Prabir Ghosh

Monsoon and Bengalis

A ll of us have noticed that the weather is, of late, playing truant – weather is
known to be unpredictable, but the current trend is really a matter of grave
concern, especially where monsoons are involved. Ours is a country which is
dependent on agriculture, which, in turn, relies on a good monsoon to make the
farmers smile – but one year there is excess of monsoons and floods spoil the crops,
in other years it is scanty rainfall and droughts – which, again, means unsatisfactory
crops. It was not always like this.
Monsoons to me and to any Bengali other conjure up visions of Tagore and
khichudi – both are inimitable. This year we are celebrating the 150th birth
anniversary of Tagore who penned innumerable poems, two-liners, songs, dramas,
stories, travelogues and novels to cater to tastes of one and all; there is a Tagore for
any and every occasion. Yes, including the monsoons. The khichudi, on the other
hand, is something that no Bengali can forget. By definition, khichudi is ‘hodgepodge’.
In reality, it is a concoction of several ingredients like rice, a couple of varieties of
lentils, whole onions, potatoes, green chilies and a few spices – the preparation is
served piping hot with fried brinjal (eggplant), or potato or onion and, at times,
omelet. The combination is a heady one and, with rains raging outside, sets an
admirable backdrop for a sound afternoon’s sleep. Whoever dreamt up this recipe
knew that when it rains cats and dogs in West Bengal, markets usually do not open
and one has to do with innovations – and khichudi is one of the outcomes.
While on the subject of monsoons, my memory goes back to the 50s – yes,
many of my readers would not have lived through those days when the seasons
followed a pretty predictable pattern – summers would be hot and stuffy, monsoons
would be wet, winter would be cold and spring and autumn would be pleasant.
Everyone used to be ready with protections like sweaters or raincoats or umbrellas
depending on the season. Not like today, when you have to face showers in winter.
That day in 1954 (or was it 1955?) was a terribly rainy day. When my three
brothers and I left school, the rains were not pouring but the roads were
waterlogged. Our school was in Bowbazar Street and we stayed in Shyambazar – we
used to take a Route 2 double-decker bus. But, that day the buses were overcrowded
– and the trams had already stopped because of heavy water-logging at the
Thanthania Kalibari. I was at my wits end; how would I go home with my three
younger brothers?
Suddenly one of my school friends provided the solution – we will walk, he
said.
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 He had his brothers and sisters in tow – there were nearly a dozen of them.
They were the Balachandrans. It was that period in history when family planning was
unheard of.
So – the whole gang kept wading through the muddy waters with our bags on
our shoulders – we were not afraid of snakes but there were plantain leaves and sal
leaves that would get in or way.
Their house was a sort of half-way mark.
I vaguely remember that when we reached their house, it was nearly five in the
evening – we had been walking for over an hour and were famished.
It was then that we came across real South Indian hospitality – their mother
forced us brothers to take off our wet clothes and gave us her son’s clothes. Then she
made some South Indian snacks which she served along with hot glass of chocolate
milk. We spent another hour there and then left for our house.
In those days telephones were few and far between and it was a long drawn
process to contact someone.
By that time my mother had got into a real panic – my father had returned
from office and immediately ran to the police station to lodge missing person
complaints. Then he, accompanied by a police officer in a jeep, set out in search of us.
They located us near Hatibagan – four totally famished children.
By the way – water logging in the Kolkata of the 50s used to be confined to the
Thanthania kalibari area. That tradition has remained today even after more than half
century – several new and relatively modern and supposed-to-be-posh areas have got
added to the list. Some blame it on the outdated drainage infrastructure; others
blame it on the environment pollution due to the excessive use of plastic bags.
Politicians are dying to bring about a change in the mindset of Kolkattans – let us
hope for the best and, be prepared for the worst.

YZ

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