Oh, I do love visiting Calcutta, this time to see old friends and visit the remnants of the Raj at Barrackpore again where the whole park is undergoing a remarkable renovation. Imperial ghosts may drift through the builders' dust as the old Government House itself shakes off decades of decay and decrepitude and comes to life again, they are not unwelcome. The aim of the restoration project is neither to bury them nor to forget their existence but to use best what is left from a part of Indian history for the advantage of present and future generations; as an educational, environmental and recreational resource and to encourage new tourism and tourist revenues into West Bengal and thereby into the country.
The project was begun when the former police Commissioner in Calcutta was moved sideways due to his unfashionable honesty and posted down the road to take charge of Barrackpore and its police training college. A historian first, as is his teacher wife, when instructed to review Government House, the then defunct police hospital, for demolition, he decided instead to restore it. In fact he has a track record, previously implementing several restoration projects in Calcutta and now successfully raising state funding for the Barrackpore work. The facade of the old house facing the river is already finished, the others will follow as work hurries on in the high airy rooms of the interior. A sprung floor once danced upon by the Viceroy's ADCs and daughters is being relaid, hidden spiral staircases where generations of sweepers crept are suddenly exposed to view and, downstairs in the old servants quarters, a rudimentary museum is already in place.
A quickly made but comprehensive and well-photographed, hooray for drone technology, documentary video focuses in particular on the importance of Barrackpore Park as an environmental repository, so close to the vast Calcutta sprawl, part indeed of Greater Kolkata and yet this backwater on the great Hooghly River has retained its natural wealth not least by its neglect. New generations used to and educated in issues of environmental damage and depletion of flora and fauna, have a chance to retain in Barrackpore, among its gardens and jungly undergrowth, life that may already be lost elsewhere. In addition to their day jobs and after hours historian's caps, the lead restorers of the Barrackpore estate have also written a book 'Under the Banyan Tree', to be published shortly, detailing the history of the houses and park since the early days of the East India Company in text and images.
Back in Calcutta itself the rain poured down and the temperature plummeted as we drank deeply and ate a delicious Bengali dinner between in the high ceilinged rooms and wide verandas of the old police accommodation block, another relic of the past where a huge dark wood staircase leads up to the first floor. The next day, shopping first, Byloom for charming children's prints and designs, then the Indian museum in the early evening for a recital in the quadrangle by a Russian pianist as the sliver of a moon rose above the white colonnades and on to drinks and platefuls of this and that to eat in the Bengal Club Bar. This somehow typical Calcutta gathering included the Bengali/Punjabi Christian widow, maiden name remarkably Khan, of a Rajput royal whose mother in law aged 90 still fumes over the mesalliance so many years ago from her home in Jaipur; the long divorced Bengali Muslim who worked for years in New York for the UN and has since run the arts festival in Pittsburgh where she lives who still fasts and gives up alcohol for Ramzan; a recently widowed Marwari businessman whose mistresses were once legion and this writer, British and simply fascinated by the wealth of stories encouraged by a cocktail of whisky, vodka, tequila and wine and fed so gloriously unsuitably with bacon and cheese puffs.
multiple pairs of the ever larger sized white cotton trousers my husband persists in wearing whatever the British winter weather. By now too, after a gross or two of white cotton, he could have had a wardrobe of Savile Row suits for the price. India is not the cheap option it once was for tailored clothes as I remembered when I thought I WOULD after all have those particularly comfortable trousers and silk shirts of my own copied half a dozen times. Then a round of lunches, teas and dinners and all the gossip of recent months, the Ambani wedding, Amitabh Bachchan in rows of emerald beads rendering the puja prayers into English for the edification of the guests including a front row of all the Bollywood stars, some flown in by private jet for the occasion. Conspicuous consumption gone mad as Mukesh Ambani lays his path towards overtaking Jeff Bezos in the wealth and influence stakes through providing cheap electronic communications to the Indian masses and offering them a slice of international online consumerism. What was the story of the Jaipur Lit Fest, why did William Dalrymple resign? Rumour and counter rumour and what about the British Royal Family and Duchess Megan? The gupshup is international these days but still thrives best when face to face.
Finally back to a wonderful Goan garden, developed and over-developed Goa less joyous or scenic as the rubbish piles up on the side of the road and the quality of tourism takes a dive as infrastructure fails to keep up with demand. The major luxury hotels are not the answer - the more exclusive, the less escapes their international operation into the local economy. Government and tourist organisations need to work better together and the government must get its own house in order and re-create a relatively pristine environment if tourism is to continue to provide a proper means of income for the state and its people.
Meanwhile the unregulated building goes on, half made constructions scar perfect hillsides previously decorated only by the whitewashed facade of a 16th century church peeping through the palms. The concrete bones of great unfinished flyovers and roads march across the landscape and do nothing as yet to ease the traffic chaos. This was once a paradise of untouched beaches and laid back low level tourism with a few high end hotels catering to the relatively discerning and busy little restaurants serving fish straight out of the sea cooked in Goan style and followed with heavy sweet puddings of Portuguese origin. Perhaps some of that can resurface from the growing mess - local people and local tourism organisations are willing and ready but government must take the lead and work on an overall plan. Such a pointless thing to write is the truth but it only takes one person with a vision and the will to push it through.
