At six in the morning, while most of Kolkata is still stirring from sleep, a different kind of buzz ripples through the still waters of Beleghata Lake.
Not the usual joggers, nor the morning chaiwalas, but a group of men, most of them in windcheaters and worn-in sneakers, crouched over gear kits that look straight out of a European sporting goods store.
Among them are Chayan Hazra and his 80-year-old father, Shovon Kumar Hazra. The two have been fishing together for years. They navigated across ponds, lakes, and even private water bodies far beyond the city. “It’s not just a weekend hobby,” Chayan says, gently stringing a bait line. “It’s a way of life.”
For the Hazras and hundreds like them, fishing isn’t about sport as much as it is about returning to a slower rhythm, to a quieter Kolkata, to something that feels anchored in tradition even as the city around them races to modernise.
On Sundays, they often head to Beleghata Lake, where fishing is ticketed and timed. “It’s Rs 1,500 for a day’s permit,” Chayan says. “You’re allowed three rods. If you’re lucky, and your team is in sync, you’ll land a big one.”
According to Arindam Roy, founder of the Kolkata Anglers’ Forum, the city offers more angling options than one might assume.
“Subhas Sarovar, Laldighi, Nalban, Sarsuna pond — these are our main urban spots. Ticket prices range from ₹300 to ₹1,500 depending on the water body and day of the week,” he explains.
Beyond the city, Jagatballavpur, Nandakumar, and Basirhat have private ponds that attract seasoned anglers, especially on weekends.
Roy’s most memorable catch? “A 14 kg katla near Jagatballavpur. The adrenaline rush is like nothing else.”
Arindam Roy with a spectacular catch Courtesy: Bengal Angler's Forum
Teamwork — that’s something that comes up often in these circles. “We don’t fish alone,” says Abhishek Paul, a software engineer and angler by passion.
“It’s like a mini expedition every week, from getting bait to deciding who’ll carry what. The WhatsApp group starts buzzing by Thursday,” Abhishek added.
While the city offers several public lakes, such as Subhas Sarovar, Nalban, Sarsuna, and Laldighi, most seasoned anglers prefer private ponds.
You can get access through family connections or pure networking, and the rewards, they say, are usually fatter (literally!).
“We go to Dattapukur, Habra, sometimes even Nandakumar,” Chayan says. “One time, we caught a 12-kg hybrid magur. It took three of us to reel it in.”
Shovon, who began fishing as a 15-year-old in East Bengal before moving to Kolkata post-Partition, remembers a different world.
“The water was clearer then. There were more ponds. Less competition. You didn’t need anything fancy. Just a bamboo rod, homemade bait, and patience.”
Today, the game has changed. Fibreglass rods, imported reels, synthetic yarns, and even bait have gone global. “Now the fish are smarter,” he chuckles. “They won’t bite if you use the old stuff. You have to mix the bait like a recipe — add a little scent, a little oil, sometimes even foreign liquors.”
Arindam Roy agrees. “The evolution is incredible. Earlier, no one had access to imported gear. Now you can buy reels from the UK, bait from the US, and rods made in Japan, all in Kolkata. There are niche shops around College Street and CIT Road. Even some dealers in Burrabazar have started stocking gear for this growing market.”
Weekend ritual in full swing — rods, reels, and a quiet focus Courtesy: Bengal Angler's Forum
But, it’s not just the gear that has evolved. The fishing calendar itself has shifted.
“Earlier, the main season was July to Pujo time,” says Roy. “Now it starts in April and runs till November. Winter’s no good, as the fish don’t bite.”
That hasn't stopped enthusiasts, though. If anything, interest has only grown. The Kolkata Anglers’ Forum, started in 2013, now boasts over 650 active members.
In 2016, they hosted their first annual catch-and-release tournament at Eco Park. “It’s a sport now,” Roy says. “There are rewards, trophies, and imported fishing gear as prizes. We’re also planning a kids’ event to keep the tradition alive.”
What’s striking is how democratic the passion feels. While there are elite anglers with SUVs and imported kits, there are also retired schoolteachers, lawyers, techies, and teens who show up with modest gear and decades of experience.
Saikat Das, a 34-year-old digital marketing executive, stumbled into fishing during the pandemic. “I was burnt out. A friend dragged me to Sarsuna one Sunday. I didn’t even catch anything. But I came back lighter, something shifted in my head. Now I don’t miss a weekend.”
For many, that mental stillness is the biggest catch. “You wait for hours, sometimes for nothing,” says Shovon. “But the waiting is the point. It slows the world down.”
Aritra Ghosh, a south Kolkata lawyer, puts it another way: “It’s the only time my phone stays in my pocket for more than two hours. That alone is worth it.”
Now you can buy reels from the UK, bait from the US, and rods made in Japan, all in Kolkata Courtesy: Bengal Angler's Forum
But, the rising number of anglers brings its complications. “There are fewer ponds now,” Shovon says. “Many have been filled up, sold off, and turned into apartment blocks. Earlier, we had 10 ponds within a two-kilometre radius. Now, barely two remain.”
Environmentalists warn that Kolkata’s water bodies are shrinking faster than ever, with illegal encroachments and poor maintenance taking a toll on marine diversity.
Some groups are stepping in to help. The Bengal Anglers’ Association has begun pushing for better maintenance of public ponds and more awareness around sustainable fishing.
Catch-and-release methods are being encouraged, especially during breeding season. Clean-up drives have been organised at Subhas Sarovar and Nalban. And the battle is uphill.
Still, every Sunday morning, against the hum of buses and the occasional cry of a street vendor, a quiet ritual continues. Lines are cast. Flasks are shared. And every now and then, a rod bends to give a sign that somewhere below the surface, something stirs.
“You never come back empty-handed,” says Shovon Hazra, eyes fixed on the water. “If not fish, then peace.”
