A Truth I Didn’t Expect
I didn’t come to Kolkata looking for love.
In fact, I arrived with hesitation, assumptions, and a quiet resistance I couldn’t explain.
I had never really explored the city before. But when I got the chance to study here, I took it. What was supposed to be temporary slowly became personal. Somewhere between unfamiliar streets, shared food, and unplanned conversations, Kolkata worked its way in — without asking for permission.
This isn’t a travel guide.
It’s how a city I never chose ended up choosing me.
Where It Started: Living as an Outsider
I lived in Mukundapur near EM Bypass — a practical, busy area known for hospitals and everyday routines. My first year in college felt awkward. Even though Bengali is my mother tongue, speaking it daily felt strange at first. I observed more than I participated.
Kolkata didn’t rush me.
It let me arrive in my own time.
The Quiet Side of the City
At Prinsep Ghat, the city slows down. Evenings by the Ganga, tea in hand, ferries gliding past — it felt grounding in ways I hadn’t experienced before.
A ferry ride from Babu Ghat around sunset made the city feel distant and gentle.
Standing in front of the Writers’ Building, history didn’t speak — it watched.
At night, Red Road felt calm, almost sacred, with the Victoria Memorial glowing quietly in the distance.
When I Stopped Watching and Started Participating
Street food changed everything.
Kathi rolls sizzling on hot parathas, puchka eaten standing in circles with strangers, jhalmuri mixed perfectly to taste — this wasn’t just food. It was connection. Vendors remembered preferences. Conversations happened without introductions.
Food wasn’t consumed here.
It was shared.
Momo I Am – Momo I Am is never just about food. From momos to baos and Tibetan rice bowls, everything feels playful yet comforting. The Tibetan rice bowl, especially, feels like warmth on a plate — aromatic, grounding, familiar. You don’t just eat here.
You pause.
Arsalan – If someone asks me about biryani in Kolkata, Arsalan comes first. The aroma arrives before the plate. The spice never shouts — it whispers. Tender meat, balanced rice, no unnecessary drama. Skip Arsalan, and you miss a piece of the city.
Abar Baithak – You won’t notice Abar Baithak if you’re new. Hidden inside a colony opposite South City Mall, it blends into daily life. College students hanging around, people playing carrom, someone reading quietly. The chicken sausage platter fills you up. The ginger honey tea stays with you.
Indian Coffee House – Walking into the Coffee House feels like stepping into an ongoing conversation. Students, writers, thinkers — arguing, laughing, observing. Wooden chairs, ceiling fans, no urgency. You don’t go there just for coffee. You go there to belong — briefly.
Broadway Hotel – The night I went to Broadway, I waited 45 minutes without complaint. Students, creatives, unfinished ideas everywhere. Someone painting while finishing a beer. Someone else discussing their next startup. Old furniture, slow fans, dim lights. Fish fingers and beer done right. Broadway didn’t feel like a bar. It felt like a room full of stories.
Culture, Art, and Everyday Belonging
Durga Puja showed me what community really means — neighborhoods turning into shared dreams, strangers offering food at 2 AM, celebrations that felt lived-in, not performed.
Art galleries, music gatherings, poetry at College Street, and late conversations in bookstores revealed a city that thinks deeply and feels collectively. Kolkata doesn’t preserve culture — it lives inside it.
What the City Taught Me
Kolkata taught me to stop chasing perfection.
Peeling walls, crowded lanes, monsoon-soaked streets — nothing tried to impress, yet everything felt real. I learned that beauty doesn’t need polish, and community doesn’t need planning.
People here don’t live in a hurry to replace the old.
They carry history forward while still living fully in the present.
Kolkata Doesn’t Let You Leave Easily
The longer I stayed in Kolkata, the more it stayed with me.
Even now, away from the city, it returns — through sounds, tastes, small memories. No one really moves on from Kolkata. They just carry it quietly.
I didn’t decide to love this city.
It happened — slowly, naturally, without effort.
And maybe that’s how Kolkata works.
Have you ever judged a city before giving it enough time to change you?
