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A Poem on Calcutta by Rabindranath Tagore

Cholonto Kolikata (Calcutta on the Move) was published posthumously by Visva Bharati, in a collection of published and unpublished poems by Tagore called Chitra Bichitra (Picturesque Potpouri) in 1954.

Calcutta Park Street (1930s) From Public Domain
CALCUTTA ON THE MOVE 

Wearing a headgear of bricks
         The immovable town 
Of Calcutta sits
       On a mat of concrete. 
The spring breeze 
        Cannot move it. 
Its foundation stays firm 
         When April storms rage. 
Winter winds cannot make
         Its pillars shiver. 
Winter- spring pass through 
       Without bothering its equanimity. 
 
      
Long ago, 
    I’d had a dream…
Suddenly, my Binu
      Shouted out, 
“Look. See.” I ran 
        Leaving my bed —
Calcutta was walking, 
      Moving its cemented body. 
The sky seemed to be riding 
      On the shoulders 
Of High and low roofs, 
     Roofs with walls, 
    The roads and lanes slithered 
Like snakes. 
     Trams on their backs 
             Moved unsteadily. 
 Shops and bazaars swayed
      Like ferries during a storm. 
The field at Chowrongi seemed
       To be moving off. 
Monuments were swinging 
      Left and right, 
Like crazed elephants’ trunks,
Almost toppling. 

Schoolboys were all 
     Creating a hullabaloo. 
Their maths books were dancing, 
      Grammar books too. 
Their English textbooks were rollocking
     On the floor like snakes
That had grown avian
    Fluttering wings. 
The bell swung and rang —
     Ding- dong, ding- dong. 
The day passed by 
     But it wouldn’t stop. 
In the kitchen, 
    The maid cried and said, 
“The pumpkin and gourd run about. 
What should I do?”

Thousands of people screamed, 
      “Oh, please stop. Stop.
How can we go anywhere?
       What kind of madness is this? “
 
“Oh, where does it go?” 
     The Howrah Bridge said, 
“If I swing some more, 
       I’ll fall into the water.”
Everyone from the big bazaar, 
       The fish bazaar to Chinatown, 
Hailed and said, 
    “Stay steady. Don’t move.”
I thought, let it go, 
     There’s no need to worry. 
Calcutta could go to Delhi 
      Or, to Bombay. 
 
There was a noise. 
       I suddenly woke up. 
When I looked around, 
     Calcutta was still in Calcutta. 
        

This poem has been translated from Bengali by Mitali Chakravarty with editorial input by Sohana Manzoor.

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