|aka Actually not Howrah|
A messy collage of Calcutta
|area||District of Itself|
|population||A lot, and even more with Howrah|
|ethnic groups||10 (million) little indians|
|languages / dialects||see the guide|
|religions||All you want|
“They leave me breathless. Even Communist China has embraced Deo, why don't they?”
“Calcutta will take your breath away”
“The black hole of Calcutta? Oh, I know him well...”
“I live here.”
“Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative.”
“Eww arr my chikaan fraay.. Eww arr my feesh fray.”
A messy overview
The modern-day city has two levels. Above ground hoverpods take stockbrokers to work and a vigorous trade in Raj nostalgia flourishes. Below ground an army of lepers works to extend the religious power of the unaccountably famous and wrinkled Albanian Mother Teresa.
It is estimated that Calcutta's most numerous imports are guitars, mostly shipped over the Chinese Wall for Calcuttan youths to use as weapons in their mating rituals. The oddest thing about these guitars is that one may be a first-class instrument and the next absolutely unplayable. The other odd thing is that most of the people in possession of the guitar do not know it is a musical instrument.
It was not ever thus. Once the textile industry of Calcutta gave its name to the fabric "calico", a fabric or textile named after its place of origin, which I forget.
Another well-known sight is the bicycle rickshaw, often pedalled by rickshaw-wallas so advanced in years that they can only continue to work because any decent person will get off and walk.
Oldschool Calcuttans, distinguished by their compulsive worship of the Great God Rabindranath, frequent the part of the city known as College Street where, used and reused opinions are sold at black market prices on the pavements under dusty fluorescent bulbs. This intellectual ferment is said to be due to extreme humidity and the overpowering smell of fish. Die hard Bengali Babus, who wear a white top and a white bottom cloth(which is semi see-through by the way - so the pretty young things can see their dangling ding dongs) swear by Rabindranath. Kabiguru, he is called, which is a corruption of the phrase "kya big uru!" which means "what big nipples!", for Rabindranath was born with monstrous boobs. One fine day when he was sleeping his sister-in-law cut them and stuck them onto her chest, breast implantation was thus born. Dejected, he turned to writing poetry. Bengalis, drawing from him have a poetry or a Rabindra-sangeet('song of Rabindra') for every possible occasion, in fact there is even one that men sing piteously when they suffer from constipation, or from piles. The song may be roughly transcribed as 'Ode to the brownish lump' or 'Musings of a Re-Turd'. Such is the literary genius of this poetry, that Rabindranath was awarded the Nobel prize for this work. It is well known in literary circles how grateful the asses of the Nobel Prize committee members were to the poet. So our exalted Bengali intellectuals congregate to discuss and dissect his works whenever they have the time(which is generally about 23 hours a day - the remainder is for defecating and cleaning their bottoms) and sigh at the beauty of the poetry. Such is their affection for him, that Bengali women when having an orgasm never forget to recite two lines from his poems as they cool down. From kindergarten to university theses, Bengalis study his poetry, because they have nothing else to study in their literature. A few other poets, like Nazrul Islam wrote sonnets on ass-fucking, but since that was outlawed at the time, Bengalis couldn't recite it openly. Now that homosexuality has been legalized in India, they have drawn out all 1346.2 poems (the last one was 20% complete, if you must know) and are retouching them to fit modern times. That is understood, given condoms and lube and sex toys and dildos weren't really known in that age.
Calcutta also has the distinction of manufacturing the largest percentage of poets. All Calcuttans who can read and write any of the forty-three vernaculars spoken there will attempt to write at least once in their painfully long lives. The ones who can't will remain disgruntled and eventually join the Red Comrade Brigade that rules the city.
The last characteristic feature of Calcuttans is their maniacal obsession with sports. At a large central field, dedicated to the ghost of Queen Victoria, horse races are held in her honour: this will soon be declared a World Heritage Site because it provides jobs for at least half the city's population. An international cricket match once every four-and-a-quarter-years signals widespread hysteria throughout the metropolis and the city congregates under the leadership of His Royal Maharaja Sourav Ganguly III to throw seasonal vegetables and mineral water bottles at the visiting teams.
But modern Calcutta is a thrusting, go-ahead tiger economy of flashy boulevards that only happens to look as if someone dropped Victorian Halifax on India and then dumped its municipal rubbish heap on top.
Also, this city has a love for fucked up cinema with a wide range of gay hairy men trying to make sexy scenes by fondling the boobs of the 90 year old sluts on sandy beaches.
Culture (if at all)
Kolkata is known throughout Eurasia not only as the capital, but as the place that produces the highest concentration of people with second-hand opinions. If someone says that he has heard a certain thing, about a certain things, in 9 out of 10 cases it has to a be Kolkatan. Due to a heady mixture of extreme humidity, the overpowering smell of Ilish and other unknown reasons, Kolkata is the largest producer of pseudo-intellectuals in India. During the day, Kolkatans are found in smoke-filled coffee houses arguing the hidden meanings of books which they have heard of. Night life consists of reading reviews of books. These nocturnal persuals are always done in monkey-caps; which they need to keep the other Eurasians from actually knowing that its only filled with borrowed ideas.
Kolkata also has the dubious distinction of producing the maximum number of poets. Most Kolkatans, who can read and write, will try to write poetry at least once in their lives. It has probably got to do with the inherent elevated levels of pollutants present in the air of the city. Which probably induces this sadistic streak in them. Women Kolkatans often only tend to mate with such poets. Those who happen to write and also sing the words written, invariably get laid a lot more.
Women of Kolkata
Kolkata's women are considered very beautiful by almost everyone. To explain this extraordinary popular mass delusion, there are several theories that have been put forward, some of which will be elaborated below:
- Their ability to confuse: Of all the species of women, the women of Kolkata have by far the greatest ability to confuse men. They do so by simply adopting better disguises, like the saree-clad freshly bathed, fair-skinned doe eyed docile attractive mate. This is mostly done by the not so intelligent of the species.
- Their ability to confound: This is the mechanism adopted by the more intelligent of the species. They are often not as adept at disguises as the others. Hence they choose to display various brain activities, like intelligent speech (which men of all races have a problem dealing with) and ambition (undefiniable in the male context for a female).
- What you see... is exactly what you get: It is commmon knowledge that men think that they can change a situation. Thus when they see a domineering female, they think they can subjugate her. So they make it their life's mission to persue such a woman. However its only after liasion or worse marriage do they realise that what they had seen is exactly what the thing was. (By the time they realise this they are too jaded to complain).
- Combination: Of any or all of the above . In such cases she's too dangerous to go unnoticed.
Most Calcuttans believe that they speak Bengali. However Calcutta's men folk spontaneously speak a different language when in the company of another men folk. This language is really a dialect of another language whose name I no longer remember. The dialect itself is called "Tscho Dna!". The unique thing about this dialect is that it has a very large number of loan words from different languages of the world. The following is a sample list of vocabulary from this dialect:
- Beau Katscho Dah (French - good friend)
- Khan Kird-Im (Mongol - omelette)
- Chu Dirb High (Chinese - Manchurian Bastard)
- Bunch ode (Punjabi - Respect to sisters)
- Lao Rah (Lao - a long rod; Rah - Blunt on one end)
- Gud marani (Anglo-Latin - Good morning)
- Gud e panu (Maltese - Good afternoon)
- Gud nai (Thai - Good night)
- Nee Mai(Japanese - My Knee)
- Rain Dee (Scottish - ex-girlfriend)
- Balc Her (German - Nice Hairstyle)
- Gahn Dew (Hungarian - generic term for a respectable person, most commonly used for father, teachers, uncles and other elderly folk.)
- Magib Aji (Arabic - Being Happy)
- Balk Ha (Persian - Meal)
- Moderch Ode (Urdu - A generic term for friends,usually men)
- Boca Choda (Bengali-idiotic fucker,favourite catchphrase among Bengalis,first coined by Rabindranath)
- When we speak that certain event is good for all then only Korean-French-Dutch comes as Chu de chaat
A bootiful poem describing a typical bongali babu
- Through the jongole I am went;
- On shooting Tiger I am bent
- Boshtaard Tiger has eaten wife;
- No doubt I will avenge poor darling's life
- Too much quiet, snakes and leeches;
- But I not fear these sons of beeches
- Hearing loud noise I am jumping with start;
- But noise is coming from damn fool's heart
- Taking care not to be fright;
- Holding rifle with eye so tight
- Should Tiger come I will shoot and fall him down;
- Then like hero return to native town
- Then through trees I am espying one cave;
- I am telling self - "Bannerjee be brave"
- I am now proceeding with too much care;
- From far I smell this Tiger's lair
- My leg shaking, sweat coming, I start pray;
- I think I will shoot Tiger some other day
- Turning round I am going to flee;
- But Tiger giving bloody roar spotting Bongalee
- He bounding from cave like footballer Pele;
- I run shouting "Kali Ma tumi kothay gele "
- Through the jongole I am running;
- With Tiger on my tail closer looming
- I am a telling that never in life;
- I will take risk again for my damn fool wife !!!!!
Yes, it is.