Book Fair

I was in Kolkata for three days, and visited the Book Fair after ages. Well, close to two decades, I should think. It was a leisurely jaunt on a balmy winter weekday afternoon.

I had worked as a volunteer at the stall of a little magazine called Proma (headed by the engineer-poet Surojit Ghosh, who was an insider in the city's literary/intellectual circle in the '80s) from 1980 (the fourth fair: this year it was the 49th, and Surojit-da is long dead!) to 1987. Then there was a big gap, and I visited again with wife and daughter after it had been shifted to the Milon Mela grounds next to Science City. By that time, it seemed to me, it had morphed into a food fair more than a Book Fair, though the Publishers' and Booksellers' Guild happily released figures about soaring sales year on year. And it had become too noisy, crowded and dusty. So I stopped going. In any case, I was busy making a living, and where books were concerned, I was spoilt for choice, what with so many old boys and girls constantly supplying me with reading material, my daughter foremost among them, besides Amazon. I had lost the taste, apparently, just as it had happened with going to the cinema. This year, I went because Pupu and Swarnava cajoled me along.

As every Bengali knows, the fairgrounds have shifted again, to Salt Lake this time. The visit brought back many memories, a sense of loss and a deepening of the feeling that our times are gone. The fair is much bigger now, much tidier in a way, with all kinds of stalls selling things which have little to do with books, from the National Jute Board to people who want to talk to farmers about fertilizers to a welter of recently born private universities. I visited the Proma stall, which was a tiny ghost of its former self, and the only gentleman running the show was at sea when I tried talking to him about days past and people whom I had worked with (wow, I silently reflected, the 'hot babes' I had worked alongside would be past sixty now!). I had promised myself to visit the Guruchandali stall, and had a nice chat with the founder/owner Saikat Banerjee. I was tickled to find that the Bangla Poksho stall, whose helmsmen were loudly berating the BJP government's anti-Bengali agenda, was located right next to the BJP's own stall - which was deserted! Do listen to these people on YouTube, those of my readers whose Bengali blood has still not been too polluted by influences from the cow belt. I liked the beautiful display of heritage publications set up by the state government, with Parvathi baul playing softly in the background. And I deliberately gave the big stalls like Family Book Shop, Ananda and Dey's a miss, because they were claustrophobically crowded, and could only offer books I can easily find elsewhere and more cheaply. P and S bought a small mountain of books anyway. Snacking at Saha Confectionery was fun, because their banner said 'Boi kinley kshidey paye' (buying books is hungry work)! Smoking on the fairgrounds is strictly prohibited, which I suppose is a good thing (though they could have put up a few few paid smokers' corners), and the enormous police presence made me wonder: were they expecting a large scale terrorist attack or a riot?

Riding an Uber cab home, I knew I was feeling tired and a little lost. I have never been able to like Calcutta, and now it has left me behind. Much more wealthy since the days of my youth, of course, maybe a little cleaner and greener too, but certainly not my city any more, in any sense, if it ever was. That is probably why I zoom into my daughter's house, laze and luxuriate for a few days, and then zoom back home, despite so many people telling me to visit them when I am in town. If Pupu had not been living there, I cannot think of a single reason why I should ever want to visit again. And that applies to New York as well... but it was good to see that in this city of festivals, the Book Fair has struck deep roots as another one of them. May it grow and prosper.