On the Streets...

On the Streets:

“No:5, Wood Street Bhai saab. Near Park street. Aur Sirf Near Camac street. Tumko Malum na?” I asked the driver nervously, hoping he would make out what I was asking. Casually chewing the pan in his mouth he looked at me and made a slight nod of his head and engaged the gear. Moving towards the window and sticking my head out, I watched as the cab forced its way through the traffic on Howrah Bridge. The rays of the morning sun were reflected on the waters of river Hoogly. It was flowing below at a rapid pace in sharp contrast to the inching vehicular traffic on the bridge.

A song from an old Hindi movie crackled through the speakers inside the cab. Small pictures of Goddess Kali and Ramakrishna Paramahamsa decorated the top of the dashboard. Every few minutes the Driver Bhaisaab prodded his head out and ejected a red liquid from his mouth. In the four days I stayed there, I learnt that this habit of chewing pan and spitting them, just about anywhere, was pervasive among the population of West Bengal irrespective of their literacy status. Given to this fact it was no surprise that sachets of Pan were sold by hawkers at traffic signals unlike Chennai where it is usually dolls and window cleaners that are sold at the lights.

The cab was racing through the main streets of Kolkatta. I watched with interest as a stadium with towering flood lights appeared to my right. Before I could open my mouth, “The Eden Gardens” said the driver. The image of “Dada” dancing down the pitch to hoist the bowler over the stadium slowly fused and diffused in my imagination.
Realizing that the cab was slowing down I turned to face the road. A tram was slowly crossing the streets as vehicles on the road waited. Hey!! A train moving on the city roads! That was funny!
As the cab continued to move, I observed a girl on the streets with great amusement!! She was traveling on a roofless horse drawn chariot!!!
A descendant of Queen Victoria family, huh?!
Then I remembered my colleague’s wordings about the transport facilities in Kolkatta. “Taxis, Autos, Trams, Buses, Underground trains, Horse pulled chariots, ferries( for crossing River Hoogly) to Man pulled Carts. You name it. Kolkatta has it”
True indeed.

When the signal turns Red; the road turns yellow:

The most striking feature on the roads of Kolkatta was the sheer number of taxis that were clustering everywhere. It was just unbelievable. These cabs, painted in a bright yellow, dominated the vehicle population on the streets. When the signal turned red; the road turned yellow, as if affected by a fit of jaundice, as the cabs lined up one behind the other.
“Calcutta, Very very population Sir” complained the driver as he tried to navigate between the gaps that were available. One more thing that I noticed was that in spite of this tiring traffic and mayhem, the people behind the wheels rarely lost their cool.

The Guesthouse:

The guesthouse I stayed was a huge one with a big hall and three sprawling bedrooms and the funny part was, I was the only guest staying there! There was a cook and three care takers present there at any given time. And not one understood English. Great!

Oh!! Ambeereela?!!:

I learnt that the office was situated at 10 minutes walk able distance. Dressed in a well ironed John Players shirt and wrinkle free Indigo Nation trousers, I started out. Two minutes down the lane it started drizzling. I wondered whether to continue or to head back to the guesthouse to fetch an Umbrella. Before I could make a decision the skies opened up all of a sudden leaving me running helter-shelter. The irony was, there was actually no shelter nearby!! I was forced to dash back to the guesthouse as fast as my legs could carry me. By the time I reached the room, the shirt and trousers weren’t looking as presentable as they were a few minutes ago. Sighing, I asked the care taker if he could get me an Umbrella. He looked at him with a perplexed look on his face. “Yes! Please give me an Umbrella!” I said. Still the same look on his face.
Tucking the file that I was carrying in my hands, between my legs, I demonstrated the opening action of an Umbrella.
“Oh!! Ambeereela?!” he smiled happily at me.

“Yes. Ambeereela! Please give me one!!”

*** Sigh***

The case of the missing Egg:

I returned from my office at around 8.45 P.M. A care taker walked up to me as I was busy removing my shoes. “Sir! You like to have anything Sir” he asked in halting English. “Egg Sandwich, please” said I.
Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door of my room.
“Come in”
“Sir, Sandwich” he beamed a smile at me.
When he left the room after placing it on the table I took the sandwich in my hand. There was something odd about it. I lifted the top loaf and found only a slice of tomato accompanied by two slices of cucumber sitting inside comfortably.
Hey! Where is the egg?

Tilting and turning the sandwich in all possible angles and directions I concluded that the egg was indeed missing. I called out to the guy who gave me the sandwich.

“Yes, Sir”

“ I asked for an Egg Sandwich. Where is the egg?” I asked him pointing toward the loaf on the plate.

The same old perplexed look appeared on his face.

“Egg. Egg. Egg Sandwich” I said.

No improvement.

I finally showed the shape of an egg, when he busted out “Oh! Anda! Anda! Oh! Egg Sandwich Sir?”
I fell silent. Was this guy playing the fool with me. Was he making fun of me? Dint I ask for the same Egg Sandwich?

“Yes. Egg Sandwich. That’s what I told you before too” I groused.

Back came the reply in halting English. “Sir, Sorry sir. I thinking it was “Ek” Sandwich”

*** Sigh***

To be continued...

Coming up next:

Police interrogation on Ho Chi Minh Sarani