Calcutta, Dec. 3 :    Calcutta, Dec. 3:  Difficult though it is to believe today, long before the country gained independence, Lord Sinha Road could boast only 11 houses. Peace must have reigned supreme and the street must have been lined with even more greenery than it is today. Very aptly it used to be called Elysium Row. It is not difficult to imagine today why the residents signed a petition against a Corporation resolution in 1930, to rename the thoroughfare after Satyendra Prasad Sinha, who used to live there in 1912. Perhaps they did not want to deprive the road of its association with a state of ideal happiness, or may be they had auguries of its chaotic future. Had Noshir Mehta been around when the road was rechristened, he would definitely have been up in arms against the move. He is a dainty young man in his early thirties, and though he has lived here at a stretch only for the last 17 months, he is already exasperated with the noise, disorder and the frenetic pace at which the area is being developed, old houses torn down to construct concrete upwardly-mobile matchboxes. New money has played havoc with what used to be a sleepy road. For now, Noshir Mehta lives with his father in one of those few gracious houses that have survived. It was built in 1928 and now it is Birla property. His father has lived in this flat since 1960, when he himself was a youth, and Noshir has settled down in America. But he has grown up here and his memory has not faded. It is a sprawling flat, beautifully accessorised with faded Renoir prints, a miniature Rodin and a marble goddess of Hellenic origin. Has he noticed any changes in the road? No, he says at first, but on second thought adds: 'There are more pariah dogs, more beggars, the garbage dump has moved next to the health food shop Gokul Vatika.' He remembers the time when Ankur, the largest apartment block on this street, was built and the dust it raised. Then he touches a tender spot - 'The death of a girl (when she was run over by a bus in her own school, Shri Shikshayatan) has made a minor difference. Vendors have been evicted from sidewalks and policemen are on guard. But sooner or later, they will come back,' stresses Mehta. But as Shiu Lal Mathur, a toothless but not necessarily old man who sells chai on the pavement opposite Shri Shikshayatan, rightly points out, the traffic goes haywire only at certain hours of the day: when the two schools - the second being Sakhawat Memorial Government Girls' High School - give over, ie. periodically from around 10.30 to about four in the evening. Around three in the afternoon, rows of schoolbuses line the road on the Sakhawat side. They stand docile, these potential killing machines. Besides vehicles going helter skelter, Lord Sinha Road is also associated with fresh fruits and nuts from exotic locales like Thailand, Australia and New Zealand along with Rajasthani food. Ironically, the three shops which stock them have AJC Bose Road addresses because they stand at the intersection of the two roads. Gokul is the first of these. Encased in grubby mirrors, it displays sweets which resemble puff pastry and even patently Bengali mishti like nalen gurer sandesh, which the young owner, Laxmikant Balasaria, would have me believe are their own concoctions. One notices such cultural cooption at the other end of Lord Sinha Road too. There, at Mayaram, an eatery a few yards away from Shakespeare Sarani, one gets pau bhaji (the tava has a diameter of three feet), chats and kulfi served up by a restaurateur from Orissa. At Gokul, rosogollas are giftpacked in plastic jars resembling the mangal ghat and badam barfi in thermocol cases resembling cash boxes. Busy on the phone, Pappa Balsaria wears a spotless, white kurta, sparklers flashing in the buttonholes. On the floor above, is the restaurant famed for its Marwari cuisine. But today, a couple are its only occupants. 'Saturdays and Sundays are our days,' explains a helpful waiter. Vijay Lakshmi next to it is a veritable cornucopia of the luscious produce of plants and trees imported from the four corners of the earth. Kiwi, pears, honeydew, melon, grapefruit, apricots, sweet tamarind, figs, mangoes ...the list is endless. Neighbouring Gokul Vatika is more of the same. Opposite the trio is an intriguing building, perhaps the most ancient here. It has sloughed off the plaster but someone has daubed a yellow wash on it. Which looks dun-coloured on naked brick. A durwan claims this used to be Lord Sinha's residence. Was it once No 17, Elysium Row, where the first Indian to enter the Governor-General's Executive Council used to live in 1912 ? A longwinded drive leads to the 16-storey apartment block that is Ankur. G.K. Bhaia occupies one of the large flats along with his two sons, their wives and children. He moved into it in 1980 from Kalakar Street. He blames the maddening crowd on the schools and the glittering shopping plaza, a recent addition. 'We have to live with the situation,' he says resignedly. But Emami Shopping City is bereft of crowds in the afternoon. The shopfront of Creativity grabs your eyeballs. Ragini Harmilapi, an artist trained in Chandigarh, is the muse here. With its plastic sphinx, plastic centre table-cum-purling fountain, plastic necking cranes, plastic foliage and plastic fruits popping out of a canvas she has painted herself, this boutique is an amazing celebration of the bizarre. At this hour, even the pool and snooker parlour here on the ground floor is deserted. Its caretaker, Sunil Khaitan, admits there is too much competition nowadays. This Landmark stands cheek-by-jowl with the headquarters of the Border Security Force, South Bengal Frontier, the legend emblazoned on a huge plastic archway. A handsome moustachioed jawan stands guard. The office is housed in a mansion of no recent vintage. It is handsome and of noble proportions, but nobody can tell how long BSF has been occupying it. The Intelligence Branch of West Bengal is supposedly the best kept secret of this road, or at least the mandarins here think so. This is another of those stately old buildings. But did you say history? Nobody has time for such trifles.