I checked out the Potemkin pandals during Durga Pujo last weekend. It was my first visit to Calcutta. Any Bengali will tell you this disqualifies me from being an intellectual, as if the blog didn’t suffice.

Like China, Calcutta is now melding capitalism with communism, and its tech industry is booming. The outskirts were chockablock with tech company offices under construction. But that didn’t get in the way of some good-natured ethnic ribbing. Conversations from a politically incorrect weekend…

Solicited by a cabbie:

‘Dude, the strangest thing just happened — a Bengali just offered to do work for me. For money.’

‘What! Wait here, I’ll round up a protest. Ok, done.’

Talking about hip-hop:

‘I need to get some Chandrabindoo. It’s Bengali protest rock. Brilliant!’

‘I really think it was better in the original version by Tagore.’

Asked what I think of Calcutta:

‘Wide streets. Relaxed. Very Anglophilic.’

‘Ya think?’

After touching Anuvab’s parents’ feet:

‘Nice touch there, Vij.’

‘Dude, I’m Punjabi. We’re a feudal people. We’re practically Pashtun. You’re lucky I didn’t present your mom with a Kalashnikov and a goat.’

World politics:

‘Bush is so stupid!’

‘Yeah, Bush would never have been a Bengali.’

Introduced to legendary actor Soumitra Chatterjee:

‘Manish is a friend of my son’s. He is a leading New York film, theater and literature critic who invented electricity, spaceflight and the game of Twister.’

Err… just a blogger, actually.

‘You’ve seen his film Charulata?’

No.

‘What! Have you at least seen Pather Panchali?’

Sure (lying shamelessly to defend the family honor).

‘I’ve seen Charulata at least seven times! And how can you call yourself a critic?’

Text message to Anuvab: ‘H E L P’

Passing empty fields on the way to the airport:

‘See those tall white flowers? Those are kash phool, and you’ll only find them in Bengal.’ [Long rumination on Tagore, haikus and the kash phool motif in works about hemant, Bengal’s season between autumn and winter]

‘So you were saying something about Bongs and pretentiousness…’

Driving over the lake in the middle of Calcutta:

‘Manish, you are now experiencing a quintessentially Bengali moment: driving past the Lake and listening to Rabindra Sangeet on the way to Tolly.’

‘And talking about how wonderful it is to be a Bengali.’

On hanging out at Coffee House on College Street:

‘We used to meet there and work out the mysteries of the universe: art, theater, world politics.’

‘Actually, Coffee House automatically disqualified you from being a good student. Sitting around bullshitting was way too much fun!’

Bookless in Baghdad meets pantless in Calcutta:

‘You can’t wear jeans to the Saturday Club. Did you bring proper pants?’

No.

‘Go buy a pair! You never know when you’ll need pants. You can buy them from Pantaloon.’

I wonder what they sell.

‘Pants.’

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