As for food, Rajen's tastes are eclectic. Plush or plastic table is immaterial. Only the food counts.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
THROWN OUT OF THE CLUB
KOLKTA: MARCH 23
Rajen Bali and I are invited to dinner at Kolkata's Tollygunge Country Club. Rajen believes that the dress code is casual. I don't do casual. I have scruff or smart. Smart is bespoke trousers tailored in dark blue cotton at an attic sweat shop in Cochin's Jew Town. My navy shirt is hand-woven cotton (support the artisan) from the Rajastahn State Kadi Emporium in Jaisalmer. Add polished black brogues and a touch of hair gel and I look the works. Our host's wife and teen daughter are equally smart. So is Rajen. Only our host is scruff in a curly-collared short-sleeve sports shirt with a logo and boat shoes. So who gets us banned from the club restaurant and bars? Me. My shirt is Indian. It doesn't have a collar. Collars are obligatory. We eat in a no-doors shed with the mosquitoes.
DRINKING WITH COLONEL
KOLKATA: MARCH 21
We visit a bar that has been in the same family for four generations. The bar is a large, low-ceilinged rectangular room with some fifty marble-top tables and upright chairs. It is a utilitarian room. No decoration. The entrance off a side street is unobtrusive, no name on the door. Look for it and you wouldn't find it. The owner wishes it to remain so. Publicity is anathema. Bring out a camera and you'd be ejected. The clientele range from judges to market traders, pensioners to youthful whippersnappers. They have in common a comfortable thirst and a liking for calm conversation. Drunks and loud-mouths are banned. Only beer is served, cold beer by the bottle paid for in advance. Snack salesman circle the tables - delicious fish fingers – and the A/C works.
We visit a bar that has been in the same family for four generations. The bar is a large, low-ceilinged rectangular room with some fifty marble-top tables and upright chairs. It is a utilitarian room. No decoration. The entrance off a side street is unobtrusive, no name on the door. Look for it and you wouldn't find it. The owner wishes it to remain so. Publicity is anathema. Bring out a camera and you'd be ejected. The clientele range from judges to market traders, pensioners to youthful whippersnappers. They have in common a comfortable thirst and a liking for calm conversation. Drunks and loud-mouths are banned. Only beer is served, cold beer by the bottle paid for in advance. Snack salesman circle the tables - delicious fish fingers – and the A/C works.
READY TO PARTY
KOLKATA: MARCH 21
Two Old Blimps are ready to party. Down the stairs we hobble and out onto the sidewalk. Rajen Bali swings both arms forward in time with his first few steps, swing and clap, swing and clap. It is a gesture common to school games masters and army instructors. “Come on chaps, let's go.”
I am the only chap and I'm ready - though not speedy.
Neither is Rajen Bali. An ankle smashed by three trucks slows me down. A freak wave did for the Colonel's knee.
We don't give a damn.
We make a great pair.
Two Old Blimps are ready to party. Down the stairs we hobble and out onto the sidewalk. Rajen Bali swings both arms forward in time with his first few steps, swing and clap, swing and clap. It is a gesture common to school games masters and army instructors. “Come on chaps, let's go.”
I am the only chap and I'm ready - though not speedy.
Neither is Rajen Bali. An ankle smashed by three trucks slows me down. A freak wave did for the Colonel's knee.
We don't give a damn.
We make a great pair.
A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS
KOLKATA: MARCH 21
The Balis are a Hindu warrior Clan from the North West Frontier region of what is now Pakistan. Partition exiled them to India. Rajen was raised in Lucknow and served in the Army through much of the border States and with the United Nations in the Congo. On retirement, he moved to Kolkata primarily because he was unknown and wished to begin a new life. In doing so, he deliberately abandoned both his possessions and the privileges of rank – a clean sweep. Natives of Kolkata are restricted by habit. Rajen is an explorer. I benefit from his exploration.
The Balis are a Hindu warrior Clan from the North West Frontier region of what is now Pakistan. Partition exiled them to India. Rajen was raised in Lucknow and served in the Army through much of the border States and with the United Nations in the Congo. On retirement, he moved to Kolkata primarily because he was unknown and wished to begin a new life. In doing so, he deliberately abandoned both his possessions and the privileges of rank – a clean sweep. Natives of Kolkata are restricted by habit. Rajen is an explorer. I benefit from his exploration.
Friday, April 02, 2010
STAYING WITH THE COLONEL
KOLKATA: MARCH 20
Rajen Bali is married. His wife is away in Delhi visiting their only son. I am to occupy their spare room for the remains of my stay in Kolkata. How do we pass our time? Talk endlessly of the past and of places visited and, disapprovingly, of the state of the world. Where has honour gone?
Elderly gentlemen, we quickly establish habits. Writing first, then breakfast, followed by more writing for which cold beer is the reward. Then lunch. But what a lunch...
Rajen Bali is married. His wife is away in Delhi visiting their only son. I am to occupy their spare room for the remains of my stay in Kolkata. How do we pass our time? Talk endlessly of the past and of places visited and, disapprovingly, of the state of the world. Where has honour gone?
Elderly gentlemen, we quickly establish habits. Writing first, then breakfast, followed by more writing for which cold beer is the reward. Then lunch. But what a lunch...
MEETING THE COLONEL
KOLKATA: MARCH 19
Rajen Bali is introduced to me by Modhurima Sinha of the Taj. We sit together in the lobby of the Taj Bengal. Rajen Bali is the shorter by three inches and the younger by four years. He boasts a hawk's nose. Mine is snubbed. We are both overweight and bearded and we both served in the army, I as a lowly lieutenant, Rajen as a Lieutenant-Colonel. Rajen has put his retirement to good use both as a successful painter and one of India's foremost travel writers and writers on food. Modhurima Sinha probably sees us as grumpy old men and made for each other. So it proves...
Rajen Bali is introduced to me by Modhurima Sinha of the Taj. We sit together in the lobby of the Taj Bengal. Rajen Bali is the shorter by three inches and the younger by four years. He boasts a hawk's nose. Mine is snubbed. We are both overweight and bearded and we both served in the army, I as a lowly lieutenant, Rajen as a Lieutenant-Colonel. Rajen has put his retirement to good use both as a successful painter and one of India's foremost travel writers and writers on food. Modhurima Sinha probably sees us as grumpy old men and made for each other. So it proves...
TORTOISE PROGRESS
KOLKATA: MARCH 18
A guest swims lengths of the pool as I breakfast at a window table at the Taj Bengal. I must face the laptop keyboard. The latest BA High Life piece needs final editing. The Guardian requires 600 words. I am late with 1500 words for MCN and this Blog is way behind. I occupy the same window table for a lunch-time meeting with the hotel's Director of PR, Mrs Modhurima Sinha. Six tourists lounge on sunbeds the far side of the pool. I head for my room. Dinner is Room Service Biriani and 30 minutes of IPL cricket live on TV. I call Bernadette at midnight and collapse into bed.
Have I finished? Of course not.
Why do I write so slowly?
A guest swims lengths of the pool as I breakfast at a window table at the Taj Bengal. I must face the laptop keyboard. The latest BA High Life piece needs final editing. The Guardian requires 600 words. I am late with 1500 words for MCN and this Blog is way behind. I occupy the same window table for a lunch-time meeting with the hotel's Director of PR, Mrs Modhurima Sinha. Six tourists lounge on sunbeds the far side of the pool. I head for my room. Dinner is Room Service Biriani and 30 minutes of IPL cricket live on TV. I call Bernadette at midnight and collapse into bed.
Have I finished? Of course not.
Why do I write so slowly?
Thursday, April 01, 2010
A LADY WITH VERY SPECIAL TASTES
KOLKATA: MARCH 17
I sit on a sofa in an outer office on the top floor of a commercial building in central Kolkata.
The invitation was for 7 pm to 7:30. It is now 8:30. I have read the Times of India, The Telegraph and The Statesman. Sensible would have been to leave an hour ago. On the other hand the woman I expected to meet is my only contact here in Kolkata. I am told that she is rich, that she is interesting, that she does interesting things with her money. I am a writer. Interesting people are the grist for my writer's mill. The lady arrives at 8:45. She is short, plump, middle-aged and has steel chains woven into her hair. The chains reach midway down her thighs. Her desk is piled with pink purses encased in glass-bead spaniels. The curved doggy tail is the handle. Wow!
I sit on a sofa in an outer office on the top floor of a commercial building in central Kolkata.
The invitation was for 7 pm to 7:30. It is now 8:30. I have read the Times of India, The Telegraph and The Statesman. Sensible would have been to leave an hour ago. On the other hand the woman I expected to meet is my only contact here in Kolkata. I am told that she is rich, that she is interesting, that she does interesting things with her money. I am a writer. Interesting people are the grist for my writer's mill. The lady arrives at 8:45. She is short, plump, middle-aged and has steel chains woven into her hair. The chains reach midway down her thighs. Her desk is piled with pink purses encased in glass-bead spaniels. The curved doggy tail is the handle. Wow!
A SOAK FOR THE SOAK
KOLKATA: MARCH 17
How ever great the number of rooms, the best hotels make each guest feel unique and treasured. Is it years of training or brilliant selection of staff? Probably an amalgam of both.
Taj staff are brilliant.
First goal? Soak in a hot bath...And soak and soak. Then sprawl on a perfect mattress and check my address book. Then connect the laptop to the WiFi for mail.
Is Bernadette OK?
Has my suicidal Last Born survived a further week of snow boarding?
What news of my other children and my grandchildren?
What work am I late delivering?
And what funds remain in the bank? This last is always a major anxiety on a long journey.
How ever great the number of rooms, the best hotels make each guest feel unique and treasured. Is it years of training or brilliant selection of staff? Probably an amalgam of both.
Taj staff are brilliant.
First goal? Soak in a hot bath...And soak and soak. Then sprawl on a perfect mattress and check my address book. Then connect the laptop to the WiFi for mail.
Is Bernadette OK?
Has my suicidal Last Born survived a further week of snow boarding?
What news of my other children and my grandchildren?
What work am I late delivering?
And what funds remain in the bank? This last is always a major anxiety on a long journey.
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