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Biplober Dike 36 Foot, 1972
Historic Descent
One Saturday afternoon in the month of May, a bus was about to depart from the terminus of bus no. 4. All the seats on the bus were occupied except for a double seat in the front where a middle-aged man sat, the seat beside him vacant. He had a few strands of grey hair on his head and wore a home-washed, white punjabi with a prominent blue print that gave it a bright, bluish hue. When the bus began to move, the three boys standing outside smoking took a couple of quick, deep puffs on their cigarettes and sprang up on the footboard.
Hey, come here, there's an empty seat – one of them advanced towards the vacant seat. He sat down and made some space – Come on, you lot, we'll manage. He took out a blue comb and began to fine-comb his hair which was slicked back and dripping with oil, the front propped up artfully, reminiscent of a famous film star.
The second boy, wearing a bright red vest over black trousers, sat down next to him. The third, who was dressed in a brand-new crisply starched punjabi and a pair of blue trousers, said: Mayiri, won't I get to sit?
Why not – come, sit on my lap. The third boy placed his rear on the second one's lap and sat with his thighs splayed at an angle of forty-five degrees.
With four persons seated thus on a two-person seat, the middle-aged gentleman got more and more squeezed into the corner. In some consternation he said: What's going on?
Oh, nothing at all, just forcibly occupying a seat.
Is this any way to sit?
Hey, Dadu's really dangerous!
What did you say, chhokra?
Baap re baap. Dadu's really angry!
Dadu? Whose dadu? The gentleman's voice was agitated.
Why, aren't you our dadu? Don't you recognize us? Oh Dadu, dear Dadu, where are you off to this hot afternoon, Dadu? To the race course?
The gentleman seemed to be burning with rage. But no words escaped his mouth…
To the race course? Is that true, darling Dadu? Why don't you come with us instead, let's stand in the queue for Jahan Pyaar Miley.
With great difficulty, the gentleman controlled himself and looked out of the bus window.
Baap re baap, Dadu's angry!
Why don't you ask him if he's really angry?
Dadu darling, are you really ve-rr-y, ve-rr-y angry?
The gentleman did not say anything. With all his will he stared outside the window.
Dadu darling doesn't say whether he's angry or not, he doesn't say anything at all.
You're a donkey!
How's that?
Don't you know silence is a sign of wisdom?
So our dadu's angry…
And so we must stand up on the bench…
The third person stood up.
Dadu darling, look, I've got up. Don't be angry now, Dadu.
What's Dadu going to do? Dadu doesn't speak! Dadu's become dumb!
Oh my god, our dadu's been struck dumb! What will become of us now?
Really, what's to become of us now!
The bus conductor came towards them on his round to collect fares. The third boy made to sit down as before. He said: Hey partner, our dadu's become dumb – what'll happen to us now?
Oh Baba Tarakeshwar, do cure Dadu, Baba!
The conductor asked for the fare.
They pointed to the man and said: Dadu darling will pay. We're with Dadu.
The conductor stared at the gentleman and then at the three boys. He didn't say anything.
Just you watch, now Dadu darling's going to get very angry and he's going to get off.
Not because he's angry. He's getting off at the Tollygunge police post. He's going to stand in the line for the sixty-five-paisa tickets at Dipti cinema.
They kept talking like this among themselves. The other side did not respond at all, he stubbornly kept his eyes fixed outside the window. The boys were silent for a few minutes. They signalled one another with their eyes:
Hey, what's one word for someone with sweaty armpits? I don't know, why not ask our darling Dadu?
The region around the armpit of the gentleman's punjabi was wet with perspiration.
Dadu, what's one word for someone with sweaty armpits?
Dadu darling, won't you tell us?
There's a limit to jesting…! The gentleman was understandably enraged, his face flushed in anger and humiliation.
Baap re baap! Words flowing from Dadu darling's lips, that means Dadu darling hasn't become dumb … Oh Baba Tarakeshwar!
Hey, Dadu said something awesome …
Dadu really knows some fine talk. Dadu, write a book and we'll read it.
But he didn't tell us the word for someone with sweaty armpits … Dadu doesn't know, but I know. Shall I tell you? It's side-sweater!
Side-sweater! Baap re baap, you're awesome … side-sweater … side-sweater (the three of them sang in tune to a matching beat) … side-sweater, side-sweater, side-sweater, side-sweater…
Some of the people in the bus were listening to the entire conversation with great interest. Hearing the side-sweater chorus and beat, many opened their mouths wide and started laughing. The gentleman could not sit still any longer. He stood up.
Dadu, are you getting off? Are you really going to stand in the line for the sixty-five-paisa tickets at Dipti?
The gentleman's eyes and face were contorted, although one couldn't tell whether in fury or torment. He moved away and stood with his back turned to the boy, holding onto a rod.
Dadu darling's angry, that's why he got up.
Hell no, he's not angry – he's made place for us!
We should thank him.
Do that.
Mr Dadu, for doing us the favour of making place for us, th-aa-nk yo-oo!
Ha ha ha, Mr Dadu, do you hear us…? Hey, Dadu hasn't heard us.
Dadu's really angry with us.
Are you really angry, Dadu darling?
Right then! Come with us to the cinema, we'll see a Dev Anand picture, Pyar Mohabbat– what a film!
Dadu's getting very angry.
Dadu looks like Ashok Kumar when he's angry!
Hey, don't talk rubbish man, isn't he our dadu? You should always uphold the prestige of respected elders … Tsk-tsk …
Oh no, I made a mistake – do forgive me, Dadu (pinching his own ears and nose), I'll never do that again…
The gentleman tried to shift farther away but there wasn't much space to stand. The bus was getting crowded so he couldn't go very far, he had to remain near the jeering boys.
Dadu darling, why don't you dye your hair?
What the hell do you think you're saying, isn't he a respected elder?
So what, there's nothing's wrong with dyeing your hair.
You trash, the gentleman muttered.
Dadu's abused us!
You should sing him a song too.
Shall I?
Do that, man!
Then listen, listen – a lovely song – 'Bol radha, bol sangam hoga ki nahi'…
The three of them began to sing tunefully. The people in the bus were listening attentively. Seeing their amused faces, one could infer they were enjoying the proceedings. The few serious folk in the bus kept their faces turned away. One could gather from their conduct that they had no desire to poke their noses into such futile, extraneous matters, thereby merely destroying their own self-respect. The gentleman couldn't take any more. Enraged, he shouted out: Sing the song to your fathers! Did you hear that – to your fathers!
Hey, he just insulted our fathers – one of them stood up with a start. He gripped the gentleman's punjabi and snarled: We bore it all this while … you think you can fuck with us … Take it back!
Another person stood up and landed a slap on the gentleman's face. Take it back, sala randi ka bachha … take it back!
The gentleman trembled in rage, grief and humiliation. The bag in his hand fell down. The five kilograms or so of rice bought from outside the cordoned area lay sc
attered on the floor of the bus.
The gentleman tried to bend down to gather the rice. But the boy clutched his punjabi and shook him.
So you're secretly gobbling stolen rice … you fucking thief!
Helpless, the gentleman couldn't even bend down. He gazed at the passengers in the bus with pleading eyes.
He probably sells rice in the black market – some people whispered. Those of a serious nature, of a decent mien, having decided not to interfere, kept their eyes fixed steadfastly outside the bus window.
Seeing the commotion, the bus conductor came forward. Why do you make a scene? Let him go.
I'll let him go, but he has to apologize for abusing our fathers.
That's enough, let him go now … he's an old man.
The conductor freed the gentleman almost by force. Get off here – the conductor rang the bell.
When the bus stopped, he almost pushed the gentleman out. Before getting off, the gentleman reached for something – perhaps his bag. The conductor shouted at him: Get off, I say!
One man got off from the busload of people.
Everyone craned their necks to see the man getting off.
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Oitihashik Obotoron, 1974
From the Morgue on
Bhawani Dutta Lane
As they dance face to face, holding one another close, 'I am naked beneath my clothes', in front of that, leaning forward a little, two arms raised and flexed on two sides, fingers drawing whistles from lips,
Hips sway, swaying, gyrating, 'I am naked beneath my clothes' –
The lunatic woman sits…
Her whole earthly frame, from head to toe, terribly dirty, bathed in sweat, an impassive face, in her own thoughts knotting, un-knotting the strip of cloth she wears…
Past the steel cupboard, grazing Rumi's dressing
table the long rectangular shadow gathers and thickens. Rumi doesn't know, not yet –
Wild Animals Prohibited Page 4
