Oh' To be

in

Calcutta!!!

I have said in my earlier postings that I came down to Calcutta, now Kolkata.  My best days in life have been spent in Calcutta.

While I was in Calcutta people mostly talked with me in what we may call HindiUrdu.  What is the difference between these two languages?

Very small.  Time has come that we realised this.  Sooner the better.

So, while I was in I never cared about the religious bias.  In fact I have none.  We are Muslim only partially.  Hindustani we are fully.

In Calcutta, or even before me going to any part of Bengal, my mind was being subjected to poisoning by Marwaris.  They hated Bengalees beyond measure.  Why?  Ungratefulness is part of the character of the Marwari community mostly.  There are exceptions.  But these except do not make a rule.  Marwaris are Bengalee haters.

Marwaris are Bengalee haters, despite the fact that they have become what they only because of their coming down to Calcutta during the world war one. 

I have heard Suburto Mukherjee saying at the College Chowk, that if from anywhere there was an eviction of Bengalees (this obliquely meant Assam), Bengalees will throw out all the non-Bengalees from Bengal.  I do not mean to say that I agreed with him.  But whose blood does not boil when one looks at the dismembered body of the people of one's own ethnicity.  At that moment Suburto Mukherjee was right.  But, he never repeated this thing at any other occasion.

Come back to our dear Calcutta.  I landed in Calcutta sometime in 1974.  Initially I stayed at Zakaria Street.  With my curiosity I observed that the Marwaris lived nearby.  What was the linkage?

Mother tongues.  Marwaris could communicate with the Muslims of Colootola and Zakaria Street conveniently while in the Bengali localities they were taken as aliens.  These aliens reaped the harvest of the WWONE with both hands or rather with all the four arms, their mouths and every part of their body.

I stayed at Zakaria Street in an exploiters Guest House. It was named or perhaps it is still there.  This Guest House was named RAJSTHAN GUEST HOUSE.  Biharis coming from Bangladesh, took shelter here and then caught flights to go to Kathmandu.  I believe everyone knows that Biharis are rather more Bengalee haters than the Marwaris.  But the difference is this that most of the Biharis do not exploit Bengalees, while all the Marwaris do.

I found the Muslim community in Calcutta antagonistic to Hindus and Bengalees.  This community is rather freak.  They would hate everyoe....Once they knew that I was Pakistani they felt an attraction towards me.  We had long sittings.  I would not find any single Muslim who would call Hindus a good and loving community.  This ached my heart.  Are these sweet speaking so bad.  No.  It can not be.

After sometime I shifted myself to Dharamtola Street.  And there I realised neither the Hindus of any nomenclature nor Bengalees nor Muslims were bad people.  It was only how you dealt with them.  I could adapt myself to their ways of life.

I have heard so many gossips about Mother Kali and Moula Ali confrontations.  Some indecent stories were also told.  I am not the one who believes things with out seeing and experiencing.

I went to Bhawanipore and Kalibaari.  I entered the temple.  I saw a horizon to horizon, ocean of love sending its sweet cool breeze to me.

To verify whether or not the stories were correct I went right upto the the image Kali.  I was caught by a Prohit.  He asked me for a "Dachchhna" ....I was almost broke.  I said I have only coins with me.

The prohit told me.  Give any thing.  It does not matter.  What matters is your devotion.  I gave a rupee coin.  The Prohit wanted to know my name.  I told him, I am a Muslim.  The Prohit replied that to Mother, you are her son.  A son may have any name. 

He prayed for me uttering my name as Husain. 

I came back.

There was not a crack in my faith, belief, way of life.  I remained the same person....no....no....I was improved.  I had learned to tolerate. I am putting this thing in print over here.

One does not change by speaking any other communties language, looking its ways of life.  Sharing its happiness.  Anything.

I started speaking Bengalee.  Why??

Everyone would meet from the Bengalee community would talk to me in Hindustani.  I did not approve of it.  Why must I continue myself to remain at the receiving end.  These Bengalees would shower their love over me by using my language for communication.  Why must not I reply back in my defective Bangla. 

Slowly and gradually...I felt I was speaking somewhat better Bangla than most Bengalees do. 

I picked up for my friendship mostly Bengalees.  One of them was so close to me that if anyone would speak a single word against me he would feel like killing him. 

Once a Muslim Dhobi, lost one of my bed-sheets.   It had cost me only Rs. 10/-.  I charged him and wanted him to make good the loss.

At this stage he said:

"Aap jhoot bol rahe hain."

My Bengalee friend listen it...and took this Dhobbi to the parapet of the compound and hung him by his neck demanding:

"Maafi maango...warna abhi neechey gira doonga."

That Dhobi was shaken. 

Our love continues.  I am so far way from this friend of mine.  But I yearn to meet him.  I am prepared to go a thousand miles to meet this friend of mine.

How many have friend like I have.

I wont say none...but I would emphatically say:

VERY VERY VERY FEW.