Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
+4 Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
Kolkata Anime India Festival: A Unique Valentine’s Day Experience
Join writer and photographer Manan Banik as he dives into the vibrant chaos of the Kolkata Anime India Festival. From stunning cosplay to Bengali anime, explore this unique Valentine’s Day celebration of visual art and pop culture at Biswa Bangla Prangan.
I entered Biswa Bangla Prangan on Valentine’s Day with the confidence of a seasoned cultural journalist and the knowledge of a confused uncle entering Comic-Con. I wasn’t carrying a rose, but a katana—because today was all about India’s biggest visual art celebration: The Kolkata Anime India Festival!
February 14th was going along in a typically “goofy and romantic” fashion until, within three minutes of arriving, I witnessed:
-
A man carrying a sword taller than my career plans.
-
A woman with silver hair staring into the distance like she’d just avenged an entire bloodline.
-
Two people passionately debating in what I’m 87% sure was Japanese.
-
A couple taking romantic photos in full battle armor.
Meanwhile, I was standing there in an oversized Uttam Kumar printed shirt, a camera swinging wildly around my shoulders. No cape. No glowing eyes. No dramatic backstory.
I owe this all to my editor, Sid Ghosh. He called me a day prior:
“Oye! I have a surprise for you. Why don’t you attend the Kolkata Anime India Festival? Don’t forget your camera. — Sid.”
Back to business. I realized two things immediately:
-
I was severely underdressed.
-
I hadn’t just arrived at an event; I had entered a parallel universe where Valentine’s Day meant roses in one hand and a Masamune in the other.
For a brief second, I considered pretending I knew exactly what was happening. I adjusted my camera strap with fake authority. But the truth? I had absolutely zero idea what was going on—and honestly, that made it infinitely more interesting.
Beneath the wigs, exaggerated makeup, and carefully rehearsed poses, there was an energy that didn’t feel performative. It felt committed. Intentional. Almost defiant. I realized I wasn’t just covering a fest; I was documenting a culture that had decided reality was optional for the day.
Here is my “Manan-style” endeavor into this mega-festival of visual storytelling, fragmented into chapters. Enjoy!
Chapter 1: Love, Latex & a Cosplay-strophe
The first thing you notice about cosplay isn’t the wigs or the swords. It’s the commitment. The kind of commitment that quietly makes you question your own productivity.
These aren’t people who just “dressed up.” This is midnight stitching, hot glue burns, hand-painted armor, and an emotional attachment to characters whose names most of us confidently mispronounce. (Well, only Manan has to mine his teeth to pronounce an anime title correctly).
I met teenagers who built their own props and adjusted contact lenses like they were preparing for liftoff. One guy was fixing his cape with the seriousness of a warrior entering battle, while I stood there adjusting my camera strap, pretending I understood the lore.
At one point I asked, “So… which character is this?” The silence that followed? Prime melodrama. Did I stop there? No. “Ahhh! It’s that… Minecraft Enderman!” Anyway, Manan, focus!
The youth weren’t awkward or shy. They weren’t doing this ironically. They were proud. Loud. Fully in it. That kind of fearless expression is rare. Meanwhile, I was dodging foam swords with my DSLR like a confused documentary filmmaker. I realized this wasn’t about costumes; it was about the ownership of passion.
Chapter 2: Three Artists & One Over-Excited Journalist
By the time I reached Harsho Mohan Chottoraj, Charbak Dipta, and Sohan Bhattacharya, I had already embarrassed myself in at least four fictional universes. Naturally, I decided to interrogate real creators next. And when I say I asked questions—I mean I ASKED questions. Publishing? Asked. Process? Asked. Deadlines? Asked. Creative burnout? Asked. Twice.
At one point I’m convinced they could recognize me from a kilometer away: “Ah yes, the Uttam Kumar boy with the DSLR and 47 follow-up questions.” But here’s the beautiful part—they didn’t brush me off. They leaned in. They explained. They laughed.
Firstly, Charbak especially caught my attention—not just because of his thoughts on storytelling, but because of those robe-style, almost Rajasthani-inspired trousers. Effortless. Flowing. My editor, Sid, has a pair of them. Probably after he pays me for this article, I’ll be buying some for myself. Oh Manan, focus. I was genuinely fascinated. He looked like he had stepped out of a graphic novel panel about desert philosophers.
Secondly, The Harsho Mohan Chottoraj. Standing there listening to him, I had a specific thought: if creativity had an anime equivalent, he’d be Saitama. Not because of drama, but because of calm power. Saitama doesn’t scream before winning. He just stands there… mildly bored… and absolutely capable. Harsho had that same grounded presence—no noise, no flexing, just quiet confidence.
Thirdly, Sohan. Easily the calmest of the three. While my energy level was somewhere between “excited intern” and “over-caffeinated podcaster,” Sohan felt composed. Thoughtful. Measured. What struck me most wasn’t just their work—it was their innocence about art. No arrogance. No gatekeeping. I felt welcomed. I came to cover an event; I left with three almost-friends and about twelve new insecurities about my own creativity. But honestly? Worth it.
Chapter 3: Brands That Don’t Blink
A] THUK: Then I met THUK—a brand that clearly woke up and chose chaos. Bold prints. Zero filter. One particular design boldly mixed internet notoriety with economic authority under a slogan that flirted dangerously with taxation humor. I asked them their long-term plan. They smiled and said, “We know this might get shut down. So before that happens—buy ‘em all!” That’s not marketing. That’s creative adrenaline.
B] BANGLAYE ANIME?: Next was a team working on a Bengali anime. Yes. Bengali. Anime. They were animating legacy, pouring life into the most loved Bengali characters of all time. Feluda? Professor Shonku? Imagine Byomkesh with anime intensity. For the first time that day, I wasn’t confused. I was curious. And maybe a little proud.
C] SENDICO: Then I stumbled upon Sendico. For the unaware, Sendico is basically that friend who says, “You want something from Japan? Chill. I’ll get it.” While cosplayers bring characters to life, Sendico quietly fuels the obsession. They’re the strategic support class. And honestly… every universe needs one.
Chapter 4: Reality Reloaded
By the end of the day, something had shifted. I remember clicking a photograph of a few broken mannequins lying quietly in a corner—hollow, waiting to be fitted with wigs. It felt symbolic. Empty figures waiting for identity. And all around them? People doing exactly that—choosing who they wanted to be, even if just for a day.
Biswa Bangla Prangan didn’t feel like just Kolkata. It felt international. I had to tell myself: “ENOUGH MANAN! You came here to cover an event, not to have an existential character arc.” But how do you not? Kolkata Anime India Festival isn’t just costumes; it’s youth without hesitation. In a world that tells young people to be practical, this fest quietly says—be passionate instead.
If you get the chance—go. Take a friend. Take your curiosity. And if you feel lost at first? Relax. That just means you’ve entered the right universe.
— Manan (And yes, Suchitra Sen is still okay, not just Uttam Kumar! Haha!)
From the Author’s Desk
(Highly Unqualified but Emotionally Invested)
Hi. Manan here. Writer. Occasional photographer. Full-time overthinker. The only journalist who can attend an anime fest with zero knowledge and return home with emotional growth.
I entered this fest not knowing the difference between anime and “that cartoon with aggressive hairstyles.” I came because my editor trusted me. (Hi, Sid!). I stayed because my curiosity refused to sit quietly. Somewhere between almost proposing to a Tanjiro cosplayer and interrogating three artists like I was auditioning for a fellowship… I evolved.
Did I understand everything? No. Did I pretend confidently at least 14 times? Yes. But that’s the beauty of it. I’m an artist at heart. I romanticize chaos. This fest fed that side of me.
If any of the artists recognize me from a kilometer away next year, I promise I’ll bring better questions. And better outfits. Now excuse me while I Google “How to start watching anime without embarrassing myself!”
What's Your Reaction?
