I went home to saffron Bengal and this is what I saw

I’m an OG Kolkata Bengali. I was born and raised in Left Bengal and witnessed the rise of Mamata Banerjee’s Trinamool Congress during my early college days. I have only voted once in my life: in 2011, the historic year Didi dethroned the 34-year-old Left regime. Raised by staunch Left-supporting parents, I, predictably, voted for the CPI(M). That single vote mattered as much then as my lack of a vote mattered in this year’s election. It was on this note that my husband and I flew back home last week.

For starters, I was more apprehensive than excited. Bengal had just welcomed a massive political shift—the kind that had seemed like a far-fetched reality since Independence. This poriborton (change) was visible the moment I stepped out of the airport.

The massive posters of Mamata Banerjee that typically welcomed visitors to Kolkata were gone. Over the years, these sightings became normal. Now, in their place hung equally gigantic hoardings of PM Narendra Modi, BJP chief Nitin Nabin, BJP Bengal president Samik Bhattacharya, the new Chief Minister Suvendu Adhikari, and, to my surprise, Chirag Paswan. A multitude of BJP flags, tied to divider railings, blurred past my cab window as we drove down the street.

As we moved deeper into the city, mammoth hoardings of PM Modi with the word 'Abhinandan' (congratulations) appeared. They were everywhere, from east to central to south, the look of a new Bengal.

Meanwhile, the ubiquitous TMC flags that once blanketed Kolkata were now few and far between. Surprisingly, numerous Left offices that I never knew or had forgotten about stood erect once more. In fact, several pockets of the city were painted red with flags, instantly transporting me back to the 90s and 2000s when the streets routinely echoed with the Left's "cholche na, cholbe na" (this won't do, won't work) slogans.

Yet, surface politics aside, much of the routine remained unchanged. The same bus stands, the zigzag flyovers, the shopping malls, the whirr of the markets, the huge Lionel Messi statue, traffic, and numerous street food stalls.

But the air felt different.

It was as if the city was a person finally breathing easily and smiling widely. The years of rigidity and political monotone seemed to have been eradicated. I tried to convince myself that this newfound energy was just normal post-election buzz—until I saw my parents beaming.

Leading up to our visit, which was to attend a close friend's wedding, my mother had repeatedly told me over the phone that change was inevitable. "We are fed up," she insisted. "We haven't voted in such peace for the longest time," my father had added.

When I finally met them, my father was humming a tune I didn't quite recognise. My mother later explained it was a slogan coined by a newly elected BJP MLA targeting Mamata Banerjee and her nephew, Abhishek. "Maach chor, pishi chor, bhaipo chor" (Fish thief, aunt is a thief, nephew is a thief), it went. He repeated it, and she laughed it off—a scene completely uncanny in my house.

That was the first real shift I noticed. My parents, ideological Left loyalists, were casually sloganeering and chuckling over a BJP jibe. They didn't vote for the saffron; they had never voted for Didi in 15 years, but her departure hit a sweet spot. Seeing my bewildered expression, my mother simply said, "You have no idea how bad things had gotten."

She also appeared elated about the new government announcing free rides for women on state-run buses. She hardly takes government buses; Uber and Metro are her preferred choices, but the prospect of an option made her happy.

This was the popular opinion that I saw. This anti-TMC sentiment reverberated among most of our family and friends. While BJP supporters were obviously ecstatic, even those who weren't, leaned into a sense of relief because Didi was gone... finally gone.

When we met our friends, several of whom, like us, are settled outside Kolkata, the sentiment was uniform. They didn’t vote for the BJP, but everybody was jubilant about Mamata Banerjee being toppled.

"Didi geche bole shobai khushi (Everybody's happy with Didi's departure)," most of them said.

My mother-in-law even complimented Suvendu Adhikari for being the quintessential Bangali bhodrolok (Bengali gentleman). "Dekha jakh ki kore ei sarkar (Let's see what this government does)," she told me.

Trips around the city revealed more change. I saw 'Jai Shri Ram' flags hoisted atop shops and autorickshaws—a sight usually associated with North India. These images were not numbered, they were uncountable.

Bengali news channels constantly ran reports of a crackdown on TMC leaders over long-pending cases, with Sujit Bose being the most prominent among them so far. Every Kolkatan would know he is the key organiser of Sreebhumi Durga Puja in north Kolkata, which sees the idols being decked in gold worth lakhs of rupees every year.

We also learnt from family and friends that crowds were gathering outside the residences of Mamata and Abhishek Banerjee, with people making vlogs and shouting "chor" (thief) outside their gates.

Yet, the shift has an underbelly. Many we know are hopeless. They told me about their friends and acquaintances whose names had been struck off during the SIR process despite providing all required documents.

A Muslim cab driver told us that "bulldozer action" had already begun in his neighbourhood. Terrified, he had refrained from leaving his home for five days after the election results were announced. Well-spoken, he seemed shocked at how quickly Bengal had turned saffron.

The reports of bulldozers demolishing illegal encroachments around Kolkata instantly flashed before my eyes. There's something eerie about reading incidents on the news and actually hearing about them from people.

Each observation forced me to redefine how I viewed my city. I moved out of Kolkata in 2014, and over the years, Delhi has become more synonymous with "home". In this decade, trips back to my hometown were traditionally reserved for reconnecting with my Bengali habits—food, adda, Pujo, and more food.

For a long time, the quintessential Bengalis, annoyingly proud of their intellect, dissociated themselves with the BJP. Mamata Banerjee, riding on the Singur and Nandigram protests, emerged as the warrior who had the ability to understand people's plight.

But her reign was filled with severe intimidation, violence, scams and choking. The RG Kar rape-murder was, in my opinion, the final nail in the coffin. It riled up Bengal like never before.

The 2011 Mamata win that came with many promises had been washed down the gutter over 15 years and turned into sheer fear. And Bengal remained the hollow, intellectual land. I, myself, tried several times to move back home and get a job there. But I failed until I stopped trying any more.

The city I grew up in and went back to sporadically has now transformed–inside and out.

On the flight back to Delhi, I found myself befuddled by the foreign feeling this new Bengal evoked. The political future of the state remains a mystery, but I do know one thing: no matter who sits in power, Kolkata will remain my home forever—just as it will for the hundreds of us watching its evolution from the outside.

- Ends