Beyond the Tracks: Stories from Kolkata's Local Trains.

Agnimitro Ghosh (Sem V, 2023) 

The afternoon sun began its ascent over the sprawling city of Kolkata, casting a warm, golden glow across the Howrah Junction railway station. The platform buzzed with life, a sea of humanity ebbing and flowing like the tides of the nearby Hooghly River. Among the myriad faces, I stood, a traveler and an observer, about to embark on a journey that would take me deep into the soul of this vibrant city.

The local train, painted in vibrant hues, pulled into the station with a distinctive clatter of wheels against the tracks. The rhythmic sound echoed like a heartbeat, a rhythmic dance that had played out on these tracks for generations. As the doors slid open, I joined the throngs of passengers, each with their own story to tell, their own destination to reach.

You could be absolutely anyone, it doesn’t really matter. The trains do not care. Hear its violent roar as it engulfs the platform, stops with a jarring sigh, the flocks of people rush into the monster. There is always confusion and chaos in the crowd - everybody wants to get in first.

You smile.

BUT.

Your smile fades as you soon as you realize its either NOW or NEVER. 

You merge into the crowd, you manage to get inside. There is a friendly competetion to secure a seat or a better space to stand, but the sense of camaraderie among the strangers never dies.

The train pulled away from Howrah Junction, and I was on our way, weaving through the labyrinthine network of tracks that crisscrossed Kolkata like a web. The view from the window was a kaleidoscope of scenes—bustling markets, historic landmarks, and glimpses of everyday life. The Howrah Bridge loomed in the distance, an architectural marvel that spanned the Hooghly River, connecting the heart of the city with its bustling suburbs.

As I  made my way through crowded stations like Sealdah, I marveled at the fluidity with which passengers navigated the limited space. It was a dance of proximity, an unspoken code that allowed strangers to coexist harmoniously, each finding their place in the mosaic of commuters.

 Identity, in one of the local trains, is not merely shaped by one's background but by the collective experience of commuting. The local train became a symbol of Kolkata's identity as a place where communal coexistence thrives, transcending societal divisions.

Bengal’s identity, as revealed through its local trains, is multifaceted. It thrives on diversity, celebrates unity, and cherishes culture. The local trains aren't just a means of transport; they are vessels that carry the essence of Bengal’s  soul—the soul of a city where tradition and modernity, diversity and unity, coexist harmoniously. Traveling on these trains isn't merely a physical journey; it's a journey into the heart of Bengal’s identity.

My reverie was interrupted as I arrived at Dum Dum station, my destination. Fighting and struggling through the sea of people, I hurriedly disembarked from the train.

Navigating through the dense crowd, a series of frenzied ravings, as if from a madman, brought me to a sudden halt in my tracks.

In the heart of Dum Dum station, hidden amidst the hurried footsteps of the late afternoon rush, a man in his fifties, lanky with dishevelled hair, dressed in tattered shirt and trousers, hurled a tirade of vengeful words at Shani Dev, the feared and revered deity responsible for delivering the fruits of actions good or bad. 

In the dimly lit sanctum of the Shani-Kali Mandir, he stood alone, a solitary figure amidst the ocean of daily commuters who flowed around him like a river, each face etched with purpose. 

With each furious word that escaped his trembling lips, he unleashed a tempest of emotion upon the deity Shani, the Lord of Saturn. "Shani! Shani! Curse you for my misfortunes!" he bellowed, his voice a blend of anger and anguish. "You watch as I suffer, you have ruined my life."

The people passing by couldn't help but steal glances, their hurried lives briefly halted by this man's turbulent encounter with the divine. 

The man's cries reverberated through the temple's hallowed halls, a plea for an explanation from a deity who remained inscrutable. As the sea of faces continued to drift past him, they seemed oblivious to the tempestuous drama unfolding within the temple's sacred confines.

To the commuters, he was a mere enigma, a discordant note in their daily routine. They might have exchanged hushed speculations about his plight, but they were reluctant to intervene in the tumultuous dialogue between a desperate soul and an indifferent god.

"What is going to happen to my children? You've taken everything away from me, screw you!" His voice, tinged with despair and fury, echoed through the temple grounds. He growled at the clay idol, grinding his teeth like a rabid dog. 

My presence seemed to draw the attention of another observer—a young man sitting beneath the sheltering branches of an Ashoka tree. His eyes, filled with a mischievous glint, met mine, as if inviting me to share in on the perverted jouissance  juiced out of the drama before us.

I rebuked him silently with a stern look and watched his face wilt with guilt.

 I turned my attention to the angry man, and observed his passionate outburst at Shani Dev, a flood of questions swirled through my mind. What had led him to this point of desperation and anger? What series of misfortunes had pushed him to hurl insults at the deity known for his stern and often feared influence over human destiny?

This also brings us to the question, who is God Shani?

In almost all the train stations of Bengal you would always find temples dedicated to the divine deities, Goddess Kali and Shani Dev.

Goddess Kali, the embodiment of time, death, and decay, watches over those who pass by. Shani Dev, the cosmic arbiter of karma's fruits, stands in equal reverence. Worshipping  Him is said to soften the blows of life's trials.

Travelers, amidst the chaos of their journeys, pause to connect with faith, to invoke blessings that will safeguard them on their path. 

Indeed, the temples dedicated to Goddess Kali and Shani Dev have not only been places of spiritual solace but have also evolved into thriving centers of economic activity. The dynamics of these temples have transformed them into a unique industry, driven by a marketing strategy that capitalizes on the interplay of fear and safety—a phenomenon seen across various domains, from health products to temple offerings.

In the realm of faith, there is seldom a refund policy, particularly in dealings with Shani Dev –the wild man in front of me bears witness to this fact.

The sun had started to set now, I looked over into the figure of the man. He held onto the iron gates of the mandir  , he held on for his dear life as he looked into the eyes of the clay idol of Shani Dev.

The man was silent now, his posture – poignant as he looked deeply into the eyes of the cosmic judge. 

 A tear drop trickled down his stubbled cheeks. 

An air of peace had enveloped him. He had finally found silence, amongst  the loud whispers of the crowd, in the cries of the peddlers, in the  roaring of the trains, in front of the God who has no sense of humor – in a bustling, busy train station that never sleeps. 

He had found silence, and I had found my muse.

With a heavy heart, I continued my journey home, touched by the poignant encounter—a soul seeking solace amidst the solitude of a busy railway station. 

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