The Last Of The Kolkata Tram Riders

Kolkata is divided. This time it is not along political lines; it is along tram lines.

One faction insists that the 151-year institution needs to be phased out in favour of mass rapid commuting modes (metro rail); another insists that trams need to be retained for nostalgia.

One faction insists that the city needs commuting modes that are financially viable; another insists that when it comes to pride not everything can be reduced to a Profit & Loss Account.

One faction insists that the city needs to modernise its tram network; another insists that the format is futuristic as it does not emit smoke.

One faction insists finite road space needs to  be vacated in favour of faster alternatives; another argues that the network has anyway been reduced to a handful of pan-city routes, so the theory of congestion is irrelevant.

When the Bengal government announced that it was withdrawing tram services almost overnight except for one showpiece route (compared to 37 just 15 years ago), the argumentative Bengali rediscovered her voice. “We shall take to the streets,” hollered a member of the Calcutta Tram Users Association. “We will move a public interest litigation,” threatened another. 

The irony was that none of those fighting to save the tram had bothered to board it even once in decades. Too slow. Too warm. Too down-market.

So, a handful of citizens  proposed a lateral idea. Why not party on a tram? Some choked: ‘Is garmi mein?’

But the whisper went out: “We are jamming on Sunday afternoon inside a moving tram. Prebooked and ticketless. Care to come?” Kolkata does not miss a freebie jam session where even the be-sura can be Sinatra for seconds. Ninety turned up to take a pre-paid ride from Gariahat Tram Depot to the Esplanade Tram Depot and back.

Since everybody was convinced that even before they had got off at the last stop, the tracks would be ripped by the government and sold as scrap by the evening, they resolved to make it a party to remember.  An event organiser put her cash down to bedeck both tram compartments ‘like a dulhan’. A music band kept shifting loyalty compartment to compartment based on the swing of the ‘party’. A trained hand passed around warm singharas with an entreaty (‘Just one, for the tram’s sake’). An amateur mimic kept piercing the tram oxygen in a particularly tinny voice (‘Aaste ladies! Kol-ey bachcha!’).Every seven minutes there would be someone catching hold of another and pointing in the distance (‘My school! My school!’). Yesterday once more.

When the tram cruised down Gariahat Road, limousine owners asked their drivers to keep pace (‘Kaanch neecha karo! Photo lene do!’). When the tram negotiated the iconic seven-point Park Circus crossing, tram-boarded photographers stepped off, ran in front the slow-turning metal, clicked in wide angle, and boarded casually once more. When the tram slow-screeched into Elliott Road, fatigued streetside tyre retreaders looked up at the bedecked ‘ship of passage’ and then looked bewildered at each other (‘Ee sub ka ho raees?’) Urchins who usually chase trams in Wellesley Street soon realised that they did not need to run and walking with the tram would do just as well.

When the tram curved snaked into Dharamtalla Street, the overhead connector to the electrical line accidentally disengaged, a hurried word went out and half the tram emptied to take pictures outside. In all this tamasha, a bystander jumped in to get off at the next stop only for the party animals to realise that it was footballer Jamshed Nassiri, and the next seven minutes were dedicated to selfies. Someone even offered him a cold singhara.

There were three surprises. One, all those who were to get off at Esplanade now said they would take the return journey as well (‘Hey bro, we are enjoying it’). Two, all those who had spent their childhood eluding tram conductors were now pursuing the sleepy attendant to buy collectibles (‘Dada, 20 tickets debeyn!’). Three, a number of those who missed out on the party demanded a re-run on Facebook.

This is how a one-off whim (‘Last Great Tram Party’)is likely to be turned into a monthly party in the Capital of Nostalgia. Anupam Roy one Sunday (possibly). Usha Uthup on another (possibly).

Especially if two tram compartments can be rented for half the afternoon for just Rs 5300.

Tram rides may be over; tram concerts may be beginning.