Rokte Amar Agun dhorai, neshai kolkata

(You fire up my blood; you are my addiction, Kolkata - Nachiketa Chakraborty)

The queue was long. Hot and sweaty – Durga-pujo Kolkata. We were all trying to beat each other in the queue to reach the coveted spot. "May be my hand is a wee bit more outstretched than the uncle standing next to me." "Probably I am ahead of him." "I will be noticed first then" - these were the thoughts running through each of our minds.

Nope, the long queue was not for any pandal. We were sweating it out in a ‘xerox’ shop. We all needed photocopies. We had our changes ready. You never know, when it comes to changes, in Kolkata, in all probability you may be denied services if you fall short of it. The photocopier (not the machine) was working with inhuman dexterity. Organizing the copies, calculating the dues and handing over the originals.

Then, he came. He wore a long panjabi, typical of Bangalis during the puja season. He had a letter and an envelope for photocopying. His voice exuded confidence that made me turn my head. His smile gave it away. The letter came from School service commission appointing him as a teacher of Bengali in a secondary school in Burdwan. I slowly stepped back and gave him my place. He probably did not notice.

Today, in the IT and outsourcing world, at one end of the spectrum are those who compete amongst themselves in getting an European or a Silicon valley posting, and at the other end of the spectrum is his story of five years of education, in a language subject that almost everyone around him may have looked down upon (“Bangla Honors?, oh come on! What good is that?”), that had finally bore him a job of teaching in a place far off from Kolkata and he would probably be earning 1/5th of what some one of his age would earn from an IT job.

Yet he stood proud.

His confidence: intoxicating.

And his request to get the envelope (that had his address and the seal of school service commission) photocopied, twice, made me wonder how we take email confirmations from our prospective employer’s as final, how we almost never ever worry about photocopying the envelope in which the offer letter arrives. We have ‘soft’ copies.

He made his copies and left. I stepped forward. Silently I admired his spirit and wished him the very best. I know that during his education and his preparations for school service commission he probably showed more mettle in facing life than me (a privileged one). I am glad that he came out triumphant.

Wants are measured by different standards. The pleasure of a twenty-seven year old in getting a school service commission posting as a school teacher is probably what Nachiketa meant when he said – kolkata is my addiction. It is probably having that smile for a Rs. 7000 per month job (for a post-graduate), phuchka for Rs.5, the ‘IT sector (the famous sector V, Salt Lake) studded with food stalls and our endless speculations on the restoration and screening of Ray’s short film is what the ‘fire’ is all about.

(c) Durba Gupta