In Language, Colonial Kolkata Stays Alive
Photo: Arya Jalundhwala on Unsplash
A city rooted in colonial legend, Nivedita Dey examines the linguistics of place, names, food, and culture that keep the “Calcutta” in Kolkata.
In 1858, the British crown took over the rule of the Indian subcontinent from the East India Company, officially beginning the British Raj in the land. The colonization of the South Asian people, however, had truly begun centuries ago, when in 1608 the British first landed in India as a trading company. The close proximity with the colonizers, their language, culture, architecture, and lifestyle for the next three and a half centuries was to leave an irreversible impression on the psyche, the culture and the language of the colonized.
The Raj ended with Independence and Partition in 1947. But, almost 80 years later, echoes of the colonizers are still heard across Indian life. Nowhere is this truer than Kolkata, where the colonial ‘Calcutta’ continues to live on in the city’s cultural nuances, language, and heritage.
Calcutta: the name rooted in a colonial legend
There are several disparate stories about since when and why the ‘City of Joy’ came to be called Calcutta. The 16th century rent-roll of Emperor Akbar Ain-e-Akbar mentions an early version of ‘Kolikata’. Even earlier, in 15th century, Bengali poet Bipradas Pipilai mentioned the same in his poem, “Manasa Mangal Kavya” (1495). Some believe that the city derives its name from an original name Kali Kshetra, meaning “the place of Kali”, the region historically being much associated with the worship of the Hindu goddess. Some claim that the name is rooted in even older literature, where the Bengali word ‘kilkila’ meant flat land.
However, the most popular and commonly-believed legend that circulates among the citizens is another story rooted in colonial history of Bengal. The legend goes as follows: Job Charnock, an English administrator working for the British East India Company, landed in the said locale in the mid-17th century and opened a trading post in an area then known as Sutanuti. One day, while promenading a neighbouring area, he got curious about its name, approached a woodcutter in sight who was chopping down a tree, or a farmer harvesting his crop (both versions of the story exist), and asked him in English, “What is this place called?” The native speaker didn’t understand a word of the foreign language, and simply presumed that the ‘Sahib’ was asking him about when the tree was cut down (or when the paddy was harvested). So, he replied “Kaal hi kataa.” (It was cut just yesterday). Charnock took it as an answer to his question, and ever since then, the city was christened ‘Calcutta’ over this linguistic misunderstanding. Based on the same legend, Job Charnock historically came to be known as the ‘founder’ of the city Calcutta.
In 2001, the city was renamed by the West Bengal Government from its anglicized name ‘Calcutta’ to ‘Kolkata’, to make it sound closer to Bengali pronunciation. Next, in 2003, the Calcutta High Court ruled that Job Charnock is not the founder of this legendary city that was once the capital of Bengal Presidency of British India, as this city has no exact birthday and has been exiting many eras before colonial India. The ruling stated that his name as the ‘founder of Kolkata’ should be struck from all official records, school textbooks and websites.
However, for the innately nostalgic Bengali, their favourite ‘tilittomaa’ remains Calcutta, the name given by the colonizers, especially every time they mention it in the middle of an English sentence. Echoing this exact sentiment in an interview with the Times of India in 2016, the Bengali actor-director Parambrata Chatterjee refused to use ‘Kolkata’ but ‘Calcutta’ when speaking in English, “The colonial hangover is a part of us. I don't denounce everything with a colonial legacy. In Bengali, I call my city Kolkata. But in English, it is always Calcutta for me.”
Almost every passenger travelling to the square, when asked about their destination by the ticket collector, will simply reply, “Ekta Dalhousie!” (One ticket to Dalhousie). This itself is a striking irony and example of how much the colonizers remain memorialized in Bengal/Kolkata’s psyche.
Quite interestingly, state machineries such as the Calcutta High Court, some of the old and premium clubs like the Calcutta Club, the Royal Calcutta Golf Club, and Royal Calcutta Turf Club, educational institutions such as the Calcutta University and IIM Calcutta, organizations such as the Calcutta Tramways Company, Calcutta Telephones—BSNL, Calcutta Electric Supply Corporation have all not been renamed. All this go onto the show the unwitting postcolonial hangover that looms over the people in Kolkata—or should we say, Calcutta—made manifest in the citizens’ deliberate linguistic choices.
Dalhousie
In the heart of Kolkata stands Dalhousie Square, Kolkata’s beloved “office para”, housing the city’s most important political, bureaucratic and business hubs. During the Raj, this square served as the centre of the British East India Company’s operations, with the original Fort William lying between the bank of the river Hooghly and a huge water body famously known as Lal Dighi.
No rewards for guessing that during the British rule, the square was named after the famous Lord Dalhousie, who served as Governor-General of India from 1848 to 1856. He was responsible for introducing many modern amenities in India, such as the telegraph, the railways, the postal network and more, and thereby came to be known as the “Maker of Modern India”. His infamous Doctrine of Lapse, on the other hand, was the primary fuel that triggered the Indian Mutiny in 1857, sparking the very first flame of Indian independence struggle.
Ever since, Lord Dalhousie has remained a well-known historical figure from British India. And the locale back then named after him, to this day, continues to be popularly referred to as that, in spite it being renamed as B.B.D Bagh after India gained Independence in 1947. The name B.B.D. Bagh is the short form of Benoy, Badal, Dinesh Bagh (bagh: garden) after the three brave Indian freedom fighters who stormed the Writer’s Building in 1930 and assassinated N.S. Simpson, the then Inspector General of Prisons. The three are considered martyrs for India’s freedom struggle. The name ‘B.B.D. Bagh’ is commonly seen displayed on the sides of the mini buses plying in Kolkata. However, almost every passenger travelling to the square, when asked about their destination by the ticket collector, will simply reply, “Ekta Dalhousie!” (One ticket to Dalhousie). This itself is a striking irony and example of how much the colonizers remain memorialized in Bengal/Kolkata’s psyche.
Writer’s Building
One of the most iconic and important buildings in Kolkata is the Writer’s Building, standing at the centre of Dalhousie or B.B.D Bagh area. Ever since Independence, this building has served as the Secretariat building of the State Government of West Bengal, containing the offices of the Chief Minister, the cabinet ministers, and other senior officials, until 2013, when a major portion of the state government offices were temporarily moved to Nabanna, Howrah. The Writer’s Building is also known as the ‘Mahakaran’ in Bengali.
The first fort was originally commissioned in 1696 by the British East India Company on the banks of the River Hooghly. After its seizure by Nawab Shiraj-ud-Daulah—and thereafter its recapture by the (in)famous Lord Clive—the fort was demolished, and a second one was constructed further south of the original in 1758.
Since 1777, this two-and-half-century-old structure was noted for its prominent yellow bordered, red-brick appearance, which served as the main administrative office for the junior clerks of the British East India Company. These clerks were known as the “writers”, from which the building originally derives its name. And that is what every Kolkatan calls it to this day, instead of Mahakaran or Sachibaalay (meaning secretariat). Get on a minibus going to the said area, and when the bus conductor shouts from across the overcrowded bus, “Dada, ticket ta dekhi?” (Elder bro, a ticket to?), a hurried and huffing office-goer shouts back, “Ekta Writer’s!” (one ticket to the Writer’s). When a middle-class common man, hassled over some government departmental delay needs to urgently pay a visit to the concerned office housed in the building, he tells his family, “Kaal dekhi ekbar Writer’s e giye.” (Let me try visit the Writer’s tomorrow). When an octogenarian grandfather sits his grandchildren down on a rainy evening and begins telling them “true ghost stories of Kolkata”, he most certainly includes “Writer’s er bhoot” (Ghosts of the Writer’s).
P.G. Hospital
In 1954, the famous Presidency General Hospital in Kolkata was renamed as SSKM (Seth Sukhlal Karnani Memorial) Hospital, after its donor of the same name. However, if we go back in history, the original and smaller version of this facility was opened in 1707 in British India, first inside the Old Fort, later shifted to Lower Circular Road, near the Presidency jail, was turned into a full-fledged hospital and named as Presidency General Hospital. Today it is popularly known as the P.G. Hospital.
Those who are not aware of this colonial etymology mistake the contemporary acronym to be some variation of the Post Graduate Hospital, especially since the hospital was rechristened (again) in 1957 as the first Post Graduate Medical Institute in Eastern India, and then-Prime Minister Jawahar Lal Nehru inaugurated the Institute of Post Graduate Medical Education & Research (IPGMER).
What is even more striking is that decades after its renaming(s), the common population of Kolkata still continue to know and call the hospital by the short form of its original colonial name. Every time someone in their moments of urgent medical need or while giving a passersby road direction, utter the name “P. G. Hospital”, and they do so very much without consciously feeling any affiliation towards ‘the Raj’. Yet, in doing so they are essentially invoking the ghost of the Bengal Presidency upon contemporary Kolkata.
Presidency College
A similar invocation of these ‘ghosts’ happens with regards to one of the most prestigious educational institutions of the country: the Presidency College, Kolkata. It was first established as ‘Hindoo College’, a private institute of education for the upper-class Hindus in 1817. Later, in 1855, it was turned into a government institution and renamed as ‘Presidency College of Bengal’. The name clearly alludes to the Bengal Presidency of British India.
Ironically, many freedom fighters actively involved in the Indian Independence struggle against the British Raj were/are alumni of the college, such as Subhash Chandra Bose, Deshbandhu Chittaranjan Das, Surendranath Banerjee, and many more.
Most of the words related to one’s daily activities have been completely replaced by their English counterparts. You’re more likely to hear “brushing” than “donto-monjon”, “breakfast” instead of “pratoraash”, “rest” instead “bishraam”, and more.
Previously a college under the auspices of the Calcutta University, the Presidency College was transformed into an independent and public state university in itself in July 2010. Curiously, it was not renamed to something Indianized, and retains its original moniker, now known as the Presidency University.
The name has become so weaved into both the fabric of Kolkata’s academic and literary corridor, and the psyche of every Bengali, that hardly does anyone pause to ponder that the name is directly referring to the Bengal Presidency, or more precisely, to the Presidency of Fort William in Bengal under the British Raj.
Fort William, Kolkata
Indeed, the Presidency of Fort William of Bengal also retains its said name. The first fort was originally commissioned in 1696 by the British East India Company on the banks of the River Hooghly. After its seizure by Nawab Shiraj-ud-Daulah—and thereafter its recapture by the (in)famous Lord Clive—the fort was demolished, and a second one was constructed further south of the original in 1758.
Today, this second fort stands intact and serves as the headquarters of the Eastern Command of the Indian Army. However, this station today holding the military body dedicated to safeguard the sovereignty and independence of India against any foreign attack or invasion is still, much ironically, called Fort William—after the British King William III, who was once the ruler of colonial India. The purpose and the allegiance of the fortification has unambiguously shifted from the colonizers to the central government of the Sovereign State of the Indian republic, but the familiarity and popularity of its old British name still reverberate with indisputable military memories of the British Raj.
To this day, the name Fort William is as native and indigenous to Kolkatans as Kalighat or Babughat, rolling naturally off every city tongue. In 2023, a demand was put forward to the Governor of West Bengal to rename Fort William as Rash Behari Fort Hall, after the freedom fighter Rash Behari Bose, who was once employed at Fort William. No such official decision has yet been taken by the government.
Other Streets and Localities of Kolkata
There are several streets in Kolkata that are still known by their colonial-era names. Built in 1820 as a course for horse-drawn carriages, the Red Road was named after its original red colour road surface, and was later used as an RAF landing strip during the World War II. It was later renamed Indira Gandhi Sarani. Middleton Row was named after Sir Samuel Middleton, president of the East India Company’s Board of Trade in 1767-68; alternatively, it is believed to be named after Bishop Thomas Fanshaw Middleton, the very first Bishop of Calcutta from 1814 to 1822. Lindsay Street was named after Robert Lindsay, an eminent British officer and the collector of Dhaka from 1777. It was later renamed Neli Sengupta Sarani. Harrington Street derives its name from John Herbert Harington, a British colonial administrator and judge and orientalist. It is now called Ho Chi Minh Sarani, after the namesake Vietnamese leader. There is Russel Street, called so after Sir Henry Russel, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court from 1806-1813. Beadon Street was named after Sir Cecil Beadon, the Lieutenant Governor of Bengal from 1862 to 1866, and was has since been changed to Abhedananda Sarani. Lord Clement Royds, the High Sheriff of Lancashire in mid-19th century, lends his name to Ryod Street. Canning Street was named for Lord Canning. Camac Street was named for the wealthy British exporter, William Camac, and was later renamed Abanindranath Thakur Sarani.
Similarly, some of the iconic locales in the city still popularly go by their colonial nomenclature. Minto Park was named after Lord Minto, the Viceroy and Governor General of India from 1907 to 1913. It was later renamed Shahid Bhagat Singh Udyan. There is the Victoria area, colloquially referred so after Victoria Memorial, an iconic marble edifice dedicated to Queen Victoria. Princep Ghat was named after James Princep, an English scholar. Outram Ghat owes its name to Sir James Outram, the British officer who fought during the Indian Mutiny of 1857. There is Esplanade, a word deriving from the Spanish esplanada—meaning a large, open, level ground or area—which, during the British period, was originally part of a jungle stretching from Dharmatala to Chandpal Ghat on the Hooghly River.
This long list of colonial nomenclatures still doing their rounds only goes to show that, however much the KMC (Kolkata Municipal Corporation) Road Renaming Committee ingeniously renames old streets, Kolkatans will often continue to evoke the past in their present geography. Many of old names for these streets remain in common parlance, long after the ‘official’ changes.
Common Bengali Parlance
About 12 per cent of Indian people in the present day speak English. Interestingly, in everyday verbal communication, most Indians mix a good amount of English even while speaking in their mother tongue. This phenomenon is the most evident among the Bengalis.
Bengali comprises of four root languages: Tatsama (pure Sanskrit vocabulary), Tadbhaba (assimilated from Old Indo-Aryan via Prakrit languages), Bideshi/foreign (English words, with Farsi, Arabic, and Portuguese influence), and Desi Bengali (from the various tribes of Bengal, making up of about 10.08%). Among these, the average English speaking Kolkatan uses a large number of English words in their everyday Bengali sentences, so much so that a new word ‘Benglish’ has got coined to describe this hotchpotch of two languages.
Over the centuries, colloquial Bengal has increasingly assimilated English words. Words like “kedaara” have been replaced by “chair”, “paalonko” by “bed”, “jhola/tholi” by “bag”, “baahon” by “car/bus”, “daakghor” by “post office”, “kolom” by “pen”, and so on. Most of the words related to one’s daily activities have been completely replaced by their English counterparts. You’re more likely to hear “brushing” than “donto-monjon”, “breakfast” instead of “pratoraash”, “rest” instead “bishraam”, and more. Today, if a Bengali person even tries to use these vernacular words, they would sound archaic and out of place.
In almost all Hindi speaking states of India, everyday officials are mostly referred to by their Hindi title instead of the English ones; but in Bengal, colloquially they are almost always referred to by the second, instead of their Bengali equivalents, such as “peon” instead of “chapraashi”, “postman” instead of “daakwala”, “waiter” instead of “beyaara”, and so on. The same is true for names of institutions, where “bidyalay” becomes “school”, “karjoloy” makes way for “office”, and “court” replaces “adalot”.
There are some other words that are non-existent in colloquial Bengali, and people in the region (and around India) use variations of words from French, Portuguese or English/Latin etymology. The Bengali equivalent for “cupboard”, for example, is “aalmaari”, which has come from the Portuguese word “almario”, which means chest. The word “haashpatal” is directly derived from “hospital”. There are also literally no colloquial/Tadbhav Bengali words for “coat”, “heater”, “dustbin”, “gramophone”, “chimney”, “pencil”, “bicycle”, and unless one wished to use the archaic Tatsam/Sanskrit-based words for these—which are rare in contemporary Bengal—the English words are often the preferred option for a native Bengali speaker.
This special sweetmeat was first made in honour of Lady Canning, the wife of Lord Canning, to commemorate either her first visit to India, or alternatively on her birthday sometime during her stay in India. This preparation soon had become her favourite dish. With its increasing popularity, it came to be christened Lady Canning, and over time, it colloquially got corrupted into ‘ledikeni’.
Some foreign words originating from the languages of Bengal’s other colonizers—Portugal and France—have been directly incorporated into everyday Bengali vocabulary. The word “restaurant” is used in Bengali closest to its original French pronunciation, as ‘res-toh-rNaa’ instead of its English one. Another striking example of a direct assimilation is the Bengali word “aantel”, from the French word for intellectual, “aantellectchuale”; the Bengali term, however, means ‘pseudo-intellectual’, and is in heavy circulation as more of a jibe among Bengalis.
Other commonplace terms like “laatsaheber byata” and “boro laat” have their origin in the colonial Bengali word “laatsaheb” meaning ‘Lord Sahib’, which referred to the title of the British officials.
Even Bengali pleasantries have undergone a drastic change over the post-colonial years. Almost no Bengalis—except those who try to consciously preserve the purity of their mother tongue—use terms like “Dhonyobaad” (thank you), “Suprabhat” (good morning), and “Subharatri” (good night) anymore; and instead, usually go by their English counterparts.
Thus, even in commonplace colloquial language, the Bengalis have retained the language of the colonizers to such an extent that it often becomes impossible to differentiate between the pure vernacular and ‘Benglish’.
Some Additional ‘Sweet’ Trivia
Another curious case of colonially-rooted nomenclature is the Bengali preparation, ledikeni. This special sweetmeat was first made in honour of Lady Canning, the wife of Lord Canning, to commemorate either her first visit to India, or alternatively on her birthday sometime during her stay in India. This preparation soon had become her favourite dish. With its increasing popularity, it came to be christened Lady Canning, and over time, it colloquially got corrupted into ‘ledikeni’. There is hardly any Bengali who hasn’t tasted this legendary dish, one that continues to be called by this colonially-rooted name to this day.
A Colonial Hangover?
While some purists of vernacular and indigenous Indian languages critique such linguistic preferences of the contemporary Bengali as a misplaced ‘colonial hangover’, there is more nuance here regarding the complex socio-cultural evolution and the unique psyche of Bengal.
Historically, Bengal, has been a being an extremely important political and cultural melting pot. During the Classical era, as early as the 4th century BCE, it served as the capital of the powerful Gauda kingdom. Later it became a part of many other pan-Indian empires, such as the Nandas, Mauryans, and Guptas. Also a maritime hub and an ‘entrepot’ of the Ancient Silk Route, Bengal back then served as significant trading junction for the Chinese, Arabian, Persian, and Mediterranean traders. Chinese Buddhists travelled via the Silk Route and added to her religio-cultural exposure. Later, from the 11th to 15th century, the land was invaded and annexed to several different foreign dynasties of the Delhi Sultanate, such as the Khiljis and the Lodhis from Afghanistan, the Mamluks and the Balbans from the Turko-Persian region, the Tughlaqs and the Bengali Sunni Muslim Ilyas Shahis and Hussain Shahis of Turk origin, and the Hasbhis, who were the Ethio-Semitic-speaking Hashebaa people from Abyssinia. The Bengal Sultanate thus exposed the said land to an extremely diverse cultural and linguistic experience log before the Raj. The Mughals began their rule over Delhi in 1516, who were all from the Timurid dynasty of Turco-Mongol origin, sending their subedaars into Bengal too. Simultaneously, Bengal was being explored by the Portuguese around mid-16th century and the French colonizers in the late 17th century. The last and most significant foreign colonizers to arrive in India were the British, and soon made Bengal was turned into one of their pivotal trading centres, and later, to one of the British India Presidencies.
As the world is turning increasingly ‘glocal’, this phenomenon in all probability shall continue through the coming generations of Bengalis, too, as they will likely accept and further assimilate newer cultural and linguistic nuances, rather than regressing back to any kind of socio-cultural puritanism.
Hence, having been faced with endless political and cultural transitions and turmoil throughout history, perhaps Bengal learned not to entirely reject the ‘Other’ but practise a balanced cultural adaptation and assimilation, one that could become a tool for her survival and her social progress. When the colonizers introduced to the colonized foreign ways of life, scientific inventions and languages, Bengalis were quick to recognize its merits. When unprecedented opportunities for overseas travel and foreign education arrived with the British, several Bengalis eagerly embraced the same. With advanced education and a diverse cultural exchange came even more openness and the questioning of ones’ own cultural evils.
One such prime example was the life and work of the Bengali social reformer Raja Ram Mohan Roy, who vociferously fought against some of the then prevalent societal evils, such as child marriage and the Sati-pratha. He was the very first Indian to advocate against the barbaric ritual of Sati in his journal and even appealed to the British East India Company to ban it. In this, he received immense support from the first governor general of British India, Lord William Bentinck who went on to ban the ritual altogether. In 1798, Bengal became the first place to witness and welcome the ban on Sati in his journal Sambad Kaumudi, and thereafter all of British India came under the Sati Regulation XVII A. D. 1829 of the Bengal Code.
Another Bengali, Ishwar Chandra Vidyasagar went on to advocate for widow remarriage, much against the ire of most of the conservative Hindus of the subcontinent. Not only his petitioning the Legislative Council led to Lord Dalhousie enacting the Hindu Widows' Remarriage Act, 1856 but also the former’s vociferous advocacy contributed significantly to the British government passing the Age of Consent Act, 1891.
The very first women’s college in the subcontinent was opened in Calcutta, first a ‘Hindu Female School’ and in 1856, the government took it over, renaming it Bethune School, and again in 1879 as Bethune College. Dwarakanath Ganguly, another fiery social reformer from Bengal zealously fought social ills such as polygamy, purdah-pratha, and child marriage. He campaigned for women’s education and later Bethune College was merged with his own Hindu Mahila Vidyalaya which was the first boarding school for women in the country.
Thus, Bengalis, through centuries have been trailblazers of positive cultural assimilation, which has played an immeasurable role in the country’s progress. No wonder, this practice has extended into Kolkata’s linguistic assimilation from the different colonizers of Bengal.
Both language and culture are fluid and forever evolving. The primary tool are cultural appropriation and assimilation. To refuse to do so only results in a regressive, or at best a stagnant civilization.
In recent years, there has been on the rise an idea propagated by a section of population: to discard almost every foreign and colonial cultural assimilation that occurred in the subcontinent over the last few centuries, shaping contemporary India and to return to an precolonial era that is, allegedly, more authentically ‘Indian’. These attempts are both unrealistic and dangerous. For, the vision, if implemented, it should technically also call for the country to get rid of every positive and scientific progress we received from the West and our colonizers, such as electricity, postal system, the telegraph, the railways, and more, and by that logic, continuing to use such infrastructure could be critiqued as keeping alive the ghosts of the Raj too.
But this is where the mindset of Bengal has always largely differed from others. Kolkata doesn’t placidly accept but are in sincere love with their trams, their Victoria Memorial, their Park Street Christmas lights, their jazz and blues, their Tangra by-lanes of Chinese delicacies, their biryani, their cakes and pastries, and more, all of which were originally introduced to the land through ‘foreign’ cultural assimilation. Historically, Bengalis have been less dogmatic and open-minded, welcoming a diverse range of positive changes. Kolkata’s apparent nostalgia for colonial nomenclatures and linguistic ‘khidchification’ are a prime example of that. As the world is turning increasingly ‘glocal’, this phenomenon in all probability shall continue through the coming generations of Bengalis, too, as they will likely accept and further assimilate newer cultural and linguistic nuances, rather than regressing back to any kind of socio-cultural puritanism.
Interpreted from the said lens, one realizes that contemporary Kolkata isn’t a simplistic case of ‘postcolonial hangover’, but also a living testimony of how to glean the most out of one’s colonial experiences, while simultaneously keeping one’s native roots alive, to together create a richer and more inclusive new world.
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Nivedita Dey is a poet from Kolkata, India. Her poetic philosophy is one of hope and transcendental humanism, and her debut poetry collection was Larkspur Lane: Branched Labyrinths of the Mind (Notion Press, 2022). Dey holds post-graduate degrees in English and Psychology. She can be found at niveditadey.com, Twitter: @Nivedita_Writes, and Instagram: @niveditadeypoetry.
