WHO OWNS A PALACE?

Caught between the city's contradictions and revelling in magnificent disarray, Nilmoni Niketan in Kolkata, built around art, devotion and generosity by the Mullick family, finds beauty in decay almost two centuries after its conception

- TEXT BY NAMRATA DEWANJEE PHOTOGRAPHY BY SUNHIL SIPPY AND ANIRBAN MITRA PRODUCED BY MRUDUL PATHAK KUNDU AND SHRITI DAS

EI Dorado. These are Mrinal Sen's words, not mine. But in describing this city we have shared across different planes of time, his moniker could not be more accurate. A city to love and loathe, a constant conundrum, a construction of contradictions, appearing stagnant yet bursting at the seams. Even for those of us who call it home, Kolkata remains ever elusive. Just when you think you have understood it, the city places you at a glaring polyfocal crossroad. No logic or rationale can muscle you out of it. The only road left is one of surrendering to its bewildering, uncanny beauty. But what is the genesis of it all? For some, it is an eye for art, and for others, it is the drive of commerce. In this push and pull, the juggling act produces the most spectacular incidental results. Yet there is an underlying element that you can’t quite place, attributing this strange beauty squarely in the service of a divine power.

On one September evening, as the last of the summer light clung on, I found myself at one such crossroad. Hand-pulled rickshaws lined the street. A tangled web of electricity lines hovered above. A slew of people, cars honking. The same incorrigible disorder that once drove Rudyard Kipling to the hills of Shimla. You either resonate with Kolkata or you don't. A group of college students broke my stupor.

“Kar bari eta?” (Whose house is this?) Decked in marble and guarded by formidable white lions frozen in time, some asleep and some standing guard, a palatial residence materialised out of thin air, seemingly forgotten. Marble Palace and Zoo, it read. Its expanse leaves you at a loss for words. Its scale is of such grand proportions that it can only be perceived in parts. It's maddeningly exquisite. I reached for my phone, then noticed the sign: No photography allowed. Surely the rules did not apply to me. If I just explained, they would let me take a photograph or two. The guards did not look up.