Argumentative lot
Sir — Bengalis will argue over anything (“The chatter fades”, July 14). Hilsa versus prawns, Tagore versus Nazrul, North versus South Calcutta, the superiority of Sukumar Ray’s nonsense over modern stand-up comedy, or whether the best telebhaja is found in Gariahat or Shyambazar — no topic is too minor. Still, agreement blooms in strange corners; on the thrill of spotting a rare little magazine at College Street, the holiness of the book fair, the comfort of Goopy Gyne Bagha Byne on a sick day, or the majesty of an empty tram ride at dusk. It is a community stitched together by argument, nostalgia, and pickled lemon. Whatever you do, never interrupt a Bengali mid-debate unless you are carrying a bhnaar of cha and at least one rosogolla.
Bishwanath Kundu,
Calcutta
Lit fuse
Sir — Melting glaciers are like a lit fuse (“Parched world”, July 14). Beneath West Antarctica, a hundred volcanoes sit under thinning ice. As the glaciers shrink, the weight lifts and eruptions become likelier. Science has known this since the 1970s yet the warnings remain footnotes in the narrative on glacial melt. If volcanic activity rises, as it did in Iceland 13,000 years ago, the fallout will be global.
Abdullah Jameel,
Mumbai
Sir — The moss outside my window is thriving this monsoon. It needs no planter, no care, and no coaxing. Yet city councils in metropolises worldwide dismiss moss as unsightly and scrub it away. This International Year of Glaciers’ Preservation should bring focus not only to the grand peaks but also to these modest climate allies. Moss captures carbon far more efficiently than many trees and clings happily to walls and roofs. Its usefulness is immediate and effortless.
D.P. Bhattacharya,
Calcutta
Time to fix it
Sir — Some memories ring louder than noise. The New Market clock once struck every quarter hour — not just marking time but giving rhythm to daily life. This city needs fewer hoardings and more civic amenities. A working clock is not just nostalgic either; it is a thing of civic pride. If the monstrous ‘Little Ben’ in Rajarhat can be spruced up time and again, why should the watch at New Market languish in disrepair?
Sofikul Islam,
Calcutta
A city remembered
Sir — Jayant Kripalani’s childhood memories of Kyd Street and horse-drawn carriages were fascinating (“‘I didn’t grow up in an India like this one’”, July 13). A city once known for its cosmopolitan ease is now a ghost of its former self. May more Calcuttans age like Kripalani: post-retirement rebels with scripts to write and systems to question.
Yugal Kishore Sharma,
Faridabad
Sir — One wonders what surprises Karl Marx would face if he walked through New Market today — fake Adidas, five kinds of momo, and no sign of the revolution. Jayant Kripalani’s nostalgia about Calcutta holds weight because it refuses to be sentimental. I will certainly look forward to catching a show of his play, Marx in Kolkata.
Pinaki Majumdar,
Calcutta
Moulded grief
Sir — The silicone statues of the dearly departed created by Subimal Das offer a striking blend of art and emotion. These are not waxworks for public display. They are private anchors for those navigating unbearable loss. Some call it eerie, others intimate, but they speak to a deep cultural shift — where mourning meets material realism. This is not escapism. It is a form of staying close.
Bidisha Das,
Calcutta
Sir — In Bengal, grief has taken a new form: silicone. Where once there were framed photos and garlanded portraits, there now sit lifelike statues dressed in real clothes, resting in familiar postures. Critics may scoff, but those who live with these figures are basking in the familiar presence of loved ones, albeit their silicone versions. Grief does not need approval. Let people find peace how they can, whether through rituals, silence, or the comforting weight of memory sculpted in silicone.
Koustabh Sengupta,
Calcutta
Only freebies
Sir — The evergreen government once hailed for ‘poriborton’ has mastered the fine art of welfare without accountability. Cash flowed directly into people’s accounts, often regardless of actual need. Progress became passé; present-day appeasement is the new priority. There is always a new scheme, a new catchy name — each one designed to distract from the flight of youth, the death of industry, the fall of security, and the burial of development. The quiet truth, realised only too late, is this: people have become dependent subjects, not empowered citizens. When schemes are designed only for applause one cannot expect development.
Abhinando Mukherjee,
Calcutta
Stereotyped
Sir — Why must being Bengali in Bollywood always mean quoting Rabindranath Tagore and hanging Jamini Roy prints on the wall? In Aap Jaisa Koi, culture is wallpaper — pretty, predictable and lifeless. The film does not explore Bengal; it accessorises it. The characters speak in curated accents, sip Darjeeling tea, and mock others’ illiteracy, emotional and otherwise. Being Bengali is not shorthand for being enlightened.
Pratiti Palit,
Calcutta
Sir — Why must the liberal Bengali woman be repeatedly tasked with looking perfectly turned out in a saree on the one hand and reforming a bumbling man on the other? First Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani and now Aap Jaisa Koi, Bollywood’s idea of Bengali women is irritating, not laughable.
Ishani Nandi,
Calcutta