A short journal from a first visit

Kolkata was meant to be a work trip. My first time in the city—I’d heard so much about it, the kind of place people speak of fondly, with stories that drift between nostalgia and chaos. I had planned to stay back for three extra days after my recce, hoping to explore. But with the situation around the war escalating and talks of airports shutting down, I decided to leave earlier than planned.

Still, I didn’t want to go without seeing something of the city on my own terms.

I’d heard of the famous Mullick Bazaar flower market, not far from the Hooghly River. So I figured I’d try and visit it before catching my 11 AM flight. The night before, I sent out a DM on Instagram: "Anyone in Kolkata and up for an early morning photo walk?"

Harshit replied. We’d never met before, but that’s the strange magic of travel—you throw out a thread, and sometimes someone gently pulls it.

The Wake-Up Call

I was up by 4 AM. Tired. Not exactly motivated. I'd just finished a 14-hour workday, and every part of me wanted to stay in bed. But I’ve learned this about myself—once I’m out the door with my camera, everything changes. So I got ready quickly, grabbed my gear, and hopped on a bike taxi.

It was a 15-minute ride through quiet, dimly lit streets. By 5:30, we were at the market entrance

A City That’s Already Awake

We made our way to the ghat to see the Howrah Bridge at dawn. The sky was hazy, the kind of soft grey that makes colors feel richer. The bridge stood tall and quiet above the city’s rush, as if watching it all unfold like it has every day for a hundred years..

The market was already in full swing. The sun had just started to rise, but the energy was at its peak—vendors shouting, goods being offloaded, garlands being weighed and flung over shoulders.

What hits you first is the smell: a heady mix of flowers, wet stone, and the occasional puff of bidi smoke. It’s overwhelming at first—but in the best way possible.

Into the Market

After a few frames by the river, we entered the maze of gullies that make up the flower market. It was damp underfoot, but that was quickly forgotten in the swirl of sights and smells. Tulips, sunflowers, orchids—flowers spilling from crates, bundled into ropes, carried like cloth across people’s shoulders.

And then, little details: the fragrance of flowers mixing with the occasional smoke from a bidi. The buzz of honeybees circling sunflowers in the golden morning light. People around us barely noticed the camera. This place sees dozens of photographers every day—you’re just another passerby.

Under the Bridge

We wandered beneath a low bridge where morning light streamed in through wooden slats, cutting through the half-dark like a spotlight on a theatre stage. Everything under here moved slower. The bustle of the flower market dulled into quiet rhythm — a world unto itself. Old bicycles leaned against damp, soot-covered pillars. A few men sat by their carts, discussing prices, wrapped in thin cotton towels. One of them rolled tobacco with quiet precision.

A row of weathered trucks stood in the shadows, their cargo bays now empty, petals still scattered across the floor from the morning’s unloading. Their drivers sat nearby on haunches or cots, sipping tea, watching the sun begin its daily climb. It smelled of wet stone, flowers, and old diesel.

There was no rush to leave. The men here knew this wasn’t a place to hurry. It felt like the 1970s — not because of any effort to preserve the past, but because time simply slowed down here, naturally. And for a few minutes, I let it.

A Pause by the River

We slipped out of the maze and walked towards the ghat. The iconic Howrah Bridge stood like a silhouette in the haze. The river moved slow, unbothered. That view—of the quiet Hooghly, the workers pausing for a smoke, the sky turning lighter by the minute—brought a strange calm after the sensory flood of the market.

Breakfast and Goodbyes

Before I rushed off to the airport, Harshit took me to a small local eatery for breakfast. We had Radha Ballavi—puffed puris filled with a subtly sweet lentil mix, served with spicy potato curry. That sweet-spicy balance was unexpected—and perfect. It was one of those meals that stays with you, not just for the taste, but for where you were when you had it.

Would I Go Back? Without a Doubt.

I barely had three hours before my flight, but I’m glad I didn’t stay in bed. The market gave me a glimpse of the city’s soul, not the version on postcards—but the one that lives in early mornings, quiet exchanges, and flower-laden baskets.

I’ll be back for Kolkata, properly next time.

But this short encounter? It was just enough to leave a mark.

Quick Travel Notes

📍 Location: Mullick Bazaar Flower Market, Kolkata
🕔 Best Time: 5:00–7:30 AM
📸 Gear: A light camera setup—wide or 28mm works great
🚶‍♂️ Tips: Go early, wear comfortable shoes (the lanes are wet), and keep your gear light
🍽️ Food: Don’t miss Radhaballavi at a local stall nearby—it’s an experience

Morning at Mullick Bazaar — A Short Encounter with Kolkata’s Rhythm