“Amar naam Chatterjee!” (My name is Chatterjee!). Sounds like a proclamation from a fiery leader of the masses at a public rally. Much less, one from a rickshaw wallah plying his trade in the dusty bylanes of North Calcutta and addressed to no one in particular.
It was a pleasantly strange coincidence that led me to Chatterjee’s rickshaw on my way home. Instantly, this frail old man launched into a tirade of indignation against the ruling political party whom he branded as a group of turncoats, insisting vehemently and repeatedly to nothing but the pleasant evening breeze that he had always been a Congress man. Yes, he defended, petrol prices have been rising, but surely the bosses in Delhi would admit to that! What is the point of protesting about that in an insignificant meeting of rickshaw wallahs’ union, he asked? It was the tone of uncompromising understanding of world affairs that drew me to listen to him, rather than plug in my earphones and switch off the world. And for it to come from a humble rickshaw wallah surely added to the charm. If at all you expect one of his kind to blabber, it is about their domestic troubles or a cricket match the players had shamed them in. You certainly do not expect him to suddenly start explaining how Parliament works. He went on about how “two thousand crores” are allocated to a given state by Delhi to solve their own problems. And when the money ran out, where did the babus go? They went to the vishwa Bank (World Bank). He didn’t approve of it for sure, he reprimanded as if the old men at their game of carrom had suggested otherwise. Continue reading
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