The grand trunk road, the Imambada of hooghly, the church of our Lady of Bandel and Chandanangore Strand were a few things on my mind other than of course my work i.e visiting the Hooghly district hospital at Chinsura for a citizen stakeholder workshop meeting when I started for Chinsura from Kolkata. I could not help but feel being a part of history as my vehicle, an ambassador set on the G.T. road.
Well, the road would have not been the same as it was made by the great Sher Shah Suri, but you could feel the stones, the dust, the old Banyan tress on the wayside looking at you with a warm lively smile on their faces. I read about this road in 'Kim' by Rudyard Kipling and the one thing the small hero 'Kim' felt all the way on this very road was 'the hustle and the bustle of life'. 100 years later lot of things must have changed, except this one. It was still full of life and activity and other than people like me, people there were all busy with life - the young butcher by the road-side playing with the unsure chick, the cycle-repair shop guy with a million holes on his undershirt (ganjee), the fat grocery shop owner by the road side with a thick pair of glasses covered with thick layer of dirt, the improvised (a trolley attached to the back of a very powerful motorcyle of yesteryears - Yezdi) pick-up vehicles carrying ganni bags, the dark woman ducking the smoke out of the chulha while brewing tea on a stained kettle, the youth with finely combed hair and denim with all the time but none of the care in the world, the school girls returning home with umbrella and books in their hands pushing each other, giggling and throwing a short-shy glance at passers-by, the housewives wiping the sweat on their faces with their sarees and haggling with the vegetable vendors over the right price and the price at which they bought the same items last time, the old, bearded rickshaw puller ( who should have been at home and taken care of) waiting for a passenger or something else.
The hot Indian Sun - which made everything so clear and so real and in so your face, on the road forced me to hide from those very things and get into my own cocooned A.C. world in my car. I was trying to hide from a part of myself that told me that I belonged to all this. All this that I saw - the sweat, the toil, the noise, the crowd, the smartness, the folly, the silent understanding, the go-getting of all that.
I reached the District hospital of Hooghly. Got an express entry to the Medical Superintendent's chamber because of my regular calls and my voice. The surprise on his face and more so on the face of a very garrulous lady doctor on the mismatch of their mental picture of myself derived from my voice on phone and my actual appearance with respect to my age was momentary but certain. The Super's room was at the heart of the emergency ward or should I say 'War'. It was a stress test to stand there and keep your sanity - the policemen looking through the corners of their eyes, the nurses crying hoarse among themselves to be heard, the patients, their relatives and unrelated relatives, the group D staff, the 'middlemen' and the 'aam janta'. The noise levels were deafening. During the first few minutes no one knew who was a part of it, who was not, who is speaking, about what and what is the issue. Then the Super asked again (the first time he did that he forgot that he had asked a question and was supposed to listen , yes LISTEN to an answer) - What is the purpose again ? I had to stand up and deliver the same speech I have been delivering at other hospitals - two minutes flat. Silence. Silence again. Then I had to look into the eyes of that garrulous doctor and beseech for a response. She more than obliged me. Then thanks to Super and his Super advices and recommendations and my one-to-one conversations within the noise, the meeting was conducted and I got mostly what I expected. Then thanking everyone two, three times - the first one is always lost to the noise and phone rings! I left for a Ward visit accompanied by the Nursing Superintendent.
They took me to two sample wards - two extremes they said. One was free male ward. I have never seen a war-hospital , neither a disaster health centre but having 120 patients another 200 patient party with patients being kept on ground at spaces between beds, all within a space of a two cricket pitches and only 4 nurses to handle all this, is dear reader 'a disaster'. Disasters we have chosen to ignore, consider normal, call inevitable and even think as unalterable. Yes I had the lenses of the nurses. I saw these young, middle aged and old women, working 8 hours non-stop, without 'coffee' breaks, without a proper place to sit, doing things they are not supposed to do, not being able to do things they ought to do, being physically assaulted, crying hoarse to be heard, without canteen and without safe drinking water facilities available. How could they serve (not work mind you) in such adverse conditions ? I have heard an answer to this question of mine - Money. That was in relation to the army jawans posted at inhuman conditions in Arunachal Pradesh, Saila Pass, Bomla Pass (Indo-China border) and they will or motivation they generate to get on with all this and take all this every single day. I still don't totally agree to it.
She then took me to her room, all white uniformed ladies, shy at first to a stranger, looking with curiosity to this guy from big town (Kolkata). I wanted to tell them how much I was reminded of Anand's(rajesh Khanna in a film by same name) dialogue "why do they call you sister - you should be called mother" , I struggled for words, for expressions to tell them that. Few inquiries, (as a consultant and as a man) later I took their leave. I asked one question in full earnest - I am hungry, where could I get good food here ? The response was the best thing of that visit - their arguments with each other about what would be the best place, which of them would be open now, where could I go fastest, where I should not go. That response was not the kind they would have had for a consultant, for someone from the head office : that was for some other reason. Bannerjee Cabin was the one they settled for and detailed instructions later I was sitting at the place and having my delayed but satiating lunch. It was a most filling and savory one though the taste was not exactly only those of the spices, oil or the physical ingredients.
The rest -
Imambada of hooghly - (pics & video),
Bandel - could not go :(
Note - (from wiki - The Grand Trunk Road (commonly abbreviated to GT Road) is one of South Asia's oldest and longest major roads. For several centuries, it has linked the eastern and western regions of the Indian subcontinent, running from Bengal, across north India, into Peshawar in Pakistan.Today, the Grand Trunk Road remains a continuum that covers a distance of over 2,500 km. From its origin at Sonargaon in the Narayanganj district of central Bangladesh, it reaches India, passing through Kolkata, Bardhaman, Durgapur, Asansol, Amritsar, Varanasi, Allahabad, Kanpur, Agra,JALANDHAR, Delhi, Kurukshetra and Ambala. Within India, the major portion of the road – the stretch between Kanpur and Kolkata – is known as NH-2 (National Highway - 2), the stretch between Kanpur and Delhi is called NH-91 (National Highway - 91), and that between Delhi and Wagah, at the border with Pakistan, is known as NH-1.
From the Pakistan border the Grand Trunk Road continues north through Lahore via Gujranwala, Gujrat, Jhelum, Rawalpindi, Attock District and Nowshera before it finally reaches Peshawar.),
