Situated on the eastern bank of river Hooghly, I have had many a name through ages. Some called me Gol Gotha, others named me Kilkila. Some believed I was Kol-ka-hata, others favoured Kalikata. Then came those who concluded I was Khal Kata, but still others chose to call me Kalkata and then Kalikota. Later, I became Calcutta; now I'm Kolkata. I have had many incarnations; each one looking at the other in the spirit of curious camaraderie. What is in a name, or appearance, after all? I'm indeed history; I'm witness. I'm over two millennia old. My tale is long; your time short. In short, I open up to you. You may pass on my tale to others. With many a name, I've many a face. I'm a port; I traded in opium. I'm the Nawab of Bengal; I'm the East India Company. I'm the capital of the Raj; a face of the independence movement. I'm Bengal renaissance. I stand partitioned, bombed, starved. I am revolutionary, but stagnated too. I refuse to grow, yet I do. I choke; I breathe; I live on.
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