The Turbulent Days of early 70s

My introduction to Calcutta /NGOs / War Victims 

My sister passed her ICSE Examination at the age of 15 years with flying colors. It was decided to put her in a "good college" in Calcutta. She applied for admission in Lady Brabourne College and as expected, got it. English Honours.  Thus, started my journeys to Calcutta. The city was totally unknown to my sister as well as to me. The purpose of my going to Calcutta was to reach my sister to the private hostel "Nazareth Villa" and to bring her back home during her holidays. Air Conditioned travel was unheard of in those days in the late sixties and more so, in the Giridih Calcutta route via Main line! There used to be a "Howrah Bogie" attached to a night train with only one ordinary compartment - IIIrd Class - as it used to be called in those days! There was no provision for reservation. Whoever could run into the compartment and grab a seat as the train rolled on to the platform would be lucky! A class friend Kishalay had taught me how to run along with the compartment when the train would enter the station, grab the door handle and suddenly throw oneself into the particular bogie. (Unfortunately, Kishalay is no more). Of course, I never told my parents of the antics that I adhered to. The train fare from Giridih to Howrah those days was ten rupees and ten paise. The bus fare from Howrah Station to Park Circus Maidan was ten paise. So we used to spend approximately twenty five rupees one way reaching her to her hostel!  Of course, there were other day trains as well - the early morning train was good enough to enable us to catch the Varanasi Express (now Amritsar Express) at 8.20 a.m. in Madhupur which would take us to Howrah by 1.30 p.m. if at all one could spare the "day".

Those were the turbulent days of Naxalite movement. One of my sister's hostel mates was a girl from Kerala. Her brother, living in another hostel was studying in Presidency College. One day the boy was standing on the verandah of the College when there was some commotion. As he bent down to see what was happening, a CRPF Jawan standing below, thinking that the boy was about to hurl a bomb, fired into his head, killing him on the spot! Many innocent lives were lost. Much did I want to know the thoughts of Mao-Tse-Tung, I never ventured to buy any booklet from the footpaths lest plainclothesmen picked me up. Many-a-time I have been stranded due to sudden bandhs - have walked through alleys from Park Circus to Howrah Station. Once walking along the USIS Library I suddenly found bombs being thrown at the library - I ran across the road into a moving tram. On another occasion, I found myself in a dark alley when a police van moved in - along the wire meshed windows there were glowing cigarette (or bidi) buts and slogans were being raised in hushed voices about setting on fire and killing the bourgeois leaders! There was hardly any space left for me to move out and I must say that the situation was most unpleasant! 

Nevertheless, Calcutta had its own charms. The theatres in "Nandan" - the  vivacious  debates in the British Library with Utpal Dutt taking part on themes such as 'Jesus Christ as a Communist'!

It was during 1971 that the Bangladesh liberation war started. Brother Slack, a Jesuit priest who had taught us in St. Xavier's Hazaribagh, started working for  Catholic Relief Service [CRS]. They had their office on Camac Street. Many of old Xaverians from  Hazaribagh had joined for working amongst the war victims and the refugees. My sister Subha started volunteering with them during her vacations. My cousin Fabian had already joined on full time basis. They would start early in the morning, drive into Bangladesh - to the camps with food, medicines, Intra Venous sets and water. Prior to this I had gone to a centre for rehabilitation for lepers in Chingleput near Madras to volunteer. There I had seen the most poignant face of human suffering -here was another heartrending site of human suffering! 

War brings untold suffering for mankind and therefore, must be avoided. Unwarranted discussions on TV Channels, as is happening today, should be stopped.

The Rajgir Ropeway

There was a time when I lived in  rented tiled house in Pachamba. I was in high school - it was a Government School about three kilometres from where I was living with my parents. I used to walk to school and when a class became too boring, I would quietly slip out of my nearest window, then up on the boundary wall and a jump and I would be out on the street. Less than a furlong away, there used to be a motor garage where a few of my friends worked. They had dropped out of school because they couldn't afford to pay for private tutions for Science and Mathematics. At the garage if I saw two pair of thin legs jutting out from under a car and a hoarse voice singing, "Khwaab ho tum ya koi haqueequat, Kaun ho tum batlao, Hum se itni door khadi ho.... "  I would immediately identify the singer ' Kareem Khan'. I would watch with keen interest how he  would use two spanners and create a lever for opening a stubbornly tight nut. Yes, our Physics teacher did try to teach us first class, second class and third class levers, but I'd bet he never had practical knowledge like Kareem Khan. 

During the summer months I used to play football with the mohalla boys, but nobody played cricket. So during the winter months I would keep cycling along the highway and also through gullies and bye-lanes, country roads that would take me to the Usri on the other end of the town. I would also keenly watch the car mechanics at work I would also keep a tab of the vehicles passing along the road - the different types of cars and motorcycles. One day I saw a foreign made car that whizzed past at very high speed. It was being driven by a foreigner who had his elbow on the glass window beside him and was practically driving with one hand only on the steering wheel. For the adolescent within me, he did look like a hero. During my early childhood I had seen Mr Tootoo Imam driving his racing car to Ranchi or Fazlu Mian driving his 350 cc Bullet to Ranchi and back in half a day or my uncle Dr Sukhendu Mookherjee covering Ludhiana to Vellore via Giridih on his Jawa. During College days I have been offered trips to Darjeeling and back by my cousin Fabian on his Jawa  or Ranchi to Paradeep and back in a day, but nothing seemed more interesting than peeping into the mechanics of these foreign made cars. 

I made efforts in the adjacent garage to find specialities of the Ford Consul cars and soon the owner showed me one such car which was owned by one Dr U Sahay. The car' s suspension rested on two hydraulic shock absorbers only on both sides - I immediately knew the reason why these cars were so smooth! 

Very soon I noticed that the foreigner sahab stayed overnight with a missionary family in Pachamba. They were Scottish missionaries and my direct queries revealed that this gentleman was Mr Peter Edy, a Scottish Engineer and Managing Director of M/s Mackintosh Burn & Co. I also found out that he was constructing the Rajgir ropeway. In one of his subsequent visits I got introduced to him. I asked him many child like questions, like why he doesn't prefer the GT Road to Barhi to which he replied that due to very little traffic on the road via Pachamba, he preferred this route. 

 

On one of his visits he wanted the car to be checked up. I was only too happy to extend help to him! The mechanic my father relied upon was Belaya t Ali Khan. Belayat could be trusted with any car as he would study it's mechanics  if a spare part was not available he was smart enough to make an alternative part to fit the vehicle. 

Peter was impressed by Belayat Ali and was so happy that he invited me to his place in Kharda near Barrackpore in Kolkata. He said if I visited him I could visit The Indian Statistical Institute. He also added that the palatial building where he was residing was occupied by Rabindranath Tagore once upon a time! 

It was decided that I would take the Amritsar Howrah Express so that I would reach Howrah at 3.30 p.m. and he would pick me up from Howrah Station. The train was on time and Peter was waiting for me at the designated spot. Peter had with him a tall person with , long moustache whom he introduced as Khan Saheb, his cook. Besides, he also picked up few crates of drinks. We reached Khardah in about 90 minutes time. Peter explained that Sundays were days on which his friends met and had lunch followed by drinks. Peter had a farewell party to attend and told me that he would return by mid night, so he had called a Bengali boy to keep me company. 

This young boy told me of the proposed luncheon that would take place the following day. Burra Sahabs of Martin Burn, Guest Keen Williams, Arthur Young and scores of other companies would be represented by their burra sahebs and better halves. Peter, incidentally, till then was bachelor. I had a sumptuous dinner of bone less Betki fish. After dinner my Bengali friend showed me around this palatial building and took me to Peter's Elbow Room as well as 

  the workshop where Peter would make his own Yatch for sailing on the Ganga. Some of the balconies of this building extended well onto the river and there was always a strong gust of wind through the Balconies into the rooms. The living room had a panoramic view of the Ganga and was large enough for minimum ten couples for ball. 

That night I enjoyed a sumptuous dinner of Bhetki Fish ( bone less) - I had seen Khan Saheb preparing it with a  large Cigar between his lips, sitting on a high stool. 

Early the following morning I was told that Peter had returned the previous night at around 2.00 a.m.Notwithstanding he joined me for breakfast at sharp 8.30 and drove me to ISI . He was there at the gate waiting for me at 4.30 p.m. When we returned to his house, there were still a few guests around - Sahebs and Memsahebs  the latter generally ensuring that their better halves were not too tipsy! 

I learnt that Peter allowed all his  helping hands holiday after such parties so he took me to Barrackpore Club for dinner. It was 12 o'clock by the time we came back. Peter' s speedometer was clocking 120 on the busy B T. Road. 

Continued from where I left... Builder of The Rajgir Ropeway

Peter, while telling me of his home, had said that his mother was very old and he makes it a point to visit her during Christmas. On one such trip there was heavy snowfall and the visibility was extremely poor, yet he had no option, but to start for Heathrow - some 400 miles overnight! I also came to know that during any exigency say in Asansol or Durgapur he would make a quick visit on his bike and would be back home by early dawn! 

Peter was considerate enough to drop me at Howrah Station the next morning and I could catch the Toofan Express back home. 

The following month he arrived at Pachamba in an Ambassador car. I could not resist my temptation of asking him the reason. I was told that his Ford Consul broke down one day while he was on his way to an important meeting. He left his car in a roadside parking lot, walked in to Deewar's Garage and walked out in a brand new Ambassador.  I went to inspect his new car. In 20 days the car had covered 24000 kms.! I asked him about the car's performance, he replied that he regretted having sold his Ford! 

During 1968 my sister passed ICS Examination and was admitted to Lady Brabourne College, Kolkata. By the time we met the college authorities, all seats in the College Hostel were full. The College office told me of a private hostel almost across the road run by nuns They said it is for working women, but they accommodate college girls also. I went to the hostel, only to be told that there was no vacancy and they needed two letters of recommendation from persons of repute whom they knew. Initially I was disappointed, but suddenly remembered that I had seen aledmanhole covers in the hostel floors reading " Mackintosh Burn". I lost no time in asking the nun-in-charge if they knew Peter. They said Peter was a good friend and, "Of Course his recommendation would be very valuable".

I lost no time in contacting Peter. He asked me to meet him in his office the next morning. As soon as I reached his office, he dictated a letter of recommendation, signed it, sealed it and handed it over to me. I went straight to the hostel and handed over the letter. I was asked to bring my sister immediately the same day. 

My sister Subha spent the next seven years in this hostel Nazareth Villa on CIT Road, Park Circus through her graduation, post graduation and doctorate courses. 

During college breaks I would come to take her home - Rs. 10/10p used to be one way fare from / to Giridih for one person and 0.10 paise used to be bus fare for a person from Howrah to Park Circus. But those were disturbed days. Young boys would be picked up by police and taken away to unknown destination. I would wander why my sister never liked my wandering on the streets of Calcutta! Only recently she told me the reason!