Naktala Metro Station
Noon. A young man with a duffel bag walks into a Dakshineswar-bound train. Once the
doors close, he plonks the bag on the floor, sticks his phone to the wall of the carriage, props it up like a mirror and clicks the video button. He starts to comb his hair, applies moisturiser, sunscreen and lip balm. The train pulls into Bansdroni station, and he gets off. He was filming a Get Ready With Me video. Social media is full of these. Gen Zs doing skincare and beauty routines in the metro, inside a
running auto…
‘Where does one go?
What does one do?’
Late in the evening, a room on the ground floor of Calcutta Girls’ Academy in Ballygunge turns into a rehearsal space of the theatre group Ashokenagar Natyaanan. Rwitobroto Mukherjee, 26, is a member. He tells The Telegraph, “I felt hopeful when the R.G. Kar movement happened. The protests were so powerful. But ultimately...” He empties his bhnar of tea and adds, “I am not hopeful anymore. I work on autopilot. I don’t even vote. The system is beyond repair… My friends and I discuss what to do. There is no work here. Where does one go? What does one do?”
Lipstick & world travel
Sreemoyee and Rishab walk out of a university in central Calcutta after semester-end exams and into Coffee House. Sreemoyee tutors school children, Rishab is into quizzing.
R: The prize money is my income. I use it to buy things like a football jersey, a watch worth ₹3,000. S: I bought a lipstick for ₹900 with my earnings. It is my most expensive purchase to date... I want to be a globetrotter after I complete my studies.
R: I am interested in art, I would like to visit Vatican City and also Egypt because I am into mythology.
Photo by Debabratee Dhar
Spoonful of medicine
A medical college and hospital canteen in north Calcutta
I am a general surgery postgraduate trainee. I grew up in a village in South 24-Parganas but came here in 2014 to study medicine. I am also a member of the political organisation DSO. They work for a ragging-free campus. Those of us from the suburbs and villages who stay in hostels have to face a lot of ragging on campus; they call it “intro”. There is also a threat-culture prevalent here. Most doctors have an apathy towards politics; they prefer to stay in their own world of academics. But it doesn’t work that way. Nothing exists in a vacuum.
The Biz Kids
Cafe near Exide More
On the table: Parmesan chicken breasts and eggs, no cheese.
Viraat moved back after he finished his postgraduate studies in Spain. He says, “I did a master’s in computer engineering. It’s got nothing to do with our family business.” His friend Vishal, who is also from a business family, says, “Doing business in this state is tough. At this point, it’s better to move to Odisha or even Jharkhand.” Third musketeer Ashish spent his early and mid-20s hopping from Bengaluru to Delhi to Mumbai, did a course in scriptwriting, then joined a business school, then dropped out. Now he has taken over his father’s real estate business. When he is not working, he spends time doing yoga, running and reading. Ashish says, “At work, we have to negotiate with politicians and even goons.” Viraat talks about the lack of industries in the state and astronomical freight costs, but clams up when the discussion turns to politics. He says, “Of course, I vote. I just hope whoever comes to power in the next elections is good for business.”
Adjustments
Worldview, a towering building on Jadavpur University campus, gets its name from the now-closed eponymous bookstore. It is a popular hangout for Gen Zs. From fiery speeches calling for change in the world to jamming sessions and the occasional dance and music performances, the place is buzzing with activity and opinion. Madhurima, a master’s student, who is sitting on the steps outside, says, “I have always had political views but I thought that was only me. Only now, when I have become part of a politically active campus, I realise I am not alone. But I am still trying to figure out what politics really means to me.” PG student Sabuj Chatterjee interjects, “Since the pandemic, people have become withdrawn, turned individualistic. None of us has seen an active student union. There has not been a student union election since 2019.” Pratyusha Paul says, “Our classrooms do not have enough benches, the fans don’t work, washrooms are clogged and dirty. We don’t complain. We adjust. But if we had a students’ union…”
It takes all kinds
There is a one-storey clubhouse in east Calcutta where the theatre group Uhinee regularly meets. That day, the members are mid-rehearsal. You can hear them from the road; they are reciting from Sukanta Bhattacharya’s poem Ekti Moroger Kahini. Inside, there are plastic chairs arranged in a half circle. The young actors are throwing dialogues at each other. About 20 of them — students of commerce, business, science, psychology. Some of them teach theatre in schools or work as content writers. Their mentor Adrija Dasgupta raises her hand from time to time to make a point. If at this point you were beginning to think theatre is their “hobby”, you would be mistaken. Anirban, who is also a makeup artist and a dancer, says, “Theatre is my chosen form of expression. I consider it my responsibility towards society.”
The Lounge
At an American-style diner in south Calcutta, a dozen strangers catch up over dinner. The dress code for the evening seems to be smart casual — woollen wrap dresses, cotton skirts with pashmina stoles, quarter-zip sweaters, jeans. Almost everyone here has done their higher studies from places outside Calcutta, have only just returned and are now looking to make connections. There are fashion designers, business graduates, law students, a barista and those who are still “figuring it out”.
By way of an icebreaker, one of them raises a bandaged foot and launches into a story of a drunken shenanigan at a bar in Russia during an exchange programme. Someone else chimes in with a “funny” story about riding a scooter without knowing how to, leaving everyone rolling with laughter. Another person brings up a business idea, and the group immediately starts to share marketing tips.
The food arrives. Cheeseburgers, ramen and biang biang noodles, alongside boba tea and Coke. The anecdotes flow — horse riding at the club, scuba diving in the Andamans, solo travelling to Rishikesh... Their stories straddle cities and continents. They break up for the night a good three hours later with the promise of catching up at the run club.
‘Hindu Gen Z,
Muslim Gen Z’
Near a university campus with a majority of Muslim students
A: When I leave home for namaz, my parents are worried for my safety. And this is Calcutta.
B: Had it been UP or some place in the north... There is still a barrier here. But the political parties are all breeding communal hatred.
C: Nobody can explain to these guys that there is no use having another Babri Masjid built, that education and jobs are what matter.
A: I have lost friends. My best friend was a Hindu girl. She hardly talks to me these days. I have found her post anti-Muslim things on social media.
C: It is not the same thing to be a Hindu Gen Z and a Muslim Gen Z.
Salt Lake Sector V
Young professionals are queuing up outside roadside eateries. In one such stall, some of them are taking a “chai and sutta break”. A woman, who is a web developer, is smoking a cigarette frenetically. “I want to shift to Bengaluru. Here there are neither jobs, nor opportunities. The only things growing are real estate and corruption,” she says.
Not a love story
Outside Salt Lake City Centre, a man and a woman are sitting on a bench. Both of them work in the retail sector, one can tell from the company names emblazoned on the ribbons from which their identity cards hang.
Photo by Debabratee Dhar
The boy is a graduate from the Sundarbans. The girl is from Calcutta, a college dropout. She says, “My younger brother has migrated to Mumbai to work as a goldsmith; there are no jobs here.” The man says, “Honest people cannot make a living here. Those at the helm will make money from everything. Look at the Messi episode. They played with the emotions of the youth.”
Messi, momos & the ladies from Samastipur
Street numbers 15, 17 and 20 in the heart of Sector V, Calcutta’s IT hub, are bustling with hundreds of techies at lunch time. Two men on a smoke break discuss the Messi episode. Turns out, both lost a fortune. “I am not going to vote for them,” says A. “So, NOTA?” asks B. A blows a ring of smoke and adds, “If I had my way, I’d have gone for higher studies to the US and waited for a green card. But ye Trump Uncle bhi na...”
Around the corner is Subba’s Food Stall where there are more of them tucking into momos and noodles. A man and a woman are chatting. Woman: Two more months and I will be away on-site in Canada.
Man: Try to switch to the client company.
Woman: You know there are legal complexities.
Man: But try. Even I want to shift, to Europe. This country is doomed.
A little further away, two women look quite happy. They are from Samastipur in Bihar and employed with a call centre here. “We stay in a PG close by,” says one of them. “We love the city,” the other adds. The big city, they say, has liberated them from the conservative households of a small town.