That the colonialists left an indelible impression on the canvass of Calcutta, for long, the second capital of the Empire, an empire on which the Sun never set, is an understatement at the best.
Stately edifices in a potpourri of architectural styles.
Stunning cathedrals. Inspired by the ones at home.
Lord Curzons faux Taj Mahal with the fairy at its pinnacle. Complete with even its very own Serpentine.
The exclusive clubs. And their humming watering holes.
The elaborate afternoon tea rituals.
Park Street and Hogg Market.
Bustling auction houses.
The bridge across the river.
The now-decrepit warehouses along the Strand.
The frenzied passion for football and yes, an undying love for cricket.
I in no way claim to be an expert on colonial history, and my random musings here just scrape the surface; I am sure, erudite historians have compiled voluminous anthologies on how deep-rooted the influence of the British was and still is on the very soul of the city.
And did i just hear you mention food ?
Yes, food !!! How did I ever forget food ?
Soups and stews.
Chops and cutlets.
Pastries and puddings.
But nothing more endearing to the Bengali than the fish fry. Crumb-fried. Or the Fish Batter Fry.
The cod might have been replaced by our indigenous bhetki (or should I call it beckti ?)
The beer in the batter might have been given a pass.
The chips might have been scornfully ignored.
Yet the fish-and-chips inspired fish batter fry remains to this day soul food for the gastronome Bengali.