From the 19th century to today’s times, Kolkata’s urban sensorium has been an integral part of knowing, feeling and remembering the city, Kolkata’s unique soundscape is populated by slogans by rallyists, the steady hum rising at Coffee House from the adda sessions, fish markets, mantras wafting out of loudspeakers on Ashtmai mornings, calls of hawkers, travelling vendors, mattress-makers, bells of trams and hand-pulled rickshaws, and carving of stone and marble. A number of literary and audio-visual works accommodates this cultural phenomenon, like Tarun Majumdar’s ‘Sriman Prithviraj’, which starts with a unique track where Hemanta Mukhopadhyay lends his voice to actor Rabi Ghosh playing a street-pedlar. He sells a unique product, ‘Haridaser Bulbulbhaja’.
Rishika Mukhopadhyay, lecturer at University of Southampton and co-investigator of the project, Urban Sensory Heritage of Kolkata Streets’, feels Kolkata offers a constellation of sounds, including nature (birds, dogs, rain), slogans in rallies, instrumental sounds like dhak at religious festivities and prayers like kirtans or azaans. “Kolkata’s sound culture is not limited to the public sphere and can be extended to private spaces, such as the kitchen or craft workshops, or even a music school. ”
Street vendors and their trade sounds are nothing new. Being the first city of the Empire in India and a flourishing metropolis, Calcutta was introduced to imported as well as home-grown products. The essential things used for religious and social activities constituted a large part of daily transactions. A few familiar products for hawking were food items, cheap jewellery, ropes, flowers, ice, bread, butter, fish, eggs and any item that could be carried in wicker baskets. The vendors even offered services, like ‘ripukarma’ or ‘dnater poka baar kori’.
Amritalal Basu in ‘Puratan Panjika’ and Sashichandra Dutta in ‘The Street Music of Calcutta’ recollected a unique sound from mid-19th century Calcutta: “K-u-u-u-o-o-or-Ghoti-T-o-o-o-la”, meaning pulling out a pitcher that had fallen in a well, reminding us of a time when the city was dependent on wells. From the late 19th century, this cry faded with tap water supply by municipal bodies. Radhaprasad Gupta’s ‘Kolkatar Feriwalar Dak Ar Rastar Awaj’ gives an account of sounds from vendors and hawkers. As does Abanindranath Tagore’s ‘Apon Kotha’ and ‘Jorasankor Dhare’, which illustrate the auditory world of Kolkata. He comments on the city life and its characters just by listening to sounds. Abanindranath also portrays the picture of the day changing from dawn to noon to dusk to night, through specific, temporal sounds. Kolkata’s sonic world is reflected in ‘Hutom Pyanchar Naksha’ by Kaliprasanna Sinha. Hutom’s vignettes capture music and cacophonies of the city, including kobigaan, jatra, charak and keertan, alongside official measurements of time in the sound of a clock or cannons at Fort William. Some other sounds were ‘Muskil asan karabe go’ (Want to solve your troubles) and ‘juta silai, juta brush’ (repairing and cleaning shoes). A modest number of kabadiwalas or kagojwalas comprises a big percentage of today’s pedlars. We often come across their cry: “K-a-a-a-goj, shishi, botol”. Md Morsalim Molla roams the lanes of Amherst Street and College Street, collecting newspapers from houses. “ I still go back to the houses, from where I had started earning. We have developed a relationship of trust. But I am growing old and find it difficult to walk for long in this hot and humid weather,” said the Lakshmikantapur resident.
‘Chai baraf’ has now been replaced with “a-a-ice-cream” thanks to refrigerators in urban Bengali middle-class homes. Another appealing call, especially for kids, was “burir mathar paka chul” (old woman’s grey hair), the candy floss. “Tulo dhune debo”, the trade cry of cotton-cleaners, armed with a harp-shaped bow or cotton-gin, originated from their very activity — to clean and shred lumped cotton in mattresses and quilts. Though the number of travelling mattress sellers and pillowmakers have reduced, some still visit the paras. Imran Mohammed has been in this trade for 15 years and his day begins in Burrabazar, from where he travels to other parts. But with readymade mattresses, quilts and pillows being sold, demand for people like him is decreasing.
From bells of hand-pulled rickshaws and trams to trade cries of hawkers, from rally slogans to the buzz of adda at heritage hubs and neighbourhoods, Kolkata’s culture has shaped its unique soundscape
‘Sil katao’ (cut or carve grinding stone), ‘kulfimalai’, ‘alu-kabli’ and many others need no further introduction. Md Sakil, who cuts and carves grinding stones, said, “There are hardly any people in this trade now. It is a dying profession. ” Street-vendors are gradually disappearing, especially from posh localities, and the call of hawkers selling lozenges — labanjus in Bengali — has shifted to buses, trams and trains. As trams have stopped plying several routes, the sound of tram bells has gone down. Similar is the fate of bells used by handpulled rickshaw-wallahs. Rishika said, “The pres- ence of ‘feriwalar dak’ in the city predates the noise of vehicular traffic that drowns us today. Kolkata still maintains a palpable link with its hinterland. Historically, the songs and sounds can be traced to sellers commuting between these two spaces. These sounds connect the city to a vast, often impoverished, population who come to sell daily wares. These sounds also have strong place association, such as ‘Nabadwip-er lal doi’ or ‘Joynagarer moa’, though the vendor may not be from these places. Many of these calls are vanishing but they are being reinvented through new mediums and forms, such as recorded sounds played from vans. ” Sayantan Das, another team member of the project and assistant professor at Dum Dum Motijheel College, said they archived over 50 vanishing sounds. “It was to memorialise the city through its distinct sounds. It was also an attempt to look beyond the built heritage and explore the sensory heritage of the city. ”
‘Window Shopping’ — a 35-minute short film trying to capture cries from the bylanes of north Kolkata — chronicles sounds vanishing from the city. “Kolkata has a unique soundscape. I find that fascinating because of my familiarity with the different regional variations of the Bengali language. For my short film, I chose Kolkata for its well-defined visual appeal and the imaginativeness in its air. The travelling salesmen of Kolkata use their distinctive calls and the phrases and compositions they create are relatable and are mostly a combination of local culture and lingo. The products they ferry range from lozenges to silk saris,” said Soumitra Bagchi, director of ‘Window Shopping’, adding his film’s purpose was to show a side of civilization that is on the edge of extinction.
