Long before Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs tapped the Marauder’s Map with their wands and solemnly swore they were up to no good, Tenida and his merry band of goons were spreading terror through the streets of Calcutta. The foursome — leader Tenida of the big battle-axe nose and even bigger appetite, Pelaram of weak stomach and sickly spleen, Kyabla, the cleverest of the lot, and Dhaka-born Habul — reigned over Potoldanga, where everyone lives on a diet of weak catfish curry, potol (pointed gourd) and basak leaves.

These are perhaps times when the degrees of separation between anyone and a Bengali are far less than six; when re-runs and adaptations of detective Byomkesh Bakshi are eagerly awaited; and when Feluda omnibuses are fixtures in every self-respecting bookshelf. I’ve spent enough years living with Bengalis who have ‘cut their milk teeth on Tenida’ to relish these nonsensical misadventures of the Potoldanga boys and appropriate them as part of my own re-imagined childhood. The stories could’ve been located anywhere in the country and the result would have been a set of similarly colourful stories. An equally dull vegetable would’ve replaced potol, and bhelpuri, chanachur.

So, the first English translation of Narayan Gangopadhyay’s Tenida stories comes as a welcome addition to a well-fattened list of Bengali cultural legacies. The compilation has some of the best stories of Tenida’s gang, including the well-known novella Charmurti. In Charmurti, the Potoldanga boys recount the adventures of a summer in Hazaribagh, where they spend an entire holiday running from loveable villains such as Guru Gloomyswami and his “unworthy disciple” Gajeswar Garui aka Chop Yu Thin Lee. In the short story The Bhajahari Film Corporation, Tenida and Pelaram hatch a harebrained scheme to dupe their colonywallas for a few KC Das rasgullas. Inventing a fictitious film company, they put out eyeball-grabbing ads for a few rupees. In fact, the greed for food is a recurrent theme in Gangopadhyay’s tales and often the main reason for trouble. Much of their activities revolve around procuring snacks and sweetmeats. Tenida, who has an insatiable appetite, has a weakness for samosas, mutton ghugnee, crispy alu kabli and laddoos. Even dangerous threats from villains take the form of food — “I’ll make sheekh kebabs out of you”; “We’ll fry you into cutlets”.

The translation comes with a handy glossary of all things Bengali and a little note on Tenida’s Calcutta. My Bengali friends observe that the translation, as all translations do, loses some of the local flavours and witticisms but as far as I’m concerned, I’ll have what Tenida’s having.

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