Day 1
My train is running four and a half hours late. I've called Ashu Da, the caretaker at the guest house, to let him know that I will be checking in tomorrow instead of this evening. That done, I'm sitting with my nose pressed to the window pane again, staring at the palm fronds outlined against the evening sky. As phones enter networks, calls and messages begin pouring in all over the compartment. Airtel sends me a "Welcome to Kolkata" message. I'm thankful for the welcome, but I wish they wouldn't charge me roaming. Oh well, we can't have it all.
The train pulls into Howrah Jn, platform 16. It's muggy and the place is buzzing with activity. Armed with my smattering of Bangla, I am feeling at home already. I've been to Kolkata before, just never really stayed there. This trip promises to be interesting. Before I get too happy, though, I sober myself with the reminder that I'm here primarily to carry out a not-so-fascinating time-and-motion study. Will do, will do.
Day 2
My first taste of Kolkata traffic, and the jams it is notorious for. I go from Alipore to Tollygunge, and then head to Camac Street, where the office is situated. Traffic lights refuse to go from green to red, and I am alarmed by the increasing number of people stepping resignedly out of cabs and legging it across the streets. How long IS this going to take?? Jyoti from the office calls and wants to know if I am the intern from Delhi, and if I intend reporting at Camac Street this morning. I am, I assure her. I'm, uh, stuck in a jam somewhere near Fort Knox. Oh you're almost here, she says, and I hang up in relief.
Office is decent. People are nice and helpful, and more than willing to help me figure my way about things. I have already sworn off cars for the rest of my stay, and am given minute instructions on where to find the closest Metro station. Time-and-motion study begins two hours into the day. So far, so good.
Lunch is an astonishing array of vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes. Tea (had twice a day with a generous dollop of adda) includes biscuits, nimbu pani and the occasional sandwich if you ask for it. The best part, of course, is the customary mishti at the end of every meal.
Come 6 pm, and it is time for my first brush with the Kolkata Metro. Everything is new and familiar. I queue up for a token - a habit I've fallen out of in Delhi ever since I bought my travel card - and head through the rotating gates for the platform. Trains come every fifteen minutes. I've just missed the latest, so I get time to look around while I wait for the next. This one is the Maidan Metro station, and the walls are adorned with paintings of sportspersons. I try and figure out the Bengali alphabet painted on the boards and walls. A train comes thundering in. I think hard and quickly - this one is headed to Dum Dum. Is this the train I should take? This, or the other one? Where am I going? Tollygunge? Then it must be the other train. By this time, the doors have slid shut and the train has thundered off, effectively leaving me with only one option - take the next. For a second, all the thundering makes me feel like I'm in the middle of a Harry Potter story, at Platform 9 3/4. The next train comes in, and the display reads Tollygunge. Of course, I brighten, Tollygunge it is. So I hop in.
It is very different from the Delhi Metro, but equally entertaining. I love the Hindi translations of the warning signs pasted all over the compartment. A Rabindra Sadan, Netaji Bhavan, Jatin Das Park, Kalighat and Rabindra Sarobar later, I am at Tollygunge.
The guest house is comfortable, and Ashu Da extremely considerate, telling me where I can find the switch to the AC, and getting me chilled water and tea even before I can ask. My roommate, an extremely tall, talkative 26-year old from Mumbai, shows me around the building, tells me all about her office at Salt Lake, and extracts a promise from me: when I visit Mumbai next, I have to stay with her. Dinner is good - sweets again! - and I tumble into bed, exhausted and overwhelmed, and brimming with excitement. I reverse-calculate before I set the alarm: I have to reach office by 9.30. The Metro took 15 minutes from Tollygunge to Maidan. On foot from Maidan to Camac Street takes ten minutes, so that is 25 minutes. Tollygunge station is 15 minutes from here on foot - so that is 40 minutes in all. Throw in half an hour to get ready, for breakfast...alright then, 8 am it is.
Day 3
Ha! From guest house to station, station to Maidan, Maidan to Camac Street - all by myself! But I think I should buy a new Kolkata SIM card for my phone. Roaming is killing me. We'll see about that in the evening.
Day is ok, more interviews, more note-taking. Turns out one of the members of the team is a senior from school. She's delighted and so am I. Lots to catch up on.
I'm eating like a horse.
I leave office at 6 pm, and walk down Camac Street before turning left into Park Street in search of an Airtel outlet that can sell me a local SIM. I find plenty, but no one is willing to sell me a SIM unless I produce a photo ID and proof of permanent address. I scout seven shops, and draw a blank everywhere. Can't blame them. I should have thought of the ID back in Delhi when I was packing for the trip. That disappointment aside, I get to explore Camac Street and Park Street thoroughly, admire the beauty of history side by side with modernity - it's glorious- and, above all, find Flurys! I try to locate the Park Street Metro station, and end up walking the length of Camac Street and half of Park Street again. Eventually, I hit a pavement that looks familiar, walk down it, and find myself heading back for Maidan. I've just spent the last half-hour walking in circles.
Back to Tollygunge in the evening. Some MLA is delivering a speech on a makeshift stage right outside the station. The air is thick with the aroma of samosas and tea. Back in my room in the guest house, it dawns on me that I haven't eaten any sandesh yet. Sacrilege, I call it.
Day 4
Alarm, snooze, alarm, snooze, alarm...RUN!
At the station, I sprint from the ticket counter to the platform, run into the train waiting there, and throw myself on the nearest seat. "Welcome to Kolkata Metro", the announcement booms, "the next stop is Belgachhia."
Belgachhia??
I rush out of the train, tearing past the crowd that has now gathered by the doors, which are about to slide shut. More running, and I am now at the opposite platform, waiting for the train. At work, Senior from School takes us all out to lunch at Peter Cat to celebrate her birthday. More walking down Camac Street. By now, I'm in love with the place.
On my way back, I stop at a little shop for sandesh. For some reason, it has struck me only just now that I see a daab-seller outside Middleton Inn every morning on my way to work. Why am I not having any?
There is a power cut at Golf Link Apartments, where the guest house is situated. Kids are running all over the stairs, playing hide and seek. I can smell fish frying. Ashu Da tells me he can get me some if I like. I need to tell him in advance, though. Hmm.
Day 5
Should I take my umbrella? Shouldn't I? What the hell, it never rains here anyway. They seem to have plastered the walls of the editing studio with new posters of Tollywood movies. One, in particular, seems heavily inspired by the design of the Anywhere But Home poster. The sun beats down with all its fury. As on Days 1, 2, 3 and 4, I am bathed in perspiration by the time I enter the train. The way the passengers ride in the Kolkata Metro is unusual - as if by some tacit agreement, men and women occupy alternate compartments, each compartment becoming all-ladies or all-men by default. So, even if there is a seat lying vacant in the neighbouring row, no lady steps towards it. Quite a change from the Delhi Metro, where seating arrangements - even where 'Ladies only' or 'Physically challenged only' are specified - are uniformly unisex.
Glancing out of the window at about four that afternoon, I can see the sky darkening. By the time I finish interviewing Prasun Da about direct contract employees, big drops of rain are beginning to pepper the ground. I'm exhilarated, like I always am by the rain, but I'm also beginning to worry. I don't mind getting drenched, not one bit. But it is getting darker, and the rain heavier, by the minute, and transport is going to be affected, says Sweta. She wants me to wait for the rain to abate, but I'd rather leave right now. So I walk out into an empty Camac Street. As I pass people sheltering under awnings and in doorways, I am met by stares of frank astonishment. I confess I am beginning to feel a little awkward, and louts gawking unabashedly are not helping matters. It's raining hard now, and as I sprint down Middleton Row on my way to Maidan station, I am conscious of feeling like a rather confused duck. Into the station, onto the platform, into the train...a quick rick ride in the storm to Golf Link Apartments...home and dry. When I open the cupboard to pull out a towel and a change of clothes, light glints off the tip of my umbrella, and for a second, it winks wickedly at me.
Day 6
Strangely, all I remember of the whole rain fiasco this morning is the cheery "Welcome!" that the rickwallah shouted out in response to my fervent "Thank you, Dada!" as I hopped off his rick.
Luchi and aloo dum for breakfast...my day is made already!
I'm beginning to worry about my project. Nobody seems to know what to expect of me, and I certainly don't know what to do with the vast amounts of data I am amassing. An ABC analysis is not feasible, and I cannot get in touch with my guide because he is busy in Mumbai. I'm fending for myself and, I have to confess, I don't think I'm doing a very good job. To top it all, I'm running a temperature and my throat is sore after last evening's gallivanting in the rain. I just don't feel like doing anything, least of all examining the recruitment process for vendor employees. I cannot wait for the day to end.
The train journey back is uneventful. By now, I have made it my mission to read the English translations of all of Tagore's poetry inscribed on the walls of Rabindra Sadan. Not easy, because the train doesn't halt for more than two minutes, and the writing is minuscule, but the challenge makes it more interesting. I stop at a sweet shop in Tollygunge, and buy sandesh and mishti doi. Life begins to look up.
Days 7 and 8
Homemade food, endless siestas, an enormous balcony. Perfection.
Day 9
I have to start compiling all my data now. Spoke to my guide on Saturday. He says I must visit the company's KPO centre at Technopolis in Salt Lake. Which is all very well, except that it will result in more data that I will be clueless about dealing with. It is a decent day in the office, save for the tall, bespectacled gentleman who walks up every now and then and tells me, in painstaking detail, about all the 'important' work he does for the company. I wish there was some way of convincing him that I am NOT here as part of the company's annual performance appraisal process - I'm just a summer intern.
Back at the guest house, I catch up on the latest on the Maoist-Government face off. All the guests at the guest-house get into an impromptu debate over the fate of Bengal. Funnily, none of the seven of us is from the state. Ashu Da intervenes every now and then; now with his opinion, now with cups of tea, and finally with a firm reminder that dinner is getting cold.
I burrow into bed, feeling kind of sorry that time is flying by so fast.
Day 10
Nothing much. Am eating four big meals a day, practically living on sweets, and drinking nimbu pani by the gallon. Oh, and I don't mind the incessant perspiration so much any more. In the middle of the day, I go to Ashok Da and tell him that I want to help with the filing. His alarmed, spontaneous "Hey Ram!" elicits laughs all over the department. I pretend to be hurt; he makes up by treating us all to butterscotch ice cream.
Day 11
My mind is made up: I am going to communicate solely in Bangla with all the staff.
By the end of the day, they don't know if they're frustrated or helpless with laughter. Sweta asks me if I have a confirmed booking for my journey out of Kolkata three days later. If I don't, she says, she will be more than happy to help.
On my way back that day, I do manage to piece together the whole of Tagore's haiku in translation, at Rabindra Sadan.
"...let the evening forgive the mistakes of the day
and thus win peace for herself."
Day 12
I have to go to Technopolis today. I don't care if the sun is shining nice and bright - the umbrella is the first thing to go into my bag. I am running late, so I take a rick to the station. He says he will charge me 9 bucks. To someone who has given in to being fleeced on a regular basis by the rickwallahs of DU (they talk only in figures rounded to the nearest ten), this comes as a very pleasant surprise. What touches me even more is the smile with which he hands me two rupees in change when I give him a ten rupee note. "It's only 8 rupees", he tells me, "I forgot. Here are two rupees."
Midway through the day, Abhishek Da, the HR exec at the KPO centre, visits Camac Street and offers me a ride back to Salt Lake. The trip is a revelation in itself. Swank and plush, the office still does little, as he tells me, to make up for the monotony of the job and the low pay. Salt Lake itself is beautiful - lush and green and quiet; this natural beauty juxtaposed with the technological marvels that the buildings house - and are themselves - makes for a very interesting study in contrasts. I take a cab back to Tollygunge, requesting the driver to take me there via Gariahat. Gariahat is another revelation. Almost stuck in a time warp, it is an endearing mix of commerce and tradition.
Back in my room, I do some reading on IT and West Bengal. The state has a vast talent pool for MNCs to choose from, and attrition rates here are among the lowest in the country. I think of software engineers and diploma holders working at a CTC of 6,ooo rupees a month, supporting entire families with their salaries, and I know I have a lot of blessings to count.
Tomorrow is my last day here. I wish it didn't have to be so soon. Again, I can't say I'm entirely unhappy having to head back to Delhi either.
Day 13
So here I am, on the last day of my stint in Kolkata. I spend the day tying up loose ends, filling in details that I missed in the interviews and the analysis. In less than 10 days, this place seems so familiar, I could have known it forever. The monthly office get-together is scheduled for this evening. I know I cannot stay for it.
While the staff is away at the weekly conference call, I slip out of the office and walk to Flurys.
In the afternoon, over pastries and coffee, we exchange email IDs, and people promise to visit when they are in Delhi. Photographs are clicked, and I hand in my temporary ID and the office papers. One quick phone call to my guide, and I turn to my new acquaintances to say bye.
Day 14
I have an early-morning train to catch. As I drive over the bridge, looking at boats sailing placidly on the Hooghly, I wish I could stay some more. It is 6 am, and the city is just stirring awake. The majestic brick monument ('building' seems too small a word) that is Howrah Jn looms into view, and I turn to heave my bag out of the trunk. I'm glad I visited the city.
I’m also afraid to step on the scales ever again.
