Our member Ms A. Mukhopadhyay looks back on her student days at Presidency College and brings to life a College Street as it once was.


As a student, I spent some of my best days at Presidency College, under Calcutta University. Beyond the walls of the classroom, where the pressures of academia could not reach us, I experienced a sense of freedom hitherto unknown to me.
Next to the main gates stood two large reservoirs of water. We used to call them the tombs of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz Mahal. We would sit on top of them and spent hours chatting about everything under the sun.
But the moment you stepped out of the gate, you found yourself in fabled College Street, with its hallowed stores selling second-hand books. We would frequent Dasgupta and Co. and Chakraborty and Chatterjee, and the moment we walked in, our heads would bow in humility at the sight of the tomes. I remember greedily eyeing a copy of Gone with the Wind, wishing I could read it cover to cover. Then I won some prize money for excellence in my studies. I bought all my college books with that money and with what I had left over I got myself a copy of Margaret Mitchell’s novel. It still stands on my bookshelf today.
As today, there were eateries and cafés aplenty. We were spoilt for choice between Basanta Cabin, Favourite, Gyan Babu’s shop, and others. And how could we ignore the legendary sweet shops—Bhim Chandra Nag, Bhupati Charan Roy, Jayashree in Bowbazar? Naba Krishna Guin used to sell a pistachio-coloured sweet called Paradise, which was a delight.
College Street was synonymous with the iconic Indian Coffee House. Even in those days it used to be difficult to get a seat there. Inside, the air thick would be with cigarette smoke and replete with the voices of its patrons. Sometimes the odd student would break out into Rabindrasangeet. Our go-to order was a plate of 6 pakodas which was worth 30 paisa! As for myself, I preferred the coffee ice-cream, marked at 60 paisa.
Alongside students from Sanskrit College, we would weave in and out of these landmarks, enjoying the day’s bustle and energy. My favourite haunt was Sarat Book House which was owned by a friend of my Chhotomama. Today they sell academic books exclusively, but in those days they stocked all sorts of genres. I used to walk in and wish I would get a job in the store; I would be able to read books all day!
Once, my friends and I spotted superstar Soumitra Chatterjee making a telephone call in the store. He was an up-and-coming star then, but already a well-known face. We were stunned, as though struck by lightning. We stood right next to him and could not believe our luck. For the rest of the day, we could not discuss anything else.
Now that I look back on those days, I realise that, compared to school, we had very few classes in college. Much of our time was spent on the lawns and atop the “tombs” of Shah Jahan and Mumtaz, intently discussing literature and politics, sharpening our minds among the best from Presidency and Brabourne College. We were young and eager to meet the world on our own terms, and never once considered ourselves any less capable than those in Oxford or Cambridge.

(as narrated to Support Elders by our member)

Love is often spoken of in grand, romantic terms, and we can miss out on some of its most enduring expressions. On the occasion of Valentine’s Day, our member Ms R. Mukherjee reflects on the boundless gratitude love can inspire.

Love comes in many forms. It goes far beyond romance. I have a story of a love rooted in care, courage, and gratitude.
I grew up in a large joint family with seven siblings, and we were deeply affectionate toward one another. Yes, we were mischievous and would occasionally snitch on each other, as siblings do, but we also stood by one another whenever anyone was in trouble.
My Mejda, one of my elder brothers, was our greatest source of support and strength. He had a wonderfully generous nature. He later held a senior post in Delhi. One early morning, while commuting to a meeting, he was knocked down by a school bus. He suffered severe brain injuries and multiple fractures in both legs. It was remarkable how the entire family rallied around him. For the next five to six years, we ensured that his family in Delhi never lacked support. His two young children were surrounded by love and care.
His recovery continues to inspire us. His condition was so critical that the doctor refused to administer anaesthesia for surgery and instead placed his legs in plaster. The trauma to his brain was so severe that he could not recognise us. During that difficult period, our eldest brother, my mother, my husband, and many others travelled to Delhi to assist the family. We believe the love he received from all of us hastened his recovery. Despite medical scepticism, he eventually managed to stand on his feet again. Though he could never walk properly, the fact that he could walk at all felt miraculous.
Once he regained mobility, his gratitude overwhelmed us. Through both small and grand gestures, he expressed his love. I once casually mentioned that I admired a quilt from Jaipur and hoped to buy one someday. Soon after, he travelled to Jaipur and brought one back for me. For a man who could barely walk, carrying a quilt from Jaipur to Kolkata was no small effort.
What is the essence of such a gesture if not love? To me, love defies categorisation. It cannot be measured by material gifts. Love that inspires more love is the truest love of all.

(as narrated to Support Elders by our member)