Looking Back to 6 Decades.

Looking Back to 6 Decades.
Jayanta Majumdar, 1963 Metallurgical Engineering

An Exciting Wedding We Attended as VIPs
It was just before 1970s. Many of our 1963 batchmates were still bachelors and only a few were married. Some of us who could manage to get a job in Kolkata, used to have regular gather in the Coffee House. One fine evening Sambudhdha (Bose) shared that our Ashim (Chatterjee) was getting married on the following Sunday, and he has invited all of us to join his wedding party as borjatris.

The wedding venue was Khardah and Nirmal (Banerjee) living in Sodepur had our individual invitation cards. We came to know that Nirmal would guide us to the marriage venue. We were instructed to be in our best baryatri attire however, we were more excited to be in a batch of borjatri battalion.

On that Sunday late afternoon I hired a yellow cab from Sealdah (my place of stay) and picked up Chira (Ghosh) from Garpar and Sambudhdha (Basu) from Shyambazar and then we all left for Sodepore to pick up Nirmal (Banerjee), our guide of the evening.

Reaching Nirmal’s hose, we could find Nirmal was not ready at all! Bare bodied and in a pajama he was playing carom with his wife Manju. He was happy but also quite surprised to see us at his door and in our so polished and gentleman kind of dress of Dhoti- Kurta. Now it was Sambudhdha’s turn to be embarrassed and he demanded an explanation from Nirmal. By then, fearing for a long wait at Nirmal’s house, I released the taxi, because the meter was running,

Nirmal had a simple explanation. He knew that Ashim was having an affair with a Khardah girl and that their wedding was scheduled for that evening. Nirmal did believe that our Ashim would invite all of his metallurgy classmates in Kolkata, as his wedding guests. But that did not happen. Ashim did not contact Nirmal at all. Nor did he send any invitation card for any of us to Nirmal. So, plainly speaking, there is no invitation for any of us for tonight’s wedding.

However, our Nirmal was an optimist. He quickly dressed up and invited us to join him in a gate crushing venture into the wedding venue, though he was not even sure where exactly the wedding venue was. He says he had a rough idea about the venue. That our Ashim’s lady love was the daughter of Khardah Railway Station Master. Therefore, any pandal around the railway station should be our correct destination.

We four took a bus ride to Khardah. Meanwhile it was drizzling. We were drenched while walking towards the station and our sandals, too found messy with mud. But Eureka! There was a shamiana!!! We entered and loudly announced that we were borjatris.

The pandal was almost empty then, came to know that the wedding would take place at midnight. An elderly gentleman received us with a welcome smile; he was the bride’s father. He leads us to an adjacent room, decorated with lights and flowers.

We found our Ashim sitting comfortably, surrounded by half a dozen of well dressed women. He looked at us, the four rain- drenched musketeers, and exclaims loudly, “Tora shala kyano eli? Toder ki ami nemontonno korechhi”? The group of women surrounding Ashim were stunned; the bride’s father still trying to retain his smile; but we, the thick skinned College products, were neither offended nor embarrassed.

The embarrassed father-in-law hurriedly offerd us seats near Ashim. We chat with Ashim for 15 minutes, while many women peep in, not to see the groom, but to see the four stray and strange borjatris. Then we politely informed the father-in-law that we all were the groom’s college friends, we have offices to attend the next morning and we would like to catch a Sealdah bound train as soon as possible.

The gentleman personally leads us to the dining area and himself supervised while we four leisurely had a sumptuous dinner. After our meals, with each of us chewing a paan returned to Ashim, who by then was surrounded by a bevy of pretty ladies and noisy children.

Nirmal, our guide and leader asked the groom to get up and come closer to us. Then Nirmal asked each of us to kick at the standing groom’s ass, in turn, ensuring that our muddy chappals do leave a mark on the groom’s shining silk dhoti. We did it happily, by turn, by giving a standing Ashim as soft a kick as possible, with love, on his back, and then warmly hugged him. Ashim accepted our kinds of physical greetings and embraced cheerfully with a huge smile. The entire pandal watched the bizarre rituals of us, the crazy Sibpurians!

We four then bid good bye to Ashim, sincerely thanked the bride’s father, and quickly marched for the railway station for our return train to Kolkata.

A Note: BE College won Calcutta University Ashutosh Mukherjee Memorial Shield Football Trophy in the year 1962-63, and Nirmal was the captain. 

Jayanta Mazumdar.
April 5, Year 2023.
Edited August 25, Year 2023.

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A Restaurant Manager and His Shoe-horn.
Earlier I have written about our Amlan-da (name changed), the lively and intelligent student who got admission in BE College in 1956. Then, unfortunately he was caught in the mouse trap of the then fearful BE College second year for extra 3 years, and in the process, he joined us in 1959 when our batch took admission. The whole episode was a puzzle. Anyway, by the law of admission he was 3 years senior to us. He was very intelligent, humorous and with impressive personality. With his seniority and a strong personality, soon he became the Dada of our small Metallurgy batch.

During my 3rd year, somehow he selected me to be a lovable classmate of ours, and our late Debashish (full name) as his two trusted side kicks. We had no options either. He was so happy and comfortable with us that one fine afternoon he suggested that he will take us, the two novices, around the elite class locality of Ballygunge and Garihat areas of Calcutta. He was from Ballygunge and was fiercely proud of it. On the other side, I came from Puri, Orissa, and had my local guardian in a Shyambazar lane for generations. Debashish was from Bhowanipore.

It was a mid November day. Weather was pleasant. Amlan-da, as our tour guide, took us around Gol Park and Gariahat and Debashish, and myself had to pretend that we were absolute newcomers to these places. After an hour of aimless roaming, Dada proposes, “Aye, ebar aami toder Mughlai parota khawabo.” We two were thrilled.

He leads us to a small eating joint near the Aleya cinema hall. It was not that crowded at that hour. We were comfortably seated, and saw a dhoti clad middle aged babu, probably the owner himself was supervising the services. Our Dada ordered the lone bearer on duty for three Mughlai Parotas. The trained bearer carefully sets our table with three sets of Fork and Knife, and then he disappears into the kitchen.

After minutes, the owner himself came to our table and meekly suggests that we should rather order for Dhakai paratas, as ingredients for our Mughlai was finished for the day, due to heavy demand. Dada was upset and we two were also equally disappointed. But we were so hungry by then. So Dada reluctantly agreed to have the alternative dish.

I have never tasted before any Dhakai Parota. I found these were the larger versions of our “fulco luchi” swollen and warm, but much harder than a luchi. Along with a mutton gravy served in three separate bowls, these parotas meant be eaten with hand. So Amlan-da pushes aside his forks and knives, gets up and goes to a water tap and basin in a corner to wash his hands before attacking his Dhakai Parota. He comes back to the table immediately. The tap was found running dry!

Dada was upset and he loudly called out for the bearer. Sensing trouble the owner himself came to our table. Obviously there was a water crisis in his restaurant, and so, he tried to convince our Dada that hand washing is not strictly necessary, as our Dhakai Paratas, too, can be eaten easily with knife and fork. He picks up Dada’s knife and fork to give us the demonstration.

Amlan-da was watching silently. Then suddenly he had an outburst. He loudly addressed the middle aged owner which other customers sitting nearby could also hear, Moshai, aapni to dekhchi asombhob bhadrolok! Ekhanay aamakay chhuri-kanta niye Dhakai Parota khawa sekhachhen? Raatey aami jakhon aamar bouke niye bichanay jaabo, aapni bodh hoy SHOE-HORN niye bichanar pashe wait korben!”

There was stunned silence for a few seconds, and then a huge roar of laughter all around. The bechara owner! He was shell shocked. Still not able to believe his own ears. An angry Dada tells us, “Chawl. Toder fuchka Kawabo Aleya Cinemar samnay”.
We troop out. Hungry but victors.

After graduation, Amlan-da joined Hindustan Steel Durgapur and later on became the Technical Advisor to the GM Durgapur. Then moved to Dastoor Co and was next to the Dasturco Delhi head. He passed away long back, probably just crossing age of 62 -63.

Devashish Ghosh was quiet and very smart boy. Not among the topper but never got a dreaded “back” which used terrorize most of us. He joined Bhilai Steel plant. Got married to a very pretty and soft dsughter of a doc well settled in Mirzapur, near Varanasi. I was a Baryatri. And in my wedding, they came all the way from Bhilai to attend. He passed away young, probably just after he crossed 50.

A note:
It is a quiet Sunday morning. We are at our break fast table with home delivered Mughlai Parathas before us. I could not avoid recalling that bizarre encounter in the restaurant when we were in our early twenties, some 6 decades ago. I am dedicating this story to our late Amlan-da.

Kolkata. Sunday March 2, 2025.

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