That Man in Darjeeling Mail!

I was traveling by the most popular North Bengal link train from Kolkata, Darjeeling Mail. This train got its name many years before the independence of the country. Possibly it was named immediately after Darjeeling was annexed to British India getting a chunk from Sikkim, and when the need to connect the picturesque hill retreat was felt by the rulers in the British India’s capital, Calcutta.

I have had traveled by this train in all its changing routes since 1960s. After the partition of the country its run was laid along a long circle. Its straight run from Calcutta to the north through Santahar and Parvatipur (now in Bangladesh) chugging over the Pakshi Bridge on Padma River was stopped for divide of the land. Then one half of the new alternate east bound route from Calcutta was marked up to Sahebganj in Bihar where the River Ganga (upstream of Padma) was to cross by Ferry Boats. The other half of the route was from the northern bank, Sakrigalighat, and it ran through north eastern part of the divided Bengal to reach Siliguri. This is the station where the narrow gauge Toy train awaits you to take you up to the picturesque hills of Darjeeling.

The journey this time began 10 in the night to reach the destination after 10 hours in the morning. I had begun the same journey by 43 Up/44 Down (now 2343/2344) earlier in different times. In the sixties journey used to begin at around 7 in the morning to reach Siliguri next morning. In the mid seventies it was around noon. Later it switched over from evening to night.

In the sixties there was no reservation system for the lowest class, favorite to the Bengali office going babus. Reservation came into effect in late sixties. Even so journey to North Bengal was a great adventure, full of surprises. I was recollecting some of the earlier happenings wrapping myself in the cozy comfort of the First Class AC class of the same train where, during our college days,  elbowing for a square feet space to sit for the entire night was a great struggle.

The word Darjeeeling Mail immediately reminds me of a strong person, both of his hands amputed from elbows, holding a weighty jhola around his neck, full of glass bottles of cold drinks, an opener daggling from his neck in a string. He would constantly keep hawking ‘Thanda Khaiben Babu, Thanda! (Would you like to enjoy cold drinks, gentlemen! It’s cold!)’. You ask for one, and immediately he would pick up one bottle with his elbows, put it between his knees, his elbows would then hold the opener and ‘ uncork’ the fuming fizzy drinks!’ I was 17/18 then. He was a rock determination to me-- a home fleeing teen age boy! I learnt from him that everything was possible in life.  How could he travel from compartment to compartment even when a mail train was in run? During those days there was no concept of vestibules in trains. He would hold the window rods with his elbows and would reach the door of the next compartment, and with such a great ease that none felt to look at fit. How he could do that? I dared not ask him for I felt the question could be too idiotic to a person of his stature.

He used to appear between Bolpur and Rampurhat or nearby stations, I fail to recollect exactly. Is there anyone who could tell me his name and where did he live? Is he alive till date? I did a horrible mistake not writing about him even for once in my 12 year run weekly column (1992-2002) in a daily from Kolkata.

Lets Respect Life

It was 6.15 this evening in Kolkata. I found a 10x5x 6 ft stack of concrete boulders blocking 50% of the busy CIT Road at Kankurgachhi, and that too blocking the busy bus stop. Standing at the tip of the stack on the road people were waiting for the buses and taxis. A traffic police constable was sitting nearby by the fence of the crowded Pantaloon mall, engrossed in his ‘moorir thonga’.

I stopped before him and asked naively, ‘How could we get those concrete boulders out of the road?’. He replied, ‘It’s none of my business. Ask the corporation.’ ‘When would you act then, after a death at the spot?.’ He replied in his cool, ‘You are right. If only anything happens there.’ I wonder, when would we learn to respect a life before we jump to respect a dead body?

Don'ts of a Cataract Operation

Five months back I had an operation in New Delhi, capital of India, to remove cortex and placement of Lens (IOL) in my right eye. Even after three months of this surgery I could not get my vision back, and went to another surgeon, now in Kolkata under a well known roof, only to discover that the IOL I had planted is 'broken' and having floating debris in the vitreous, which were blocking my vision. I was suggested for a Rs. 30K surgery to repositioning of a new IOL and cleaning of vitreous which may disturb my retinal position. I had no alternative but to go for it. Now three weeks to pass I have not regained my vision.

I suggest never take 'cataract operation' lightly nor you go for an ordinary surgeon for it. I did both the mistakes. I thought the few hour operation is a very simple methodology ( I viewed this in the net also) and could be done by any surgeon. My first surgeon was a graduate from a Medical Institute in Manipal, Karnataka. I knew he was admitted there against a heavy monetary fee the doctor's businessman father paid for. He was not worth enough to enter even a private institution with his normal intelligence. I went to him to save money. He charged at least Rs. 6K less than others.

Everyone should take care.