The hungry young man of Kolkata

The Readers Digest has a section on ‘the most unforgettable character that I have ever met’. It is not known how the editors select what they put forward in these sections, neither is it necessary. The presentations deserve credit. These reveal to the readers various undisclosed aspects of human life, their aspirations, their silent sufferings, their joys in achieving the seemingly impossible. People who leave their mark on one’s life are always there – it is a part of the growing up process. While some of them make you stumble and put obstacles in your path, others love to remove these irritants so that your journey becomes relatively smooth. With this small introduction I will begin on a series of 12 Unforgettable Characters in my life – I have withheld the names of the persons intentionally but each of them is from true life … …..

It was in the seventies. I had begun to consider myself as an up and coming author – I had got several short stories published in Bengali monthly magazines. I would send across the pieces by post with accompanying self-addressed stamped envelopes. If selected for publication, I would get a complimentary copy in due course; if rejected, the manuscript would find its way back into my letter box. Since I stayed in Nashik, I had no other means of knowing whether the story had seen the light of day. Therefore, whenever I went to Calcutta on holidays (it had not yet got its new name of Kolkata), I would visit the offices of these magazine. The intention was to have one-to-one meetings with the editors and editorial staff – a sort of PR exercise in a small way.

On one of these missions, I was literally stopped in my tracks by a young man. It was the sweltering heat of summer. I was proceeding from Moulali crossing to the offices of Bartamaan – they had not yet shifted to their new palatial offices on the EM Bypass. I was in a dress befitting that of hopeful authors – a handloom kurta over my trousers with a cloth bag slung on my shoulder. In the bag were manuscripts for offloading on the editors. As I footed the distance immersed in my thoughts, a young man sidled up to me. He was of my build but there seemed to be something strange about him – sinister is what came to my mind. I had heard stories of snatchers on the roads of Calcutta - I shuddered to think of him as one such. I hurriedly calculated – my wristwatch would probably go as would the twenty odd rupees in my pocket. If that did not satisfy him, he would probably thrash me or even injure me with his knife or other weapon.
‘Could you please give me some money?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I am hungry.’
I ignored him and hurried on. I looked around for passersby but the road was nearly deserted. A tram rolled away towards Park Circus, as did a state transport bus in the opposite direction. I saw the building of Bartamaan come closer.
‘I am hungry,’ he repeated, he also increased his speed.
I reached in my pocket and felt for the coins – would a fifty paise coin do the trick? Then I hesitated – he cannot satisfy his hunger on fifty paise, no adult can. I stopped, took out a two rupee note and gave it to him. He grabbed it and, without so much as a ‘thank you’ melted into thin air – he was really hungry. He did not snatch my bag nor did he put the tip of his knife on my stomach. I sighed and entered the compound of Bartamaan.


Image courtesy wikimediacommons.org

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