The Industrial Bankruptcy of Bengal

At outset, I must say that being born and brought up in Kolkata, it pains me deeply to write this piece.

My family migrated to Kolkata about three generations ago in early 1950s. We me Bengal our home. Not just my family, but countless ors like us came to Kolkata, which in those days was an aspirational dream for a villager from deep south of India. As Sanjeev Sanyal, a member of Economic Council to PM, me his controversial comment on Kolkata, " city didn’t die, it was murdered," I cannot help but agree. Kolkata, for a large part, was ruled by Communist Party. bhralok (gentleman) never turned abodhro (indecent) in fighting against government of day—and that, I believe, was biggest mistake.

Kolkata, for those who don’t know, was a laid-back city, mesmerising its residents with its charm of love, ardor, and rasgulla. charm lingered for a very long time, etched in memories of people like me. love will never fe, and it should never. But yes, I must mit, a part of me grew to hate what Bengal h become.

Before 1911, Bengal was capital of British India. Post-1947, Kolkata was India’s commercial hub. Giants like Tatas built an 18-story skyscraper in 1963 to house ir East India operations. Birlas established ir empire at Chowringhee. Dum Dum was India’s largest airport, serving more international airlines than any or airport in country. city was bustling with life—business, culture, and sports thrived. But slowly and steily, Communists started imposing ir left-leaning ideas, and culture of strikes, bandhs, and hartals crept in. With a heavy dose of communism, Kolkata's glory began to fe.

Offices were open six days a week, but work barely got done on three or four of those days. I remember inter-para riots that stunned me as a young boy. Believe me, you’d be shocked to know that goons from one neighbourhood would throw handme bombs (petos) at next. That was culture of ruling class. During festivals, donations (chanda) were nothing short of extortion. Slowly, inefficiency became norm. No one cared, and no one bored. Bandhs in Kolkata meant free days to play cricket on ros. Stone pelting, dharnas, strikes, latecomers, loud arguments, and endless excuses became hallmark of Kolkata folk. y ranted about a glorious past but spent more time in da (chit-chat) than in productive work. Businessmen and industrialists, harassed by goons, grew frustrated and began leaving, one by one.

And yet, despite it all, one thing never lost its charm—Kolkata’s street food. It still mesmerises and stuns my taste buds every time. phuchkas, rolls, jhaal muri—se are flavours that keep pulling me back to old Calcutta, just as it draws millions of ors. For many of us, this is heart of Kolkata's magic, a piece of city that has stubbornly refused to change even as so much else has crumbled around it.

As city changed its name from Calcutta to Kolkata, very little actually changed in its essence. love for cricket and football was always beyond corridors of responsibility, where skipping work for a game or an impassioned debate over local clubs was a way of life. city’s passions ran deep, but y also distracted from its grual decline.

By late 90s, Bengal was a fast-dying state. As this progressive destruction unfolded, proud Bengali rarely realised what was happening. It wasn’t until late 90s that youth began to feel heat—no jobs, no opportunities, poor pay, and lack of exposure haunted m. younger generation began migrating to Bengaluru, Hyderab, Chennai, and Mumbai. It was a shocking eye-opener. y realised how backward ir home state h become.

change of government did little to improve situation. From da to didi, things went from b to worse. re are whispers that in between, Buddheb Bhattacharjee me an honest attempt to bring change, but system was beyond repair. Singur was final nail in coffin. When Tatas left Bengal, I believe that was day Bengal's Industrial obituary was written.

Today, Bengal and Kolkata, with ir glorious past, are only discussed in past tense. charm is lost. youth are gone. factories have closed. re is no hope of a new dawn. If I h to ask one question that keeps lingering in my mind, it would be this: Kothai gelo amer Kolkata? (Where did our Kolkata go?) I doubt I’ll ever get an answer.

As I sign off, I cannot help but d a note of positivity. Despite all sness, a human being must accept finite disappointment but never lose infinite hope. Hope is, after all, last thing ever lost."

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