Subir Roy: Some things should never change

OFF BEAT

If an old friend loses weight and starts to look a lot younger, you congratulate her. But if the makeover is so complete that you barely recognise her, then it's no fun. There should be something that reminds you that at the core it is the same individual.

This is so true for Kolkata. The name change from Calcutta came long before the refurbishing, but in a way the stream of good news from Kolkata, one software or BPO company after another announcing its decision to set up shop there, got me worried.

Will I be able to recognise the city where my roots lie when I visit it next, I wondered. As it turned out, a lot is changing but some things blessedly remain the same.

The change is everywhere, perhaps the most in the parts I know rather well. The Victoria Memorial is, of course, the same, but three-fourths of it has been given a facelift.

The polluting grime that had dulled the marble is being systematically removed, revealing a pristine quiet glow that you had forgotten existed.

The gardens, where it was a pleasure to walk decades ago but not so much thereafter, have also undergone a change. They are so much better looked after, most trees bear a name tag and from some angles you would not trade the view for any other.

What's happened beyond its boundary is almost breathtaking. The ample greens around the monument's south and east had, over the years, been desecrated every winter by sundry exhibitions.

When they left, the rubble remained, adding more throwaways with time "" the whole mess covered for a few months every year by grass overgrown in the rain. Not any longer.

Courtesy a court order and the city's dynamic mayor, the entire area has been transformed into a slightly ornamental park with lawns, walkways, stone benches and fountains. In the evening, coloured lights make it look like a fair ground.

The whole thing is a bit overdone, but what a relief from the earlier squalor.

While this was great, the first prize in elegant revival, marrying the best from the past and the present goes to a restaurant, Oh! Calcutta, by the same folks who run the successful Mainland China chain all over the country, in Kolkata's Forum Mall.

The decor is subdued and elegant, the service is super but it is the khana that is truly out of this world. For years Kolkata's inability to serve credible local cuisine to those seeking to eat out was attributed to the notion that none would want to eat home food when eating out.

Then came a modest effort called Suruchi, thereafter the odd one here and there but it is Oh! Calcutta that takes the cake, or the mishti doi.

A good restaurant has to be sophisticated, its distilled elegance almost artificial for it to pass muster. Oh! Calcutta has it all. The food is as good and as authentic as one had thought only mother could cook.

The restaurant is a symbol of revival in a culture that knows nothing better than to eat grandly.

The final icing to the revival story, I thought, was an ad in the papers giving an artist's impression of a plan to spruce up and beautify the Kalighat temple area.

Eternal India knows the city best by that place of pilgrimage but its confusion and user unfriendliness has probably played a role in turning the local intelligentsia into non-believing Marxists.

As I took the early morning taxi to the airport at the end of my holiday, I wondered if the psyche of the city would have changed completely by the time I came for my next holiday.

The warning signs were already there. Even the politics seemed to be going differently. The campaigning for the coming municipal elections was so low key that I began to suspect that the Left leaders would not mind losing again, so well had the mayor, who had risen from the old Congress mainstream, done by the city.

As the taxi reached the bypass to the airport, I had the ultimate idea "" why not try the new road that goes through the new town that best symbolises the new mood.

The young driver didn't know the way but was confident that he would get there guided by the signs. That too was new "" road with visitor-friendly signs.

But as he speeded I began to get worried. The taxi was truly ramshackle, gears changed with great difficulty and the 60-70 kmph speed was clearly overheating the contraption.

I asked the driver to slow down but he was drunk with speed. Then it happened. The taxi stalled in the middle of nowhere, with flat green fields on either sides waiting, no doubt, for the rains when cultivators would till the land and plant the next paddy crop.

Not a soul was in sight and a sign nearby warned drivers to be careful about crossing cattle. I tensed as the minutes to the flight ticked by and the occasional car refused to respond to my arms flailing for help.

Eventually a motorcyclist slowed down and I rode pillion hoping to find another taxi where the new road met the old VIP Road.

The road came, another taxi materialised and soon I was back at the old spot, only to find that the stalled taxi, with my daughter and mother in it, was gone! Then began another mad run to the airport, much confusion in locating the old taxi and finally rushing to the deserted check-in counter minutes before departure.

We did finally manage to board the flight and when I regained my cool, I could only wryly note that no matter how much the city changes, some things in it, like its ramshackle taxis that may be 20 years old but look 70, will never change. That way you'll know it is the same city.