From “Feluda” to “Derry Girls”: Why We Research Fictional Locations

Entertainment

Sun Oct 6, 2024 5:53 p.m.
Last updated on: Sun October 6, 2024 6:33 p.m.

Sun Oct 6, 2024 5:53 p.m. Last updated: Sun Oct 6, 2024 6:33 p.m.

Visual: Mahiya Tabassum

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Visual: Mahiya Tabassum

Why do we seek out places we have only experienced through fiction? What pushes us to stroll through the streets where our favorite characters “lived” or to visit monuments linked to a story that moved us? For me, this way of traveling is something my father passed on to me. He believed in exploring the world through the lens of the stories and artists he admired. From visiting places that have inspired writers to finding filming locations, he taught me that traveling can be so much more than sightseeing; it can be about finding a connection. And now, following those footsteps, I find myself searching for places that are as real in my mind as they are on a map.

Over the years, I have come to appreciate both the magic and the challenges of this kind of travel. There is a certain pleasure in being in a place that once existed only in a book or on screen – as if you are entering a world that has shaped your imagination. Yet sometimes the vision we create doesn’t quite match reality. The charm may seem diluted by commercialization, or the setting doesn’t evoke the same emotions we expected. But for every overrated monument or crowded gift shop, there are those fleeting, magical moments where fiction and reality blend seamlessly and you feel like you’re part of history. These moments are always worth the journey.

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Park Street Cemetery. Photo: Tabassum Islam

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Park Street Cemetery. Photo: Tabassum Islam

One of my first adventures in cultural tourism was following Feluda’s footsteps to Calcutta, following in the footsteps of Satyajit Ray’s famous detective. Since organized cultural tourism wasn’t really a thing in this part of the world, I had to piece together the trail on my own. Armed with a love of Ray’s work and a rough plan, I set out to explore the places that shaped Feluda’s world. I started at what is supposed to be Feluda’s house: 21 Rajani Sen Road, Ballygunge. Except, well, it didn’t exist. I walked up and down the street, squinting at the house numbers, as if immersed in my own mystery, only to discover that I had misjudged my expectations. But I ended up saying to myself: “the magic of these trips often lies in the missteps.”

Things got better when I arrived at the historic Park Street Cemetery, one of the oldest monuments in Kolkata. This place, with its haunting beauty, served as the setting for one of Feluda’s affairs in “Gorosthaney Shabdhan”. And standing there, I realized how authentically Ray had captured its atmosphere. The towering tombstones, overgrown trees, and quiet desolation looked exactly as he had described: dark, mysterious, and tinged with history. Even the mosquitoes that Jatayu complained about in the story were very present, which makes me wonder if the municipality’s lack of maintenance was intentional. You really can’t buy this kind of “authentic” experience!

Street of Satyajit Roy’s house. Photo: Tabassum Islam

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Street of Satyajit Roy’s house. Photo: Tabassum Islam

Then there was Satyajit Ray’s house on Bishop Lefroy Road. As this is still a family home, I was only planning to take a look at it from the outside. The house itself was an elegant colonial building, with pale yellow walls and wooden shutters that seemed to whisper stories of a quieter time. The street was casual and unpretentious, with a few regular passers-by, seemingly unconcerned with the building’s history. Yet there was an understated charm: Victorian-style lamp posts lined the road, each adorned with a poster of Ray’s iconic films. Some of the posters were torn, the colors faded, but that only added to the feeling that I was seeing something real, something lived in.

People are playing cards in front of Roy’s house on Bishop Lefroy Road. Photo: Tabassum Islam

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People are playing cards in front of Roy’s house on Bishop Lefroy Road. Photo: Tabassum Islam

It was not a fancy tourist attraction, but rather a piece of living history, worn around the edges but still alive. As I stood there, a group of locals caught my eye, sitting in a circle on the sidewalk, deeply engrossed in a game of cards. It instantly reminded me of a Ray sketch in “Bospukure Khunkharapi”, where the three musketeers are playing cards on the trail, surveying a crime scene. At that moment, fiction and reality blend effortlessly. It wasn’t the grand, fancy experience I had imagined, but it was something intimate, alive, and unexpectedly beautiful. For a brief moment, I felt like I had entered a quiet corner of Ray’s world.

Notting Hill in London, however, is not as modest as Bishop Lefroy Road in Calcutta. Unlike the quiet, almost untouched charm of Satyajit Ray’s home, Notting Hill fully embraces his fame and capitalizes on it. I had imagined it as an idyllic neighborhood with colorful houses, quirky shops and a romantic, carefree atmosphere straight from the film. But in reality, it was something else entirely. Portobello Road, so picturesque and charming on screen, was filled with tourists. The market went on forever with vendors selling everything from vintage clothing and old records to quirky antiques and handmade jewelry. Street performers filled the air with music, mixed with the smells of street food, as crowds rushed, laughing, bargaining and crowding into each stall. There was a sense of excitement, almost like that of a festival, but it was far from the neighborhood vibe I had imagined. Notting Hill had now become a destination where people rarely slept at weekends.

The famous blue door from the film “Notting Hill”. Photo: Tabassum Islam

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The famous blue door from the film “Notting Hill”. Photo: Tabassum Islam

The famous blue door was barely visible behind the crowds of people taking photos. A few locals passed by, casting sideways glances as they tried to make their way through the crowd. I understood why it could be frustrating: having your daily life interrupted by tourists queuing to photograph what, to the locals, was just another door. It got me thinking about how residents’ sense of belonging must feel challenged by the constant flow of people wanting to claim a part of their home. The commercialization was undeniable, with souvenir shops cashing in on the film’s popularity by selling “Notting Hill”-themed trinkets, mugs and postcards. A few blocks away, I found the store that inspired William Thacker’s bookstore in the film. Formerly an independent venue known as The Travel Bookshop, this cozy boutique on Blenheim Crescent had charmed manager Roger. Established in 1979, it specialized in travel literature until its closure in 2011. Later relaunched by The Book Warehouse as Notting Hill Bookshop, it no longer only sells travel books but retains a charming nostalgic, filled with shelves, memorabilia and a small plaque honoring its role in the film’s legacy. Standing there, I felt the quiet authenticity that Michell must have loved: a slice of London’s past mingling with the magic of cinema.

As I continued my walk through Notting Hill, I couldn’t help but notice signs of local discontent. Graffiti near the famous blue gate read: “Tourists are sheep” and “Tourists are rubbish”. For the residents, fame had transformed their neighborhood into a spectacle, where their daily lives clashed with the expectations of fans attracted by a romanticized version of the place. I left Notting Hill with a new perspective. It reminded me that if fame can put a place on the map, it can just as easily transform it.

Cortona, the hilltop town of Tuscany, Italy. Photo: Tabassum Islam

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Cortona, the hilltop town of Tuscany, Italy. Photo: Tabassum Islam