

As Diwali knocks on our doorsteps and the rest of India is busy lighting lamps for Lakshmi, Kolkata bows down to Kali — the dark, wild mother who laughs at fear, and very much the city's own goddess of chaos. And true to form, even Kali maa's bhog doesn’t follow the rulebook.
Start with Tangra’s Chinese Kali Temple, where chowmein and fried rice are offered as bhog. Built by members of the city’s dwindling Chinese community, the temple stands as a living symbol of cultural fusion. The story goes that a Chinese tannery worker, grievously injured, prayed to Kali and miraculously recovered. His gratitude took the shape of devotion — and dinner. To this day, worshippers bring Chinese food, prepared without onion or garlic, to the goddess. It’s divine intervention meets wok toss.
But the city’s appetite for the unconventional doesn’t stop there. Up north, at the Shyambazar Joy Kali Bari, faith once flirted with heresy. Long before the honking trams and tangled electric wires, the area was forested, a haunt of monks and cremation grounds. A monk named Lakshminarayan Brahmachari from Jessore established the temple there, birthing a cult of fierce local devotion.
And then came the egg.
According to lore, an egg trader once offered an egg to the goddess, despite protests from temple priests. He simply said, “If the Mother truly hears everyone’s prayers, she’ll hear mine too.” Legend claims his business flourished soon after, and whispers spread that the goddess had accepted his offering. The ritual never made it into the rulebook, and today the temple serves only vegetarian bhog — but the story remains, stubborn and sacred in equal measure.
Both temples, in their own way, remind Kolkata that faith here is flexible, messy, and deeply human. The gods don’t mind if the offering smells like soy sauce or once came in a shell. After all, devotion has always been a matter of heart.
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