A Walk Through Tradition

July 31, 2009 – 11:00 AM

 Alipore, Kolkata

A black sedan pulled up in front of Katherine's residence, the driver stepping out to open the door for Aritra, who remained seated inside. The midday sun was relentless, casting sharp shadows along the pavement. Kolkata's streets buzzed with energy—honking cars, shouting vendors, and the occasional ringing of a tram bell cutting through the chaos.

Katherine stepped out, dressed in a simple blue salwar kameez—a clear departure from her usual Western attire. She hesitated for a moment, adjusting her dupatta before sliding into the passenger seat.

"A private driver?" she asked, fastening her seatbelt.

Aritra checked his watch before replying. "I didn't think you'd appreciate the 'charm' of haggling with Kolkata cab drivers."

She glanced at the street beyond the windshield, where a taxi barely missed a cyclist. "I see your point."

Aritra smirked. "Let's get moving before the city finds a new way to trap us."

As they merged into the main roads, Kolkata greeted them with its signature traffic—a living, breathing entity of its own. Cars nudged forward in impossible spaces, rickshaws weaved between pedestrians, and an elderly man leisurely cycled against traffic as if defying logic itself. Horns blared in an unending symphony of irritation.

Street vendors squeezed between vehicles, waving their products at passersby. A man balancing a stack of colorful bangles on his arm shouted, "Madam, best quality bangles! Imported glass! Special discount for you!" Nearby, a vendor carrying fresh-cut fruits held up a slice of watermelon. "Sir, fresh and sweet watermelon! Beat the heat!" Another peddler wove between cars, lifting a stack of scarves. "Madam, pure silk scarves! Soft as the wind! Special price today!"

Katherine watched the spectacle unfold outside her window, wide-eyed. "How... how does anyone survive this?"

Aritra shrugged, resting an arm on the window. "You don't fight the chaos. You embrace it."

She scoffed. "That sounds like something people say right before disaster strikes."

He chuckled. "You'll see. Kolkata has a rhythm. You just need to listen."

New Market was alive, a labyrinth of colonial-era buildings wrapped in modern commerce. The air smelled of freshly baked sweets, jasmine garlands, and the occasional spice stall wafting pungent aromas into the streets. Vendors leaned over their stalls, waving their hands dramatically.

"Sir, leather wallets! Best quality, no bargaining needed!"

"Madam, handcrafted jewelry! Festival special!"

Katherine took a deep breath, glancing around. "This is... overwhelming."

"It's Kolkata," Aritra said, gesturing toward a Benarasi saree showroom tucked away from the bustle. "Let's start here. Fewer distractions."

Inside, the store exuded an air of quiet luxury—chandeliers gleaming above stacks of vibrant sarees, each shimmering under the soft glow of the lights. An elderly shopkeeper, Mr. Sinha, approached them with a practiced smile.

"Welcome, sir. Looking for something special?"

"A wedding Benarasi saree," Aritra said, nodding toward Katherine. "Something elegant. Traditional, but not excessive."

Mr. Sinha's eyes twinkled. "Ah, a fine choice. Please, have a seat. Let me show you our finest collection."

Before long, a cascade of silk and embroidery surrounded them. Reds, blues, deep greens, all shimmering with intricate zari work.

Katherine ran her fingers over a rich red fabric. "How does anyone choose? They all look the same."

Aritra smirked. "You don't choose. The saree chooses you."

She shot him a flat look. "That's not helpful."

After an hour of deliberation, she finally picked a simple yet stunning red and gold Benarasi saree.

"This one," she said, holding it against herself. It was a perfect blend of traditional grandeur and understated elegance.

Mr. Sinha nodded approvingly. "An excellent choice! This is pure handwoven silk, crafted by one of our best artisans. The price is one lakh rupees."

Without hesitation, Katherine handed over her credit card.

Aritra raised an eyebrow. "No bargaining?"

She looked at him, unimpressed. "I don't haggle. If it's worth it, I pay."

He chuckled. "Spoken like someone who's never shopped in Kolkata before."

The Gold Jewelry Selection

The jewelry store they entered next gleamed with walls of gold and gemstones, each piece catching the light in intricate patterns.

Katherine studied a pair of earrings before turning to Aritra. "What exactly do I need?"

"Necklace, earrings, bangles, maang tikka," he listed. "Just enough to complete the look."

She glanced at the extravagant pieces on display. "And people wear all this?"

"Trust me," Aritra said dryly, "this is the bare minimum."

Eventually, she selected a traditional gold set, simple yet regal.

As she completed the purchase, she gave him a curious glance. "You seem too comfortable with all this."

"Weddings are an event here. You pick things up."

She considered that before nodding. "I guess I'm learning."

Stepping out of the store, Aritra spotted a fuchka stall nearby and smirked. "You trust me?"

Katherine narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Because you're about to experience Kolkata's best street food."

She eyed the stall warily. "This is a test, isn't it?"

Aritra chuckled. "Only if you fail."

The vendor cracked open the crispy fuchkas, filling them with spicy mashed potatoes and dunking them into tangy tamarind water. He handed over the first one.

Katherine hesitated, then popped it into her mouth. A moment later, her eyes widened.

"Oh—" she covered her mouth, blinking rapidly. "That is—wow. Spicy, sour, crunchy—what is happening?!"

Aritra smirked. "That's fuchka for you."

She grabbed another before glaring at him. "You should've warned me."

"And miss this reaction? Never."

After finishing the fuchkas, they moved to a roll stall, where she took her first bite of Kolkata's famous egg roll.

She chewed thoughtfully. "Alright. I admit it. This is good."

Aritra leaned back, satisfied. "And just like that, you're officially part of Kolkata."

As they walked back to the car, Katherine exhaled. "Today was... different. But not terrible."

Aritra smirked. "Shopping and street food. A proper initiation."

She glanced at him. "Thanks. For today."

He shrugged. "You'll survive. Maybe."

As the sun dipped below the city skyline, the day ended with an unspoken shift between them—an acknowledgment of the journey ahead.

To be continued...