Every city has a skyline. Kolkata has a soundtrack. The sounds of Kolkata. Kolkata is the city that can be heard.
Long before you catch sight of the Howrah Bridge or a yellow taxi, the city introduces itself through sound. The bell of a tram. A bus conductor calling out destinations. The rhythmic beat of a dhak, the large drum that announces Durga Puja. The metallic melody of glass bottles at a roadside sherbet stall. Close your eyes, and Kolkata is still unmistakably there.
(Photo by Sanchayan Banerjee)
Early Morning Sounds of Kolkata
Close your eyes.
If you grew up in North Kolkata or lived near a tram line, chances are your first alarm clock wasn’t a mobile phone. It was the gentle bell of the first tram of the morning. You never really thought about it then. It was simply part of everyday life. The tram passed, the bell rang, and somewhere inside the house someone would call out, “Get up, you’ll be late for school.”
Elsewhere in the city, mornings had their own soundtrack. In many Bengali homes, the day began with the familiar signature tune of Akashvani. For some, it was the radio. For others, it was the morning azan—the Islamic call to prayer—from a nearby mosque. In another neighbourhood, it was the ringing of temple bells during the first puja of the day.
Different sounds. Different neighbourhoods. Yet they all meant exactly the same thing.
Kolkata was awake.
Mornings on Kolkata Streets
Soon another set of familiar voices began to echo through the neighbourhood.
The vegetable seller stretched out his long, unmistakable cry:
“Ei… Sabji!” (“Fresh vegetables!”)
The neighbourhood cobbler followed with his familiar call of “Selauchi!” Somewhere nearby, the knife sharpener announced his arrival not with words but with the shrill metallic screech of his grinding wheel. Then came the umbrella repairer, reminding everyone that another monsoon was never too far away. And every now and then, the unmistakable ting-tong of the LPG delivery boy’s hand bell echoed through the lane. No one needed an announcement. Everyone knew what it meant.
There was another call that echoed through Kolkata’s neighbourhoods for decades.
“Purono shishi, botal…!” (“Old bottles!”)
The scrap collector moved slowly from lane to lane, buying old glass bottles, newspapers and discarded household items. His long, sing-song call was so familiar that children could recognise it long before he appeared at the end of the street. Today, like so many of Kolkata’s old street cries, it has almost faded into memory.
Not so long ago, another familiar voice drifted through Kolkata’s streets.
“Shil katao!”
The man who sharpened the traditional shil-nora, the stone grinder once found in almost every Bengali kitchen, has now all but disappeared. His call survives only in memory, like so many other sounds that once belonged to the city.
(Photo by Sanchayan Banerjee)
The Neighbourhood Bazar
Only then was it time to visit the neighbourhood bazar.
Whether it was vegetables, fish or meat, every Bengali household had its favourite market. And every bazar had a soundtrack of its own.
The fish seller was usually the loudest.
“Dada, tatka machh!” (“Brother, fresh fish!”)
“Bhalo ilish ache, dadu!” (“Grandpa, I’ve got fresh hilsa!”)
Not to be outdone, the vegetable seller shouted,
“Er cheye sasta keu debe na!” (“Nobody will sell it cheaper than this!”)
The customers were no less vocal.
“Sara diner rojgar ta ki amar thekei korbi naki?” (“Are you planning to make your entire day’s earnings from me alone?”)
“Ei, boro boro tol!” (“Hey, give me the bigger pieces!”)
To an outsider, it might sound like an argument.
To a Kolkatan, it was simply another morning at the market. A Kolkata bazar is a live theatre where everyone has a role, everyone has a dialogue, and nobody needs a microphone.
By now, the city is fully awake. The streets are choked with traffic, buses overflow with passengers, and another familiar voice rises above the noise.
The bus conductor.
“Dalhousie! Dalhousie! New Market! New Market!”
Then comes another equally familiar cry from inside the overcrowded bus.
“Dada, pichhone jaiga ache, ektu bhitore jan na!” (“Brother, there’s room at the back. Please move inside.”)
Whether there is actually any space is another matter altogether, but every Kolkatan has heard those words countless times. They are as much a part of the city’s soundtrack as the bell of a tram.
(Photo by Sanchayan Banerjee)
The Sounds of Kolkata’s Historic Business District
When you finally get down at Dalhousie, Kolkata’s historic business district, the soundtrack changes once again. The cries of bus conductors fade into the background, replaced by the steady clatter of typewriters. Even today, the narrow lanes around the High Court are lined with professional typists, their fingers dancing across ageing machines. The sharp tak-tak-tak echoes through the street, reminding you that some professions have quietly refused to surrender to time.
Walk a little further towards Fairlie Place or Prinsep Ghat and the city changes tune once again. Every now and then, the deep horn of a passing ship rolls across the Hooghly.
You don’t need to look for the river.
Your ears have already told you that it is close.
Midday Meal Sounds of Kolkata
By the time the clock strikes one, hunger begins to take over.
Lunchtime in Dalhousie has a soundtrack of its own. Office-goers spill onto the streets, and every food stall competes for their attention.
The rhythmic clatter of a spatula against a hot iron tawa tells you an egg roll or an omelet is being prepared. Walk a little further and another sound catches your attention—the clang of a steel plate against the rim of a large pot.
Ah, that’s a street-side biryani stall, announcing itself without saying a word.
Then another familiar sound fills the air.
A fruit juice seller gently runs a metal rod across rows of glass bottles stacked one above another, producing a metallic tune that instantly turns heads. You may not even be thirsty, but that improvised jal tarang is enough to make you stop for a glass of chilled sherbet.
Everywhere around you, food has its own soundtrack—the sizzle of fritters in hot oil, the hiss of a tawa, the rapid tossing of chow mein in a wok. In Kolkata, lunchtime is as enjoyable to the ears as it is to the stomach.
(Photo by Sanchayan Banerjee)
The Homeward Bound Soundtrack
By evening, it is time to head home.
If there happens to be a match at Eden Gardens, the city has another soundtrack waiting for you. Long before you see the stadium, you hear the roar of thousands of cricket fans. A boundary. A wicket. A spectacular catch. Every cheer rises above the evening traffic and spills into the surrounding streets. For a few hours, the entire city seems to cheer as one.
Before reaching home, there is one last stop to make. Depending on where you live, it may be Hatibagan or Gariahat. Here, the soundtrack changes once again.
The hawkers are impossible to ignore.
“Dada, ekta kinle ekta free!” (“Brother, buy one and get one free!”)
“Ponchash takay duto!” (“Two for fifty rupees!”)
Their voices rise above one another as every shopkeeper tries to attract the next customer.
The buyers are just as determined.
“Ektu koman na?” (“Could you lower the price a little?”)
“Tikbe to?” (“Will it last?”)
In Kolkata, bargaining is not merely a transaction. It is a conversation—sometimes even an art form.
By the time you finally enter your neighborhood, dusk has arrived.
From nearby homes comes the sound of conch shells announcing the evening prayers. The city, noisy only moments ago, suddenly seems calmer.
If you happen to live in North Kolkata and are feeling tired after a long day, you might decide to take a hand-pulled rickshaw home. As it slowly makes its way through the narrow lanes, the gentle ring of its bell becomes another familiar note in Kolkata’s soundtrack. It is one of those sounds that has survived the passing of time, quietly refusing to disappear.
But the Day is Not Over Yet
But the day is not quite over yet.
The familiar cry of “Ei… Ghoti Gorom!” drifts through the lane, announcing the arrival of the baro bhaja seller. A little further down the lane, the kulfi seller announces his arrival with the ringing of a small hand bell. Then comes one final sound that every Kolkatan knows—the crisp crack of a phuchka, Kolkata’s beloved hollow, crispy snack, being broken before it is filled with spicy tamarind water and handed to an impatient customer.
You finally return home. The day is over. Or is it? Because in Kolkata, the city’s loudest soundtrack is only just beginning.
(Photo by Sanchayan Banerjee)
Kolkata’s Festive Season
Festive season. For many Kolkatans, the festive calendar begins with Vishwakarma Puja.
As the monsoon slowly retreats, rooftops come alive with colorful kites. The sky turns into a battlefield, and from every terrace comes the triumphant cry of children and adults whenever a rival kite is cut loose.
“Bhokatta!”
Loudspeakers fill the neighborhood with old Bengali and Hindi songs as factories, workshops and garages celebrate Vishwakarma Puja. Every few minutes, another shout of “Bhokatta!” rises into the air, announcing that yet another kite has been defeated.
Before those sounds have completely faded, another chant begins to echo through the city.
“Ganpati Bappa Morya!”
Although Ganesh Chaturthi was once celebrated mainly in neighborhoods with sizeable Maharashtrian communities, over the years its joyous chant has become another familiar note in Kolkata’s festive calendar.
But nothing prepares you for Durga Puja. For a Kolkatan, Puja does begin on Saptami. It begins weeks earlier.
The first signs are not seen.
They are heard. The clatter of bamboo poles. The sawing of wood. The rhythmic hammering of nails.
Across the city, empty grounds slowly transform into magnificent pandals—temporary, beautifully decorated structures built to house the goddess during the festival. In Kumartuli, Kolkata’s famous potters’ quarter, the soft tapping of craftsmen and the rustle of straw slowly give shape to Durga herself.
Without looking at a calendar, you already know.
Puja is coming.
The Sounds of Kolkata: Festive Season Continues
Then Comes Mahalaya.
For generations of Bengalis, Mahishasuramardini has never been just a radio program. It is an emotion.
Long before sunrise, homes wake to the unmistakable voice of Birendra Krishna Bhadra. Even those who no longer listen to the radio on ordinary mornings somehow find themselves awake on Mahalaya. For generations, that voice has announced that Durga Puja is no longer a distant festival. It is almost here.
Then the city erupts into celebration.
The deep beat of the dhak.
The blowing of conch shells.
Priests chanting mantras.
The shrill cry of the vepu, the colorful plastic horn that every child seems determined to blow.
The sharp crack of cap guns.
The familiar pop… pop… pop… of balloons bursting as children try their luck at the air-gun stalls.
At a roadside cold-drink stall, the vendor creates his own music by striking rows of glass bottles with a metal rod, producing a metallic melody that instantly turns heads.
Children laugh. Loudspeakers announce the evening’s cultural programme. Volunteers gently urge visitors to keep moving. Every pandal has its own orchestra.
Every Kolkatan knows these sounds.
Festivals: Durga Puja
They belong to Durga Puja as much as the dhak itself.
And then, almost before you realise it, it is over.
The immersion processions begin their slow journey towards the Hooghly.
The drums grow fainter.
The chants drift away into the distance.
For a brief moment, the city seems quieter than before.
But only for a moment.
Durga Puja quietly gives way to Lakshmi Puja.
Then comes Kali Puja, lighting up the night with fireworks.
Soon afterwards, Park Street glows with Christmas lights, and the sound of carols fills the winter air.
Before you know it, Saraswati Puja arrives, bringing another season of prayers, music, laughter and youthful excitement to schools, colleges and neighbourhood clubs.
One festival quietly gives way to the next.
College street (Photo by Sanchayan Banerjee)
Kolkata’s Soundtrack Never Ends
The soundtrack never really ends.
Long after you leave Kolkata, you may forget the route to Gariahat or the quickest way to Dalhousie. But years later, the distant ring of a tram bell, the cry of a fish seller, the beat of a dhak, or someone shouting “Bhokatta!” from a rooftop may bring the city rushing back.
Every city has a skyline.
The sounds of Kolkata. Kolkata has a soundtrack.
For More:
- On our site: We love India and much more for your to read about wonderful India!
- On our site: A Sikh Langar in India: Where a Meal is Community
- Incredible India, Tourism Bureau
- TripAdvisor, Calcutta
-All photos by and courtesy of Sanshayan Banerjee.
