Kolkata writes its personal Winter’s Tale.
Oori babba, bishon Thanda!
Winter is on its manner out of Kolkata, and so, alas, am I. I’ve shivered and snuggled my manner by means of it to my sweaters’ content material, moth balls turned to butterflies. Keep your kaala gaajar, I’ve gorged on kaancha gola, which is melt-in-the-mouth meld of chhena and the date palm’s contemporary yield of nolen gur. Yes, NG is season’s OG. Flowing darkish and gooey from earthen pots, pulverised from patali discs, it fires the creativity of Bengal’s magnificent, mishti-making moiras; how frivolously this phrase strokes the tongue, in contrast to the heavy squat of ‘halwai’. Nolen gur elevates even every-day payesh. The duo then throws curdling to the winds, and cuddles up with winter’s different boon, komola nebu – that’s oranges for these to whom life has handed solely a lemon.
Lowly cauliflower competes with palm-lofty nolen gur. Scoff not. Outlying Dhapa’s garbage-dump-turned-vegetable-gardens yield the crunchiest, whitest winter crop. Loaded on lorries, carted away in thela gadis, strung on bicycle handle-bars, it results in expectant kitchens. And in phoolkopir shinghara. For the Bong, discovering these florets on this distinctive samosa is like discovering that Netaji is alive.
As a lot ardour is unleashed in holding forth on sheet kaal illnesses. Like Azad Hind Army, the recounting marches by means of wheezing chests, frayed lungs and ‘shugaar’-laden blood. Dry ‘skeen’ has a buddy in Boro-leen, however air air pollution is now Enemy No. 1. It dominates dialog. And performs spoiler for the culturati who shrink back from once-iconic open-air concert events ‘because of terrible AQI’.
The courageous nonetheless cruise down winter-whipped ‘Gonga’ – because the Hooghly is grandly referred to as – previous dilapidated wharf-side warehouses, which a extra dynamic state would have modernised and monetised. Too a lot of each has claimed the opposite picnic outing. Sylvan bagan baris of the pale bhodrolok have succumbed to techie malldoms. But saucer-sized dahlias nonetheless stage their drama on mali-manicured lawns of industrialists’ mansions or grounds of Kolkata’s new, swanky soar. And a flaking outdated bungalow breathes one final gasp of glory through an excellent petunia-pansy border.
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Alec Smart mentioned: “The party’s over, but it’s never over for this political Pawarhouse.”
Disclaimer
This article is meant to carry a smile to your face. Any connection to occasions and characters in actual life is coincidental.
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