Kolkota Diary-6

Petropole, suddenly, began to look like a ghost town.

Reason: all import and export activities between India and Bangladesh has come to a grinding halt.

With no movement of vehicle from both sides till the issue is sorted out at the Bangladesh end, the ghost town impression will continue.

I had an inclination of what to do expect on Monday at Petropole even before reaching the Indo-Bangladesh border town at the teastall next to the guest house where I stay.

When you wake up at 5 at the crack of dawn and the guesthouse can't provide a hot cuppa at that hour, I have no other option but to step out for this hot beverage.

That is where I ran to Gopal Chakraborty's tea stall (see picture above). He speaks and understands Hindi. He has to because most of the drivers who frequent his teastall from the nearby private parking lot where outstation hauliers (lorries) terminate and go in for a truck to truck transfer enabling local transporters to handle the 'last mile' connectivity between bongaon and petropole and then onto bonapole on the Bangladesh side. All this last mile activity will comprise of just 10 km. Why this arrangement? Well, examine this in a later dispatch!

"Chai with milk?" Yes.

"With cheeni (sugar)?" No.

"Anything to munch?" Yes, but what?

"Some local biscuits or banana. Very good both." Biscuits yes, banana, no.

He pulled out a pump stove from somewhere behind him in his teashop, pumped kerosene into the fire nozzle, pinned the hole for easy flow, then allowed it for a few seconds before crashing a match stick against the rough side of match box.

Soon, the pump stove was in a blaze. While it was settling down with the right blue flame, he moved to the chulna (kitchen hearth) where he cooks food perhaps which was emitting white smoke to put a kettle with water for boiling.

He kept me engaged while washing a glass with hot water by asking a volley of questions.

Before I had my first sip of less-sugar tea and biting into the soft biscuit, tall Tapan Kundu (see below) walked in. He had a few days' stubble and sat next to me, ordering his cuppa.

"He has come from Bonapole," said Gopal to me by way of introduction.

I 'hello'ed Tapan.

"Due to some labour problem on the Bangladesh side, Tapan cannot get his empty vehicle out of Bonapole. Moroever, by the time he unloaded his Indian exports on the other side, it was past 6 pm and the gates are closed till next morning 10 a.m," explained Gopal.

I know of the labour strife on Bangladesh because Kartik Chakraborty had hinted at some dispute over loading/unloading charges between labour and contractors at Bonapole. Labour is paid approx. Rs.25 per tonne as against Rs.67 on Indian side. This issue has been simmering for sometime on Bangladesh side, but worsened on Monday with them stopping work.

No loading/unloading, no exports/imports from or into Bangladesh.

But how come, Tapan has left his vehicle on Bangladesh side and returned to Indian side?

"Bloody, you cannot get anything to eat decently on that side," flared up Tapan.

Since he is a Bongon resident (hardly 8-9 km from the border), he parked his empty vehicle on the Bangla side, requested other outstation drivers to monitor his vehicle, crossed the Indian border, gone home, ate and slept overnight.

Here he is for his morning cuppa before rushing to the border with the hope the labour dispute would be resolved and he would be able to drive his stranded vehicle out of Bangla into India.

Tapan is not the only driver to crib about food issues. Roop Sharma of TCI Freight, ferrying BOC Gas from Jamshedpur to Bangladesh, crisply remarks: "I carry three kilos of puffed rice (kurmura), channa (Bengal gram), some fruits and 5 litres of water to survive till my return to India." He is a vegetarian and he is confident he will get nothing to satiate his vegetarian hunger. What is available on that side is only meat, beef, chicken, mutton.

Gates opened or shut, it does not matter for us. We scooter down to Petropole. There is no usual crowd on roads and the Customs office is also deserted. Where are the milling CHA agents? Where are the inspectors assigned to examine, appraise and inspect vehicles bound for and into India? Even the first floor hall is bereft of any human beings! Are we in an alien land?

"Ah, come, come!," greets A K Maity, Senior Superintendent (Admin). He is also relaxed. No exports, no imports. So no work, he points out.

"Huge loss of foreign exchange," says he, while leading us to his cubicle. For the first time over the past three days, we notice that he has a cubicle and a seat to sit, desktop on his table. Otherwise, we have mostly seen him in Deputy Commissioner U C Das's cabin - standing and sitting next to him with a clutch of papers.

According to him, Bangaldesh loading/unloading workers have struck work demanding higher wages. They are paid approx Rs.25 (Bangladesh Taka) per tonne as against Rs.67 in India! It was a long running dispute and now struck work. Till it is sorted out, Indian vehicles already in Bangladesh border cannot unload and therefore cannot return. Similarly, no Bangladesh vehicle with stuff for India is permitted to cross into Indian territory.

How long this stalemate will continue, nobody has a clue. Till then, it is leisure for everyone.

Meanwhile, Maity explains the complete export documentation process patiently - both the manual pre-EDI days and the current EDI regime procedure. Four Superintendents and a dozen inspectors clear approx. 300 vehicles daily between 10 a.m. and 6 p.m. for exports and approx. 150 vehicles for import into India.

With a CHA agent in tow, we step into CWC Parking lot for some pen-and-paper survey. A huge crowd collects around Alam out of curiosity and debate whether to participate or not. Some decide to help. Others remain such as bystanders. They are not keen. What will come out of this survey? is asked.

CWC Parking lot is full of activity. Several groups are playing cards (see pix above); some sleeping. hundreds of cycles, belonging to locals, parked. While Alam is busy filling forms, I sit with some drivers whom I have befriended over the past two days and begin to hear their harrowing tales. Universal complaint is that nobody cares for them. No drinking water on both sides. No sheds for them stay. We notice a huge hall earmarked "Drivers Room" but kept under lock and key and when I peep in, it is filled with wired mesh and lot of unwanted items. No driver is allowed inside. Kitchen sheds are converted into cycle stands. Fencing is broken on compound walls at several places.

Drivers shout and scream and curse CWC for neglecting them.

Post lunch, we return for second round of pen-and-paper survey. Again, a motley collects and assist Alam to fill up a few forms.

From nowhere a CITU representative emerges in a bicycle and holds forth on how the present government is doing nothing.

I ask him: your left front government was in power for 35 years and what it has done for these drivers? The fat, trade union leader unfurls the CPM flag and asks his cohorts to hold it in the background and he goes on and on (see above). We wriggle out by promising to meet him at his office next evening. Uff!

There is total neglect and indifference of drivers by CWC. There can be no two opinions on this score. Why? No one is ready to answer. Will have to take it up with CWC once back in Delhi.

To be born and or become a driver in India is a curse, I begin to feel.

Except the Shillong-born Christian Daniel, adopted by the UP Hindu driver Tewariji as his son, nobody wants to leave 'drivery'. Daniel prays that he gets a peon's job in some government office.

Two young Bengali drivers quietly say: "Six months before deciding to marry, we will give up driving."

Why, boys?

"Tell me, which girl will marry a driver?" am pointedly asked.

Yes, which girl will marry drivers? None.

These remarks keep reverberating as our 3-wheeler returns us to our airconditioned guest house for the night and till we step out the next morning.

Maybe I will visit Gopal's teastall tomorrow also. Who knows, he has something new to tell. Or I may bump into some new acquaintance.

Everything is in the realm of possibility.