Calcuttees and Hon Bongs

In his quest for a label for the people of Calcutta, Jug Suraiya says that while all honorary Bengalis are Calcuttees at heart, all Calcuttans are not necessarily hon Bongs.

What do you call someone who is from Calcutta? This question was posed to me by a former editor of The Statesman several years ago when I was working for that paper and handling "Calcutta Notebook".

"I'd call a person from Calcutta a Cal-cuttan," I replied.

"I know you would. But 'Calcuttan' sounds horrible. Try and think of something else," said the editor.

"Any ideas?" I asked.

"What about Calcatian?" he suggested. But I shook my head. Calcatian sounded like a calcium deficiency found in Alsatians and was even worse than Calcuttan.

"Well, find some other word then," said the editor and went back to doing more important things than figuring out new names to call people who live in Calcutta.

I did a round of my colleagues, eliciting help. One suggested Calcatite. But though it sounded good, we reluctantly decided against it as the "tite" part conveyed an impression of inebriation, which while not entirely out of keeping with the character of the city, wasn't quite appropriate for the distinctly sober columns of The Statesman. Calcuttees sounded very down-market, like cut-piece oddments of the social fabric. Someone suggested Ditcher, a reference to the early days of the city when Calcutta was ringed by a circular dry moat known as the Maratha Ditch dug to keep out the marauding Marathas. Anyone who lived within the charmed circle of the ditch was known as a Ditcher. But in the present-day context the term was felt to be politically incorrect, not least because of the displeasure it might evoke in Bal Thackeray, a force to be reckoned with even then.

In the end, Calcutta Notebook stuck to Calcuttans, editorial disapproval notwithstanding. But the problem remained naggingly at the back of my mind. What does one call someone who comes from Calcutta? The question gained urgency, curiously enough, when I shifted—temporarily—from Calcutta to Delhi, where people are Dilliwallas or Delhi-ites, no questions asked. Except, of course, in the case of obviously out-of-place strangers like me.

"You don't look a Dilliwalla. So what are you?" people would ask accusingly. I'd try and explain that I was originally from Calcutta, and was here in Delhi for an indefinite stint after which I hoped to get back to Calcutta. Even to me this sounded circumlocutory if not downright evasive. What I'd been asked to furnish was an identity, not an itinerary. What was the strange and sublime address that my soul called its own?

Exile is the key to the enigma of arrival. And one day I arrived at what I was: I was an hon Bong. Hon Bong, I explained for the benefit of my mystified Delhi interrogators, was short for honorary Bengali and referred to anyone, anywhere, who chose Calcutta as the sheet-anchor of existence, past, present or hopeful future.

The British, who cobbled together the three villages of Kalighat, Govindpur and Sutanuti and invented Calcutta, could claim to be the first hon Bongs. Almost 300 years later, a no-longer unknown autobiographical Indian called Nirad Chaudhuri set up shop in Britain where he billed himself as the last Englishman—which of course made him a pioneer hon Bong, in a roundabout way. Britain is full of hon Bongs. So is Delhi, particularly in the region of Chittaranjan Park, better known as Chitto Park.

Calcutta naturally has its share of hon Bongs. Mother Teresa, whose mission embraced the world, was an hon Bong, as is Jyoti Basu, regional representative of an MNC called Marxism. Satyajit Ray, ultimate renaissance man and cosmopolite, was the quintessential hon Bong. Almost anyone worth knowing is an hon Bong. Including Khushwant Singh who whenever he runs out of controversial steam says disparaging things about Rabindranath Tagore—colossus of hon Bongdom—thereby ensuring himself a warm welcome in Calcutta where his effigy is ceremoniously burnt.

It is in the nature of the hon Bong to be inclusive, not exclusive. Which is why it surprised me when in a recent British TV programme on Calcutta, commentator Kishore Bhimani described Calcutta as having become a Marwari city. Kishore, like me, is a Kutchi. Again like me, he is also an hon Bong. How could he then make such a statement? Calcutta is no more a Marwari city than it is a Kutchi city or a Gujarati city or a Punjabi city—though I'm told that Calcutta's Punjab Club is the only establishment in the known world where chicken chow mein is customarily served with aam-ka-achar as accompaniment—or even a Bengali city. Or rather Calcutta is all these, plus itself which uniquely is none of them. Primarily, Calcutta is the imaginary homeland of the hon Bong.

This, however, does not answer the original question: What does one call someone who is from Calcutta? Such a person cannot strictly be called an hon Bong for while all hon Bongs are Calcuttans at heart, all Calcuttans are not necessarily hon Bongs. A case in point is Chandan Basu who, unlike his father, is not an hon Bong. Some might say that the junior Basu is not an honorary anything, not even an honorary non-entity.

What then is a substitute for Calcuttans? A possible solution was suggested the other day by Bunny, my wife and staunch hon Bong. Her solution entails a change of name for Calcutta. Bombay has become Mumbai and Madras is now Chennai. Keeping this 'ai' suffix in mind, Delhi might call itself Mughlai, to reflect its taste for tandoori fare. Similarly Calcutta could rename itself Roshomalai, in honour of the sweetmeat its residents are so partial to. And Calcuttans and hon Bongs alike could commonly rejoice in the sobriquet of Roshomalites and feel that in name, if nothing else, they had at last got their just desserts.

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