Down the lanes of Durgapur

Normally I live six days a week with almost “No time to stand and stare”.  But an unsolicited guest called Chicken Pox has brought life to a complete standstill this week. With abundant time, I shall be in solitary confinement of my room for the next two-three weeks while the rest of the world remains absorbed in the midst of festivities.

I got up early today. There was a light drizzle and having nothing to do, kept on lying on the bed.The rain drops, sickness and the melancholic weather put my mind immediately in flashback mode back to the time I was in Durgapur at Steel Authority of India Limited(SAIL).

(1)

Only one Ghosh Babu in a Century

Even today my past colleagues at Durgapur will never believe that Ghosh Babu once offered me and Rajat Da (Rajat Pradhan- my Friend, Philosopher cum Guide from Durgapur) rasogolla at the Durgapur Market. It is of course quite natural. Ghosh Babu was a renowned miser and that was his USP. Once returning from job, I saw him queuing up to collect yearly bonus of the employee cooperative. The queue was long and impatient. Ghosh Babu had a frail physique and it was difficult to withstand the compressive forces in the queue which buckled at times protruding him out from the race. However,  the next moment, Ghosh Babu converted his weakness into strength and with the help of his frail built, sneaked back to the line.

In the afternoon, I met Ghosh Babu at site workshop. I was curious to know how much bonus he got and asked him. Ghosh Babu smiled and said that he had only a few shares in the cooperative and so didn’t get much.

“Ek taka Kuri Paisa peyesi” ( Got One Rupee and Twenty Paisa only).

I admired his grit and determination to get that One rupee twenty paisa which was by no means a big amount in 1997. But except for getting money, Ghosh Babu always exhibited sheer negativism. Bag was his colleague and both of them were in Security Department till security in all SAIL installations were taken over by CISF. Obviously as security, Ghosh Babu preferred to handle the stick while Bag opted for the Gun. Both were at loggerheads and their rivalry continued to the new department as well. Once I saw both of them trying to shift a faulty motor at the workshop by pulling with two ropes. But the motor was not moving.  Being a rival to Bag, Ghosh Babu pulled the motor exactly in the opposite direction to Bag.

Ghosh Babu’s daughter was getting married and the entire department was invited to the wedding reception. Ghosh was moving around busily cladding Dhoti Kurta and a portfolio bag. Our boss Tiwariji played a prank and asked-

“Ghosh –aaj tomar meyer biye ?” ( Ghosh- Is it your Daughter’s wedding today)

Ghosh Babu was always a "na..na..na." person. Old habits seldom die .Ghosh Babu immediately replied “ Na Na Na…” It sounded as if he was protesting Tiwariji's question.

In a moment, Ghosh Babu understood the trick, smiled and said “he he Sir” (Yes Sir)

(2)

Babaji- The  Vagabond

Babaji was another typical character I came across in those days. I don’t know how he became famous as Babaji. May be it was for his association with some “Joydev Mela” near Andalgram village in West Bengal. But his attitude was absolutely that of a Babaji. He took long leave and most of times remained unpaid . So running the domestic chores of his family fell on his brothers and Babaji remained a free bird. After a long break, he would come smiling to the office and offer everyone something from candy to Charminar Cigarette as if he had come from a successful world tour.

Babaji was a magician. During his long absence from office, he would roam around innumerable number of schools organizing magic show. In return , he didn’t earn enough to pay even his helper. Magic was his passion. I tried to counsel him once to curtail his absenteeism at office which rendered him into hopeless poverty. But he was adamant.

“ Saheb, those smiles of the children….. worth a million” – his words still ringing at my ear.

Babaji’s daughter got married while I was still in Durgapur. All of us went to the marriage party. His daughter was a beautiful girl and we heard all the expenditure of the marriage was borne by Babaji’s benevolent brothers.

We were the VIPs in the party and guided to the dining space for dinner. What surprised us was that a group of people had already assembled there and were trying to break through the entrance of the dining space. A  strong and stout man was valiantly guarding the entrance  by extending his arms which reached both the poles of the entrance. His sweat in the dark physique was glittering in light. There was no time to miss. We, the VIPs, were pushed through the entrance by our guide. Only after the VIPs comfortably sat, the guard relented and the dining hall was a sea of humanity.

(3)

Rajatda’s Maruti and the Bicycle Rider

It was the first day of my first job. I went to the Steel Melting Shop to see some repair jobs in a crane. There I met him, a bulky man with a hoarse voice. I told to myself that getting job done out of him would be very difficult. I was utterly wrong. He was a gentleman, a very kind hearted man and soon became Manik da to me.

Manik da was fond of good food and loved to entertain guests. Only even if he spoke something politely, it seemed like thundering. I visited his home a number of times to cherish homemade “Rabree” and “Luchi” soaked in Taal juice.

Once me and Rajat da were coming back from Manik da’s house. Suddenly the old Maruti Car engine stopped and refused to start. It was evening time and a lone bicycle rider was merrily passing by singing Rabindra Sangeet. For a moment, he stopped and  commented “Ki tante parsen na ?”( What happened, not able to pull) and left.

Suddenly the engine roared back to life. Rajat da slowed the car by the side of the bicycle rider and commented “ Ami tante na parle, apnaar ki khayati”( What do you lose if I can’t pull ) and left.

But after some distance, the engine again fell silent. Rajatda was trying hard to start the car. By that time the bicycle rider once again crossed us but not before commenting “ Tante na parle cycle e bhalo” (If your car is not good enough, cycle is a better option) and left singing.

Indeed, the  witty Bengalis have no parallel.

(Years being away from Bengal have made my Bengali  quite rusty. Readers may excuse me for that)

(to be continued)

You can contact Kamaljit at kamaljitmedhi1975@gmail.com