I am more informative than Google Maps

This is how I get from my house to Jadavpur Thana.

I take the lift down to the ground floor and holler at the top of my voice till the crusty eyed guard shows up jangling the keys in his pocket like a seasoned home-guard. It says Bond Security on his khaki shirt that's rolled up to the top of his belly as he struts into view patting his stomach and smiling with the general demenaour of someone about to say 'Gas hoyeche'. But he doesn't. That doesn't mean he doesn't have gas. As can be inferred from an intrepid whiff. Nevertheless, he opens the gate without much ado.

I take a right.

I take a right again.

Sigue todo recto till I reach the main road. Now this is the part where Dhakuria Bridge slopes to a sudden flatness, inexplicably at a very precarious crossing. So one must be very careful when going about the business of navigating the street. If you haven't been taught when you were 5 or happen to be a possum, this will come in handy :-

Look Left.

Look Right.

Then look Left again.

Then cross.

Now I am at a zebra crossing directly below a chalk-blue building which one could call Ha'lor. It is actually an enchanted stone image of the pagan god of crops, lightning and heterosexuality. But it morphed into residential quarters a century ago to blend in. Then it went into overkill and painted itself blue. But hey, the sky's the limit.

Regardless, this is where I wait for an auto. An empty one sputters into view and I ask the driver, 'Thana?' and smile affably. This is to establish that I am a well-behaved, amicable passenger who would gladly listen to his life's worries or any hindi item song he may choose to play on his radio. He grunts and gestures toward the back seat.

Did you know that an auto is called a bhatbhatiya in certain parts of the country? It's because it makes the noise. Also, an auto probably doesn't even have a reverse. It's a rather useless contraption if you ask me. Said driver now stops once he crosses the bridge and parks at a horrible angle and then takes a few moments to beam around the near vicinity, easily contorting his neck muscles with the finesse of a barn owl, looking for prospective passengers. He sees a fellow auto driver and smiles, nods his head and then turns off the ignition. He walks over to his new friend and grabs his cigarette and dashes back, laughing cheekily while his friend looks pleasantly bemused. Bhaichara, I think it's called. In the meantime the auto's packed to bursting with a troupe of new passengers. It includes, in order, old aunty, old uncle and another old uncle. Soon they start conversing and if you're lucky you can pick up some rather interesting snippets that have to do with the existential life, universe and everything school of thought.

-'Dada, ei neen bhara'

-'Didi, Khuchro deen'

-'E ki? Tomar kache khuchro nei? Ki byapar bolo toh! Bus-eo khuchro deye na, auto teo deye na-'

-'Mane amra toh manush na!'

-'Amra shudhu nijeder kache manush!'


-'Hyan, amra toh guinea pig!'

-'Guinea pig ra toh bhalo-' 

At which point you would do well to tune out. Looking out through the empty space where a sturdier locomotive might sport with a door, I see a petrol pump, an Arambagh's and a slew of new-fangled swanky cars that hum silently at the traffic light. The one prehistoric dinosaur, however, that continues to roar and screech and whir and ply the roads like an unfettered behemoth of rust and rheumatism is the public bus. It has been painted a new coat of blue and white and that which was once blue and yellow looks to a degree, more clinical and sobre. Nothing has changed on the insides though, and the walls are still marked with pearls of wisdom such as "Pocketmar hoite shabdhan" and "dicchi dicchi korben na" and "Ladies". To a non-bengali, these would read like "Beware of pickpockets", "Don't say I'm giving-giving" and "Sit here until you are yelled at by a snooty middle aged woman in a sari".


When you hear music blaring out of speakers at the crossing and realize that said music is exactly the kind that would have a sort of subduing effect on your brain, cause distraction and is generally the kind you don't particularly want to listen to at a crossing, know that there is nothing you can do about it and that you will be publicly vilified, crucified and accused of not having taste, in that approximate order, should you choose to point out that it isn't right to have Robindro Sangeet forced on everyone. Also, there is a structure with the front wall painted a  very trendy shade of blue and red diagonally opposite from you. That is Jadavpur Thana. Outside it you will find a company of men in white shirts and white trousers sporting shades that are vintage 'farm-gate' and intimidating moustaches, speaking into their walkie-talkies, sipping cha or just generally loitering around. They are entrusted with your well being. So always have a few big notes handy when caught driving without a license.


Across from this is where I alight. From here, I can either go to South City Mall to my right, JU to meet some CPM cadres straight ahead or to the left to visit my unemployed cousin. The auto fare is a measly 6 bucks.