On December 8, 1930, three young Bengali activists—Benoy, Badal, and Dinesh—cloaked in European clothing, entered the Writer's Building in the former Dalhousie Square and assassinated the Inspector General of Prisons, N.S. Simpson. Though this incident was just a tiny speck in the storied history of this central district of Kolkata, it proved significant enough to create a ripple effect that enhanced the Bengali’s role in the collective fight for Indian independence. This is the reason why the place is now known as B.B.D. Bagh—in honor of the three freedom fighters who died that fateful day.

Historic colonial buildings depicting the best of British architecture are wonderfully maintained and are in full display in this square littered with street activities and rambling foot movements. The aforementioned Writer's Building, the Royal Exchange, Lal Dighi, St. Andrew's Church, The General Post Office, and Telephone Bhawan are just some of the must-see structures that would entail you to post it on your Instagram and caption it with #greatArchitecture.

On a sunny but cool morning during our first official day in India, Aileen and I wandered aimlessly at the chaotic streets of Kolkata, often finding charming nooks and crannies here and there to our delight. A short cab ride later took us to B.B.D. Bagh, which reminded me of the similar-looking colonial-dotted streets of downtown Yangon.

Crossing the streets while avoiding the iconic old-model yellow taxi cabs of Kolkata almost instantly brought me fifty years back. The whole district screams of a decades-old throwback, inhabited during the day by a massive workforce that congregates to work in the many government and private company offices, all armed with modern gadgets and technology-savvy minds.

The rest are street food vendors, ear-cleaning touts, shoe-cleaning touts, gold and silver touts, and all types of traders who will try their darndest to bother you—but once you politely shoo them away, they will give you a sincere smile in return.

Despite the swarming activities that may appear revolting to someone who grew up in a highly developed and less populous European city, I find B.B.D. Bagh more reserved than the other parts of Kolkata that we explored. I guess coming from Manila there aren't many contrasts—except during the night when we passed by B.B.D. again towards Howrah Bridge. I swear I have never witnessed such a massive exodus of commuters before, who like us, were also headed to the Howrah train station.

We regretted passing up on scores of street food stalls, because when we ended up on another street we could not locate a single dining place. We asked the locals who pointed us in different directions until we managed to find one lone restaurant beside another old building.

While waiting for our food, Aileen fell asleep for a few minutes while sitting down. Having slept at the airport the previous night, I felt completely exhausted. Maybe this is how Kolkata crept up on me. It absorbed all my senses into a state of lull; while it pleased them with new discoveries and fascinating firsthand observations of an entirely new culture, it beat me to the point I apathetically muttered to myself, "This is just our first day."

Finally, when the food arrived, I awoke from a half-slumber and so did Aileen, and we were greeted by a jovial server. I realized I should never fear nor surrender to the somnolent nature of continuous travel. This is India, Kolkata—the people here, the history teeming here, the culture oh so colorful here, the delicious food—there are so many wonderful things to experience. Benoy Basu, Badal Gupta, and Dinesh Gupta knew that very well. To the point of giving their lives so their fellow Bengalis could appreciate all of these in total freedom.