Very recently on a trip to the city of joy, I found
all joy being sucked out of me. I generally am not the one to pick faults and
be negative about anything at the drop of a hat but nonetheless I’m very
observant. And here are my observations over the 3 days of my visit.
Picture this, I’m on a local bus beside a huge man and
hardly have any space to seat myself on the already tiny seat of the bus. I’m
waiting and waiting and waiting, along with me everyone else too but there’s no
sign of the driver. After an hour or so he appears, betel chewing and looking
like a slumdog hero right out of a hindi movie. So the journey begins. There are
more stoppages on a half hour stretch than are overs in a T20 match! Super
irritating, yeah but wait that’s not all. Passengers keep filling in. There’s
no limit to the intake. People are hanging from everywhere. Some are hanging
from the rails above and some are hanging on to the person beside them. Nobody
knows where hundreds of pairs of feet are placed. For all they care some might
be stamping on them while hanging, but of course they don’t care! I thank my
lucky stars for having got a seat at least no matter how small. Everyone around
me had a hollow expression about them! Most of them were daily passengers
returning from their workplaces in different cities to their homes. I wondered
how they did it every day of every year for the rest of their lives. While the
driver kept driving like he was part of the NFS videogame, everyone clung to
their dear lives and prayed that they should be alive by the end of it. After a
4-hour hanging between discomfort and likely-death, I reached my destination (which
should have taken only 2 hours)
Next day picture this again I’m on a local train,
with lots of office-goers around me. The person sitting in front of me has food
stains and dust marks on his shirt. But it doesn’t matter I guess cause he’s
just gonna shrug and say “local train” when his boss yells at him or maybe his
boss too reaches office on a local bus or train. A man sitting by the window
chews betel and spits out of the window. The man sitting in front him protests “ki
holo apnar buddhi nei? Apnar pik ta gie oi dorjae darano lok gulor opore
podbena? Jokhon janen felar jaega nei tahale khan keno?” (Translation: don’t you
have brains? Can’t you see your spit will fly into those people standing at the
train door? When you know there’s no way you can spit out here, then why do you
chew betel in the first place!). The assailant didn’t say a word but didn’t
seem like he would change his ways either.
On the other end of the aisle, there was a teacher
checking exam papers while sitting on the window side with his earphones stuffed
comfortably, maybe listening to Rabindra Sangeet. But I didn’t see a single
tick on the poor chap’s paper which was being corrected. All I could see was
big big circles and crosses and question marks and sentences underlined in a scary
red. Soon I reached my stop and had to climb into another local bus to reach my
destination. Didn’t get a seat this time and had to hang like most others. The driver
again was in a death race. He was applying brakes like a total freak. Never did
he stop his bus at 1 proper bus stop and was flying his machine even before
passengers had mounted or departed the bus properly. Apparently he was running
late and was behaving like a maniac to escape penalty! Wow!! My shoulder joints
are sprained (I hope not permanently!) I admit I’m a short person and reaching
for those rails overhead felt like reaching for the stars!! Shouldn’t short
people have some kind of facility as well? Poor me!
Finally on the Third day I’m in a taxi. A yellow
dilapidated ambassador- the king of roads in the ‘70s but now mere junk! The bihari
driver is cribbing in his heavily accented tone, “kya korbo babu, police ar bus
driver gulo jeena dubhar kore dieche! Kichu ho jaye bas lathi humko ar humare
gadi ko pode!” (Translation: what to say sir, these police and bus drivers have
made our living hell. Anything that happens in these roads, irrespective of
whose fault it’s only me and my poor taxi that gets the cane!). True to his
words I noticed all the buses were blocking the roads. All of them were driving
on the right and not one of them let the taxis pass no matter how much they
honked! To top all limits of dadagiri
one of the bus drivers even stopped in the middle of the main road to pick
passengers!!(It wasn’t even a bus stop!) And no police said a word in protest.
Once I reached the famous railway station in Howrah,
I was kind of relieved to be getting away from the place when I encountered
this: A man urinating on the station building wall and another man coming from
the opposite direction interrupting him angrily, “ki babu eita motar jayga?” (Translation:
“what sir is this place for urinating?”), the creep scampered away tucking away his pants!
Totally disgusted! It is not a city of joy; rather
it is a city of mindless, careless zombies! It doesn’t matter whether you are
rich or poor, whether you own a car or bike, because the roads are ruled by
buses and no one can escape them. So, one is better of complying. I could only
look into their eyes and see emptiness, tiredness and
surrender. Kolkata is not for those with weak stomachs. It is for the brave, strong and outspoken.
Disclaimer: This was just an observation and I do not have
anything against Kolkata or its people. They are the sweetest! \m/
LOVE J
Yummy Fish Fries and Delicious Mishti Doi
ADITI
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