The early ’90s also brought many firsts — at least for us. One of the most memorable was the arrival of our first landline telephone. We had been informed the day before that it would be delivered and installed, and I couldn’t contain my excitement. If I remember correctly, this was sometime in 1992.
I waited all day, and finally, around 4 pm, the BSNL team arrived. I was so thrilled that I told my friends I wouldn’t make it to the park that day — we had a telephone coming!
Cartoons by Narayan Debnath
They handed over the boxed handset, which we carefully placed on the dining table. I hovered nearby, waiting to open it and see the magical device inside. I had read that the telephone was invented by Graham Bell, and I was fascinated. The idea of calling my cousins across the city felt like something out of a dream.
Back then, even local calls were chargeable, so I was allowed to make only two brief calls a day — and each had to be under two minutes. I had no idea that a telephone could one day become a way to connect with strangers too.
Soon, the team began laying the cable and setting up the connection. And just like that, we had our first landline telephone. The number was 3374628. Years later, a prefix was added to all such numbers.
Narayan Debnath
I made the first call to my maternal cousin, Boni-di. Everyone at home was excited and eager to get their hands on the receiver. I was given only a short window before Dada snatched it away. But I didn’t mind — I knew I’d get my turn. There was so much I wanted to “research” about the telephone.
Oh, and how could I forget the iconic telephone directory? That thick, yellowish book felt like an encyclopedia of the city.
Connecting Calcutta
The telephone directory arrived a few days later. It looked like a dictionary — thick, heavy, and full of secrets. I was told it held every BSNL landline number in the city of Kolkata. That was enough to spark my imagination. I began calling random people, just to see who’d pick up on the other end. Luckily, that phase didn’t last long.
Soon, my mischief found a new obsession: calling up public figures. This curiosity, I’m sure, came from Maa. I had been an avid reader from a young age. Every year before Durga Puja, we’d buy the annual Puja-special magazines from local stalls, and I would get completely lost in their stories. Schoolwork would take a backseat, and I’d be scolded by both Maa and Bapi for burying myself in books.
But it wasn’t just the stories — I was equally fascinated by the storytellers. Now that I had access to the telephone directory, I thought, why not try and speak to them? Authors like Sanjib Chattopadhyay, Narayan Debnath and Shirshendu Mukhopadhyay — they were my heroes.
Back then, Bangla was the only language I truly lived in. And I still believe that building fluency in one’s mother tongue gives you depth and identity. It lends your thoughts gravity. I was lucky to have grown up with that foundation.
So, I started hunting. First up: Sanjib Chattopadhyay. But as anyone who has used a landline directory knows, it’s always a gamble. There were at least a dozen listings under his name. I began calling each one, hoping to strike gold.
The first few turned out to be duds. Still, I got lucky elsewhere. Week after week, I managed to speak with at least three authors. Can you imagine? A random kid calls up a well-known writer — and they actually talk to him. That kind of kindness seems rare now.
Eventually, I got through to Narayan Debnath, the creator of Bantul the Great, Nonte Phonte, and Handa Bhonda. It became a Sunday ritual. I would call him, and we’d chat about life. Yes — just like that. One Sunday, he even asked to speak to Maa. To our surprise, he invited us over the following weekend.
Debojit Paul, co-founder of Calcutta 64 cafe
That day is still one of the most beautiful memories of my childhood. He lived in Shibpur, Howrah. Maa, Bapi, and I took a taxi across the second Hooghly Bridge. When we arrived, he was there at the door, waiting to greet us.
We spent the whole day at his home with his family. Everyone was so warm. We shared lunch together, and then he took me to his desk — his creative corner — and showed me the illustrations for the upcoming issue of Shuktara. As a regular reader, I was thrilled to see the sketches even before they hit the stands. What a privilege that was!
He passed away in January 2022. My only regret is that I lost touch with him as I grew older. After I got married, I often told Sneha how much I wanted to meet him again. We even made plans, but life got in the way and we never made it.
The account is an excerpt from Debojit Paul’s autobiographical book An Emotional Fool’s Journey to a 0-5 Crore Cafe Business. Paul is the co-founder of Calcutta 64.