Translation

Chapter One

A few years ago, in the middle of July, on a rainy night, it

poured cats and dogs, accompanied by a highly destructive

storm. That night, the city of Kolkata was submerged under

approximately two hands deep water. I believe this real-life

tale remains safely tucked away in a corner of each

inhabitant's consciousness.


Incidents like this are a dime a dozen; one can experience

them any day if it rains for even half an hour. And one should

be grateful for the city's "remarkable" drainage system; when

people are rushing in an emergency, they often find

themselves walking through streets that can easily be mistaken

for rivers.


But the real hazard that day was a disaster I believe to be

unprecedented in the past forty years. Electric wires were

badly torn, causing all the street lamps to go out. The entire

metropolitan Kolkata was swallowed by pitch-black darkness.

It was hard to differentiate between the sky and the map of

the city. I’m not certain how to separate the truth from the

lies, but I heard that the price of a candle was multiplied by

five times its usual rate in the market for that one night.



My permanent residence is in Badurbagan. On that evening, I

had to travel across the city to Howrah for hard graft that

needed to be fulfilled. As the clock struck seven p.m., I

wrapped up my work, signaling that it was time to head

home. On my way back, I craved a cup of steaming tea and

stopped by a small tea stall near Darmahata Rail Station. As I

stepped inside, a light drizzle began to fall. The rain lightly

pattered against the neon lamp by the road, causing the light

to blur through the raindrops accumulated on the glass cover.



But I did not tend to stress out – I had an umbrella with me.

So I sat down leisurely and started off by savoring the flavor

of the real chai. There wasn’t much of a crowd in the stall;

just two people – a middle-aged man and a young man with

julpi (curls) extending down to his ears – sat with their

elbows resting safely on a table draped with an oilcloth. They

were engrossed in a heated debate about the relative merits of

Dina Babu and Sishir Kumar Bhaduri in the role of a

madman. Though their cups lay empty, they couldn’t resolve

their argument, which, I suppose, is why they remained

seated in their positions.



The young man said,

“Do you know, sir, Sishir Bhaduri played the role of old

Alamgir from top to bottom, and not once did his teeth

show?”

The middle-aged man replied with a sarcastic grin,

“Oh, what incredible talent! If he has no teeth, how could

they possibly show? And if you can’t see his teeth, does that

even make him a role player?”

The young man, angered, retorted,

“You’ve also grown old. Can you ever speak a word without

showing your teeth?”



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