This blog comes to you from Barasat, meaning ‘Avenue,’ our stopover place in Kolkata, where I’ve just dashed into before buying a tumbler of tok doi sour curd, not misti doi sweet curd, that is for later, for sure; eggs, and bread at Hela Bortola, not far from the city’s once-great ‘Avenue’ — or seven rural hamlets, according to antiquity — built by Indian nobles and also a colonial-era British colonist. I'm especially taken with the fresh vegetables here. The fish is so dazzlingly fresh, and the sweets are to die for. Paradise truly regained!
Travelling to Kolkata in April or May, you will notice that the weatherscape changes (from bad to worse)—from the scorching, bone-dry conditions of Hyderabad to a sticky atmosphere of high humidity and unrelenting heat in the city and suburbs of Kolkata. A hot and humid climate is worse than a hot and dry one.
Not that I am complaining. Complaining about the weather has long ceased to be my raison d'être of coming to Kolkata for summer solstice if you like. Since it's sultry everywhere in India right now, I have, by this point in my middle age, become somewhat accustomed to the aforementioned continental weather variations, which is not a problem. But the constant wet and sticky feeling of sweating that drips off at the back of your body and underarms could leave you feeling a bit "blue."
At this usual time of the year, it comes as no surprise. Besides, who asked me to travel to Kolkata at this time? Was I out of my selfie-obsessed mind? Didn’t I know that the climate would be hot and muggy here (and everywhere else in the country), especially in the searing summer months of April, May, and June? Okay, I'll confess it: That didn't matter much because I'm knowingly used to the fierce tropical weather conditions in Kolkata, where I drop my anchor for a precious month and a half virtually every year. Likewise, my enduring affection for the eastern metropolis of Kolkata overcomes any other concerns about the uncomfortable heat and excessive humidity levels. Next year, I might think realistically about something different. Or maybe not. Kolkata is still a favourite.
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I had just arrived in Kolkata and quickly made my way to Barasat, a good ten kilometres away from the proper city limits, believing that its climate would be less oppressive than the core city area of Kolkata. But oh! What was I thinking! It’s equally bad here. The increasing urbanization of the Barasat city in recent years is directly responsible for continuous heatwaves here. (There are other problems, for instance, medical, political, and municipal. But it is better to look the other way and not talk about those ubiquitous issues, which have been a dreaded curse for the once-glorious state of Bengal since the 1970s generation). Thank heavens, there are no longer any blackouts here. I remember that back in the day, load-shedding used to occur frequently; occasionally, there were power outages, but that's okay. As I mentioned, it’s bloody hot out here. Maximum temperatures vary between 40 to 42 degrees Celsius and could rise abnormally higher, damaging human organs due to the extreme temperatures. Most regions of the country experience severe summers that exacerbate kidney, heart, and stroke disorders. That is unavoidable, as Barasat is only 4 meters above mean sea level (MSL) and receives, according to the Barasat Municipality website, "an average annual rainfall of 1,579 mm". Because of its location on the steaming hot Ganges-Brahmaputra delta, as most regions in these parts are, Barasat city experiences yearly summertime woes. Practical health advisory tips were given to us, over and over again, over the phone and in person: Either you can venture out to buy groceries and stuff or meet friends in the first part of the day between 7 and 10 am, as has also been advised by the locally roaming municipality representatives over the loudspeakers, or you can go out in the evening to do likewise, after 6 or 7 pm. During that period, a grimdark time of day for the old and aged, sit at home, work from home, drink plenty of water, and stay hydrated, regardless of whether you are sufficiently thirsty while keeping Glucon D or ORS within reach. To relax, have copious amounts of nimbu pani or roohafza to chill off or read books before finishing your office work in the evening.
I have received — here we go — well-meaning sermons, been counselled, and even admonished in the highest terms not to go outside. I can't even indulge in my last surviving addiction (apart from books and travel): Chai pe charcha. Some sherbet-loving people don’t understand that chai is an obsession, even in hot summer months. (I flatter myself). Frankly, they don’t get it. Winter evenings are a great time for a cuppa, a la chai pe charcha, I know, but isn’t it frustrating for a tea drinker like me who cannot step outside even in hot climates to drink tea from a matir bhar (a clay teacup), a Kolkata specialty. God knows when the moment will come when I'll get off my tenterhooks and hold a chai cup in my hand, indulging with my long-time-no-see beloved new friends at the hippest tea shack in town. Mera number ayega. Waiting and hoping. Thus, I'm doing what I am told to do: not going out at all, hardly.
Last night, one of my cousins, his eponymous name being Loku (actually known as Mr. Bean within the family circle) for reasons known to all, got his short but somewhat amusing name taken from the God he worships every passing day: Baba Loknath Brahmachari dropped in carrying a jhola bag his mother had handed him to deliver it to us. He carried it in, proverbially like a good boy, onto the kitchen counter that hadn’t seen cooked meals for two long years up till now, dislodged its contents dutifully and carefully: the steel saucepans and tumblers heavy-laden with freshly-cooked Macher jhol, bhaat, tok daal, and shukto came out of the nylon bag while I swigged cold water sitting on my bed with the room air conditioner on in full blast mode, not minding about the electricity bills ratcheting up during this time of the year for our second home in Barasat city. Loku or Loka, a funny Mr. Bean, came into my room and suddenly started laughing when he looked at me, visibly suffering from the infamous Kolkata tropical heatwave.
The sight inside my flat also made me smile and chuckle, and I thought, "Dude, really! I'm feeling the effects of this vengeful humidity like never before," I exclaimed, snatching up the Shower to Shower powder, which provides "effective relief from prickly heat," written on the label.
Kirakom acho, Dadabhai? (How do you feel?), he said with a giggle.
Babaa re…ki gorom ekhane! (It’s so hot here!), I replied with a resigned air.
By Arindam Moulick