Palace Court in Chowringhee. Picture by Sanat Kumar Sinha

Of the large apartment blocks in Chowringhee, surely Chowringhee Mansion and Palace Court behind it are the most opulent. However, Chowringhee Mansion perennially wears a smart red coat, whereas Palace Court, its elegant form notwithstanding, looks shabby and down-at-heel.

Not surprising. It has not been painted since 1970. Yet from the extreme end of the tank in the Indian Museum compound, its ugliness camouflaged by trees, the silhouette of Palace Court with its twin turrets stands out.

At 85, Ahmed Ali, a well-known photographer, is the oldest resident of this building with two wings, a large courtyard between them, six entrances leading to the lifts — three on each side — and about 50 flats, many of which have of late been rented out to commercial firms.

The lifts don’t work and the garden, if it can be called so, in the courtyard, is full of plants and trees that have grown haphazardly. With plaster peeling off and many missing glass panes, the house looks sad. But a few mango trees still stand in the backyard.

Ali, who rented the groundfloor flat with four large rooms, two covered verandahs, a pantry and a kitchen in 1948, says prior to him, an Englishman occupied it. There were Czechs too, all Bata employees.

It was hot outside, but inside Ali’s flat it was cool and comfortable. “The walls are three feet thick and only lime and sand was used as the binder for the bricks,” says Ali.

“It used to be an elite neighbourhood. The police commissioner, still British, lived next door in a double-storeyed bungalow with a large compound, and next to it was a similar building belonging to Lord and Lady Ezra,” he adds.

The walls of the reception area are covered with black-and-white shots of the Rourkela steel plant taken in 1959, an advertisement of Regent cigarette taken in Firpo’s, and blow-ups of Khajuraho and Taj Mahal.

Going by the figures on the graceful cast iron gate, Palace Court was constructed in 1926, although it may have been ready for occupation three years later. It is said that it was initially owned by a Jewish family, and subsequently, a Muslim family which owned sugar mills at Sasaram in Bihar became the landlords. But since 1945, the property has been in the hands of court-appointed receivers, although it is still owned by the descendants of the same family.

Fashion designer Vien Singh has lived here since 1962, after Spences’ Hotel, that belonged to his family, closed down. He talks nostalgically about the bungalows that were knocked down and the green that vanished after the hideous MLAs’ hostel came up. Vien has a round worktable with a suite of six carved Chinese chairs bought from Gina Coochbehar of the royal family. His sofas and bureaux are also elaborately carved, and he grows flowers in the verandah.

Zarin Pesi Dadina, a paediatrician, lives on the top floor of an opposite block with her daughter. Her brother lives on the second floor and she moved in in 1970 after she got married. She has made minor changes in the structure of the flat dominated by off-white sofas and a profusion of crystal. A chandelier hangs above her dining table. She speaks of freedom fighter Nellie Sengupta, wife of Jatindra Mohan and a tenant, as a woman blessed with a “sense of humour right till the end.”

Katie Dalal, who has lived here since 1958 when she got married, remembers how the floors used to be scrubbed with soap and water every Sunday. Children would meet downstairs and had a whale of a time. Now that flats have been turned into offices, there is paan spittle everywhere.