Bus Worth Missing

Bus Worth Missing

Road to Nandigram, Singur best avoided

Janaki Nair

Of late, those who believe that the deathly violence at Nandigram should not stand in the way of Progress, Industrialisation, and Development have darkly warned that Bengal may “miss the bus” yet again. Having been a resident of Kolkata for the past five years, and a regular user of the bus, i believe that this is a metaphor not to be lightly evoked, and may well be the parable for our times.
My bus route to work takes me through a deindustrialised landscape that we are not allowed to forget. High decibel conductors call out “Usha Gate”; a few stops later “Bengal Lamps”, then “Sulekha” as the bus disgorges passengers and takes on new ones. Now, Usha Gate is a looming residential development topped by cranes; Bengal Lamps is probably no more than a court case, and Sulekha...only those of us who filled fountain pens in the 1960s will even connect with the fading advertisement on the rusting gate, as the site awaits clearance to be developed into yet another residential enclave. The memory of another time is carefully preserved in this unchanged linguistic topos of the city.
Most other cities have chosen the Usha Gate route to development, with a few exceptions. One such exception is the Metal Lamp Caps factory in Bangalore, once the site of many historic battles between capital and labour, and now the proud, shining sign of the new economy — the Philips Innovation Centre. Otherwise, most factory sites have inevitably gone from rust and decay to condominium or shopping mall, as if there is no other possible logic to the use of space. One heard some faint echoes of this argument from those who were resisting land acquisition at Singur, that it was only a matter of time before the Tatas, finding their one-lakh car really only a “dream” project, turned the land over to realtors.
Before i am accused of an unduly negative take on plans to revitalise Bengal’s economy, let me return to my bus ride. There is something heart-warming about conductors who keep up a steady hailing of all passing vehicles. While we wipe our wet faces and lurch forward at every braking, the conductors thump the sides of the bus and shout “Eyi Taxi”, “Eyi rickshaw” and then the unbeatable “Eyi Private” at the assortment of vehicles that block the bus’s passage. This hailing is reminiscent of cowherds bringing their sun-dulled cattle home. The conductor’s own flock is tended with care, and “ladies” and children and old people are helped on and off the bus at every stop. It is a small compensation for the suffering on the bus. But above all it speaks of a tolerance and
humanity that is unmatched elsewhere.
There is no other Indian metro where 25 paise and 50 paise coins are legal tender, and where the conductor is scrupulous about handing you ticket and change. He knows the value of that small change to some of the passengers. In an economy that is pegged very low, with wages to match, those coins can make a difference. But he is tolerant too of the eccentricities of passengers, even well-fed middle class ones, and the signs on the bus assist him in dealing with unusual travelling habits.
I came across a curious sign that said “Dichi Dichi Korben Na” or “Dichi Dichi Bolben Na”. It took a while to work out an exhortation which roughly means “Don’t say i’ll give, i’ll give”. Here is an uncanny adaptation of the Kanban or Japanese “just in time” mode of production, which i understand is the supply chain that might be employed at Singur. To avoid the pileup and storage of spare parts at the main plant, ancillary industries are required to supply parts just in time for production on the main assembly line and according to requirements. On Kolkata buses, the conductor tolerates a different kind of just in time, since many passengers ward off his requests for the fare saying “dichi, dichi” until it is nearly time to get off.
There is probably no other public transport system that allows you to travel before buying your ticket, but it is tolerated here since the passenger comes first: what if the bus breaks down before you reach your destination? How
can you afford to pay for a journey you did not complete?
These travelling tales are a window into a different mode of existence, which should have been the resource for thinking about a different path to industrialisation and well-being. There is a crying need for jobs and better facilities in Bengal, and yes, some more comfortable modes of transport, yet some of its existing features are worth preserving. It is as if the Left Front has squandered an opportunity for thinking differently and creatively about the future of its people and its unreconstructed economy.
To take one last example of what is worth preserving, though only after reconstruction: the tramways. The signs are that this cheap and clean, though lumbering, system is being gradually choked out of existence when every effort should be made to revamp it.
If there is something admirable about Kolkata’s public transport system, it is the excellent connectivity and unmatchable price. The public pays for this by tolerating acute discomfort, but surely there are ways of renewing public transportation without putting more cars, whether they cost one lakh or more, on the roads? Instead of the hand-wringing over missing the bus perhaps the Bengal leadership should take the existing bus system more seriously.
The writer is with the Centre for Studies in Social Sciences, Kolkata.