The tram tale
“Kalkatta jo rehte the, gaon wale hañste the,
wahãñ saḍak par chalī rail, bachcho nahīñ ye koī khel…”
When Abul Lais Javed penned these lines for Calcutta (now Kolkata), he never knew that his heartfelt poem, for the beloved children of Bengal, shall be read as a painful obituary of one of the beautiful firsts in the City Of Firsts. Sadak Ki Rail aka The Trams are on a ventilator today awaiting an impending death lest a doctor pulls the plug (pun intended). No, I am not talking of the noble profession practised in another famous place of Kolkata, RG Kar Medical College and Hospital – I am talking of the legacy; the legacy of Trams and RG Kar MCH which are both more than 250 years old, put together. Not a single city in India can take pride in this history and therefore, a simple question arises in my mind (which is as slow as a tram) – what is his story without history?
Kolkata is the cultural capital of India and trams form a quintessential part of its cultural heritage, its history. Google Kolkata and the first search result carries the image of a tram. Why? Kolkata boasts of the highest number of modes of transport in one particular place across India – from underground metro rail to hand-pulled rickshaws, from local trains to privately run car pools, from govt run AC bus services to Non-AC taxis, from ferry to toto. Then why Trams? Well because Kolkata takes pride in being the only Indian city to preserve trams for more than 150 years when cities like Patna, Kanpur, Nashik, Mumbai, Chennai, Delhi etc shut shop. Today, my heart sinks to learn that my City Of Joy is finally giving up on one of its joys, its USP and following suit with the aforesaid cities which failed to run the oldest eco-friendly public transport system in the most polluted country of the world.
They say, it`s for good (pun intended). They say, don’t sweat the small stuff. Nontu, the chai wallah, sweating the small stuff at the crossing of a tram track is a small man. He can’t see big things. Nontu can’t comprehend what’s for good when he watches diesel run lorries plying on the roads of Kolkata day in, day out while the electric tram lies comatose. Nontu`s Kolkata was known to be the most pocket-friendly mega city in India but today he pays more than Mumbai when it comes to cabs for eg. But that’s not for Nontu to decide. There’s a govt, there’s a court. Nontu is a small man who must learn to accept what he can’t change. Nontu has not been taught to change what he can’t accept. Small man, this Nontu!
Growing up in Beautiful Bengal, I realised that everything beautiful ends much earlier than everything ugly. Growing up with good old trams, I feel lucky to quote these beauties as an eg. today while going down the memory lane. The children of today’s Bengal may not be equally lucky in terms of trams but come to terms, nevertheless.
It was a pleasant rainy afternoon of the 1990s of the then Calcutta, when Shanti Gopal Bandyopadhyay (pet name Shontu) and I competed to board the low platforms of a kids-friendly tram after school. The loser was to pay for the tickets which were 04 anna (25 paise) per pax, if my memory serves me right. The plan was to reach Esplanade from Kidderpore and enjoy a ride on the first underground metro rail of India from the station opposite Metro cinema. Sweating like pigs we managed to grab our seats which were as wet as a fish; eish!
‘Eei khoka, shanto trame shanto hoye bosh noile pichle jaabi. Rod ta dhor (Hey boy, sit quietly in the quiet tram or you will slip; hold the rod),’ the conductor was kind, protective and stern all at the same time; fatherly types.
‘Yah Shontu hai, Shanto nahi (This is Shontu, not Shanto),’ I joked with the Bengali conductor in Hindi.
‘Maujaak korta hai? Jaak. Jaanla se mauja lo (Kidding, eh! Anyways. Enjoy the window),’ the liberal bengali in that friendly tram guy indulged both Shontu and me with both Bangla and Hindi and left us wondering what is his story with the window.
We looked out as the tram sauntered.
Behind the wet curtain of rains was a Kolkata which was Ghalib’s ghazal and Picasso’s painting. The sweetness of the tram bell amidst the rhythmic sound of raindrops tapping on my window turned my city into a temple. Harmonising with the occasional splashes of honking cars, the puddles rippled but couldn’t touch the large open tram windows. Huddling under their umbrellas the poor pedestrians were a touch away from the ever-accommodating tram. Some of them just walked briskly to board it as their bus had broken down in the broken roads amidst heavy rains, blocking a road generously and causing a huge jam. Meanwhile, the pristine greenery and scent of wet earth filled the air as we crossed Maidan in my smoothest journey till date. While Shontu crooned the evergreen song “Rim Jhim Gire Saawan” from the film “Manzil” starring his favourite Bengali actor, Moushumi Chatterjee, my eyes clicked a nubile wet lady taking a stroll on the rain-washed lungs of Kolkata, clad in white. I am sure she wasn’t Queen Victoria since she was barefoot like us Indians but did the rain cast a gentle, dreamlike spell on me in that gentle, rolling tram? I couldn’t say. All I can say is that I was mesmerised by that Kolkata from a tram’s eye view.
‘Cholo babu, Esplanade aese geyche (Come on dear kids, we have reached Esplanade) ’ the uniformed conductor broke my spell with a single bell. Given the torrential rains in the heart of the city, the distance of around 05 kms was covered by that trudging tram in about half-an-hour and by the time we reached the metro rail, it had developed a snag. Bad Day? Not exactly. That day, I did not lose the race to Shontu but gained a beautiful life-altering experience. It`s the journey that matters – not the destination. It was that boring red yellow tram which enriched mewith this learning, not my school. Kolkata feels sensuous, slower, introspective and a work of art in trams and this is exactly my point.
Transport reflects a place and its people, peculiarly. Mumbai prefers local trains, Delhi prefers metro rails, Chandigarh prefers cars, etc. Now, compare the characteristics of these places and its people with their preferred mode of transport and you will know how trams reflect Kolkata. Accommodative, safe, easy going, cost effective, eco-kids-women-elderly-friendly, polite, gentle, empathetic, considerate and a balanced work-life. This is my beloved Kolkata, my friends and this is how West Bengal Transport Corporation Limited (a govt of West Bengal undertaking) officially describe its trams. I am sure the govt and courts will check it out themselves before deciding its fate. I can go on and on but then I must pause for my city and answer my own question – what is his/story without history? Nothing!
‘Dada, koto (bro, how much)?’ I dispose off the earthen cup and turn to pay the chai wallah.
‘Oi, tram ka daam (same as the tram ticket),’ Nontu smiled meaningfully at the sexy tram swirling its way out of Nonapukur depot.
That tram ain’t disposable as that earthen cup.
Disclaimer
Views expressed above are the author’s own.
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