Ambition is a charming beast. It goads you to do things, which you could never see yourself doing until that moment a dream was born in your fluttering little heart. And then, the adventures begin to present themselves. At times they trickle in slowly, like a stream in an Indian summer, and at times they appear all at once, like the apocalyptic floods which may drown you completely or take you to unknown shores. Often, when we go to bed at night, we never know what adventure awaits at the break of dawn.
So, in the summer of 2006, here I was, in this strange, sultry city called Kolkata. My send off from Chennai had varied from contorted facial expressions on hearing the name of the city, to detailed descriptions of the destination waiting to welcome me with my first job.
I was safely lodged in the old Tollygunge locality. My office was a good ninety minutes away and presented a pilgrimage. And on one Saturday, we were asked to be at our training center by 9:30 in the morning. A typical weekend person, I surprised myself with my readiness for this effort. Starting at 8 in the morning, three bus hops later, I was busy, bending my head over the keyboard. I don’t remember what I did there, or what I learnt those few hours at the training center, but the return home was misery, comedy and frustration bundled in one.
In the sweltering heat at one in the afternoon, when most of the city is fast asleep, I boarded a little bus from Salt Late City. It took me to the Chingrighata Bypass, for the next leg of my journey, to Gariahat or Kalighat. A rickety red bus came along and the board looked like it said “Gariahat”. (I don’t know how to read or write in Bengali, but I can read Hindi – and it all looked the same). I asked the conductor, and he was in such a hurry that he gestured to board the bus without wasting his time. One shrill whistle and I had made it to the second leg of the journey alone. But then what was I hearing? Everyone around me was buying tickets to Garia.
“Gariahat?” I said, as I stretched my arms to take a ticket and that ticked off the honorable conductor.
“Ehhhh! Naa Garia! Rickshaw, Ruby hospital” he said.
Then he blew the whistle again and made me get off the bus faster than I had boarded it. I managed to cling onto an autorickshaw and reached a gigantic junction. I was technically at Ruby Hospital, and officially lost at this point.
A ricketier bus came along, and this time, after much confirmation, I got in and took the beloved window seat. But what was happening now? In a few minutes, the conductor whistled. The bus stopped at an unknown location. Again? My heart skipped a beat.
“What place is this?” I asked my fellow passenger.
“No. This is not a bus stop. The conductor has gone to have paan!” she told me, very practically.
I was utterly shocked. How can he just stop a bus and go for a piece of paan? It was so irresponsible of him! I could never imagine something like that happening in Chennai. Without realising I had the option to get off and take another bus, I sat there, seething.
When I was almost on my knees in frustration and hunger, the man made an appearance. Another whistle and the bus began its shaky journey. And then, the time-conscious entity in me woke up and fought with him and asked him to get me off the bus. I was so persistent in my efforts, he rolled his eyes and stopped. I boarded another bus now, only to realise this one was slower, and my earlier paan-bus had gone far ahead after dropping me off.
The bus and I managed to reach Kalighat. I ran to Komala Vilas, like a kid running out of the confinements of a classroom. I gorged on poori and aloo and hoarded some food home too. I allowed myself the pleasure of a luxurious ride in the yellow cab.
That day, I had seen Kolkata as a dweller and not a tourist, complete with its quirkiness and accessibility. Coming home had taken over two and a half hours. I was lost, frustrated and even foresaw myself getting kidnapped. But no matter what, my goal was clear, and I had kept moving. I doubt I remember any other day of my stay in Kolkata more than this one. When I look back, it was a complete circle of life in itself – replete with unexpected adventures and a happy homecoming.
–By Nithya Rajagopal
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