Kolkata Korner

Na Na Nano 
The unveiling of the Nano in New Delhi the other day evoked mixed and strong reactions in Kolkata. Understandably so, for Ratan Tata had found the chance to taunt detractors/doubters and opponents too hard to resist. Mamata and her minions flew into paroxysms of rage over Tata's sarcastic aside that he didn't name the car 'Despite Mamata'. The Congress, painfully aware that their 'dear leader' (Rahul G) had gone to the Tata pavilion atthe automobile fair and endorsed the world's least expensive car, made perfunctory noises of protest over the forcible acquisition of land at Singur. The CPI(M) tried to bask in Tata's reflected glory, taking credit for the part the state government and Bengal will play in providing a car at one lakhrupees to, hopefully, lakhs of Indians. Even as a Trinamool activist from Singur, who goes by the name of Becharam Manna and has been the face of the protests by farmers there, vowed to torch ever Nano that rolls out of the car plant there. There's, however, no doubt that the combined might of the state government and Tata Motors will defeat such plans, thus making a 'bechara' out of Becharam. 

But the reaction from apolitical quarters has been enthusiastic, with the man on the street, especially the one on a two-wheeler, expressing eagerness to check out the car and own it. And as for Ratan Tata, considering the amount of skepticism his dream project has had to encounter, one can't really grudge him the small pleasure of hitting back. And we ought to remember that it's not only the Trinamool and automobile experts who doubted his promise of delivering a quality car for one lakhrupees, but also the that CPI(M) gadfly, transport minister Subhas Chakraborty, who joined the leagueof Doubting Thomases who are now left red-faced.

Jarring Notes
Even as automobile experts were welcoming the Nano--some, though, were a tadcircumspect--a few Bengali TV channels had voluble commentators who were still deeply skeptical. Tata Motors, they maintained, would not be able to sell the car for one lakhrupees. Ok, not even for 1.25 lakh rupees (with taxes, VAT, other duties and insurance added to the base price). They offered complex calculations in support of their contentions. And guess who there commentators were? Self-styled automobile enthusiasts, one being a minor actor in Bengali TV serials, another being an accountant and yet another a call centre employee! Can't these TV channels get more knowledgeable people? 

Be that as it may, it must be conceded that the unveiling of Nano could have been a much happier affair. There cannot be any doubt that many of those who owned the land where the Tata Motors plant is coming up aren't smiling at all. They're deeply unhappy, for they've been forced to part with theirland. They have no stake in the project and are skeptical of all the promises of trickle-down benefits being made to them by state government and the CPI(M). 

It was wrong on the part of the state government to have forced them to 'sell' theirland. It was wrong on Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee's part to have tried to pass off fertile, multicrop farmlands as fallow and monocrop land. These unhappy lotof people are too weak--and Mamata's or other politicians' support to them really hold nomeaning--to resist or do anything against what has been presented as a fait accompli. No amount of glitz and glamour at Pragati Maidan and no amount of accolades for the engineering marvel that has been unveiled can really drown the anger, hurt and frustration of the people who've been virtually tricked out of their lands and are now without any livelihood at Singur. But then, this is really a nano issue in the nation's bigger scheme of things, isn't it?

Here Be Hilsa 
What made as big a news as the unveiling of the Nano in New Delhi was the arrival of a few truckloads of hilsa (or ilish, as we prefer to call it) from Bangladesh earlier this week. Six months ago, our neighbour had banned export of hilsa because the fish was in short supply in Bangladesh and prices had gone through the roof there. The absence of the famed hilsa from Bangladesh, especially one caught from the Padma river, had caused a lot of distress here. Fish lovers felt abandoned and orphaned; for, no fish can quite compensate for the absence of 'Padmar ilish' (hilsa caught from the Padma river) from a Bengali's plate. Hence, the arrival of the fish (even though this is not quite the hilsa season) and the promise of an uninterrupted flow of the fish from Bangladesh from now on made big news for Bengalis. 

And the morning after, TV news channels projected this in their evening bulletins as 'breaking news', hordes of Bengalis (including yours truly) woke up early and trekked to the fish market, braving the morning chill, to get the fish. Even the sight of the gleaming, silvery fish, I tell you, was enough to make one salivate shamelessly. The price was high, about 300 to 350rupees a kilogram. And the fish wasn't really as tasty as that available during the monsoons. But it was hilsa from Bangladesh, and that is all that mattered. And, of course, the fact that Dhaka will not impose another ban on hilsa exports. Say what, we can live without a small car, but not without 'Padmar ilish'.

Impending Chaos
This is the third time I'm writing about this, but even 30 times would be too less. About the Kolkata Book Fair, that is. That there'll be utter chaos in large parts of Kolkata, thanks to an estimated 2000 cars and tens of thousands of people descending on the Park Circus maidan every day, has been amply acknowledged by everyone, including the Kolkata Police. There are three prominent schools, one prominent girls' college and a premier medical college and hospital around the maidan. Arterial roads pass through the vicinity of the maidan, and these would get clogged for many hours everyday while the fair is on. Lakhs, including schoolchildren and patients going to the hospital, will suffer everyday. 

Thus, what beats me is that despite knowing all this, why did the state government give permission to hold the fair at this venue? Why this brainless and suicidal step? It is time we Kolkatans look at the book fair as it reallyis--a private, profit-making venture by a group of booksellers and publishers who've organized themselves into abody? They started off in a small manner and over the years, the fair has acquired a larger-than-life image. But should an event organized by a private body solely for profit be allowed to hold Kolkata and its citizens to ransom? Why can the fair, as I asked earlier, now be held at some venue a bit away from the city? If those amongst us who throng to the fair every day really love books as much as they proclaim they do, they can well make the effort to travel a few more kilometres to the fair. And thus spare us a lot of trouble, suffering and even trauma. But no, we get all sentimental and worked up over this fair. As if holding the fair away from the heart of the city will rob Bengalis of their intellectual and cultural moorings. Time for a re-look at the fair, I say.

Irrational
Why is it that we in Kolkata love to absurdly preserve all that's dirty, ugly, ramshackle and messy in our city? This peculiar and inexplicable trait is in evidence once again as the Presidency College principal--a sensible soul, blesshim--moots a proposal to remove the shabby and decrepit stalls selling second-hand books just outside this premier college. No, he doesn't want to banish the stalls, even though all these structures and encroachments on college land. He just wants the stall owners, who no doubt have been earning enough from their trade to keep them and their families going all these decades, to give their ramshackle kiosks a makeover. And like the considerate man that he is, the college principal has requested the civic bosses and the state government to fund, at least partially, this makeover. But this sane proposal has raised the hackles of the untidy kurta-clad in the city. Neat, modern and gleaming kiosks would rob the area of its soul, they protest. The stalls now have character that'll vanish with any makeover, they argue, scratching their unkempt beards or tucking in the ends of their crumpled cotton saris with their well-manicured fingers. Thankfully for Kolkata, this tribe is a dwindling one. And one cannot but long for the day they'll disappear, or, better still, undergo a complete makeover themselves.