Joydeb and I reach Munshi Bazaar at 8.20 am. Bablooda is our contact man in the Munshi Bazaar wet market. Bablooda has a wholesale business in chickens. He is a strong and imposing figure. He is not very tall but he has what the common man in Kolkata describes as “Personality” (which invariably involves a generous belly and thickset arms). He smiles at Joydeb and does not waste any time in pleasantries. He quickly informs that there is another group of retailers that he has formed.
Bablooda was a tough nut to crack. Nitai the tea stall owner was the khabri who arranged for Joydeep to
meet Bablooda. Many days and hours of drinking tea with the man yielded a tentative formation of two groups of borrowers (each group comprising of 5 members). But that opening was the critical tipping point for this market. Bablooda is the typical maven to be found in every market whose endorsement is needed for acceptance of a new concept by the smaller retailers. We were fortunate that he was also a man who actively rallied around for the formation of groups once he saw his business growing. He is a shrewd man and understood how retailers’ capacity of buying from him increased with their working capital needs being met at cheaper rates of interest.
We met the group and after the umpteenth refusal of a cup of tea we entered the fish market. Through the babble we heard a sharp cry- Joydebda! We moved through the parting sea to face Noton and his brother Shyamal. Noton is as fair as his brother is dark. Joydeb tells me they are much like the two phases of the moon’s cycle. One is chirpy and the other silent and brooding. We ask how business has been so far.
“Khoob bhalo. Apnader doyaye beche achhi,” gushes Noton happily.
I look at Shyamal and notice the fire in his eyes. I put forward my hand to shake his and he is surprised. Slowly he wipes his hand in a rag and clasps mine firmly. All of a sudden he bursts forth with smouldering anger-
“Kono bank taka daye na, Madam. I can pay Rs 3000 per week if need be. This is our livelihood and our life. Why will we run away? Where will we run away? 25 years I’ve sold fish in this same spot where you are seeing me. This little brother of mine now is able to pick up more fish. He cycles 15 kms at 3 am to buy fresh fish and comes back laden with 30kilos of fish everyday. We work hard. We work honestly. It is not in our blood to cheat.”
The unshed tear in his eye glistens in the light of the bulb which hangs over the silvery gleaming fish. Joydebda tells me that this is the first time he has heard him speak at such length. His story is not unlike the story of the many members of the group but it was this jolting out of our professional masks through the wave of emotions that was simply precious. I savoured the delicious moment and moved on.
We had entered a small quiet corner of the market. There is an old man sitting in a shack with his hands on his head.
“Hariya….this is our Madam who has come to meet you,” Joydob introduces me.
Hariya looks listless.
“Ki holo? Mon kano kharap?”
Hariya smiles wanly with an unfocused look.
“Kaun Jilla?” I ask.
“Munger.” He smiles.
Immediately Joydeb understands and his tone changes to a soft note, “Bari gechhile? Shobai ke phele eshe mon kharap.”
“I have 3 sons and 2 daughters. The eldest son is here with me. Dada, I have to arrange for my daughter’s wedding. Kaaj o chalate hobe. Tension to hobei.” Hariya looks at us and his eyes speak volumes. We sit and chat with him for 5 minutes as we wait for a group to assemble for a verification test. Hariya left his home 18 years ago. He has an ice supply which feeds the fish market. Sales were good this summer but not good enough for the entire wedding expenses. He also owes money to the Mahajan. The Mahajan charges Rs 100 on a loan of Rs 1000. At 120% rate of interest this is daylight robbery but the last resort for many in the market. Joydeb explains the terms and conditions of Arohan loans at 12.5% flat interest rate. Hariya looks livelier but there are too many questions in his mind right now.
By the time we are ready to leave, the market is still bustling but the peak hour is gone. Joydeb explains to me the ebb and flow of mankind in every market. There is a personality and character to every bazaar just like a river. Each rises and falls in its own peculiar timing in the course of a day, month and year.
The metaphors get more colourful when I ask the boys in his team later during lunch break at the branch office.
“Madam, New Market is like Bipaasha Basu!” says Debashish laughing like an adolescent boy talking about his first crush in school. “Open, glamorous and desirable.”
“And Entally?”
“Oh Entally is Aishwarya Rai. Beautiful but Tricky. Chhalana kare majhe majhe.”
“And Munshi Bazaar is like Rani Mukherjee. Hit pe hit kintu aste aste boyesh periye jachhe,” his team mate, Sajal, chirps in swiftly amidst raucous laughter.
The game is still on as we have our sumptuous lunch of rice, dal, pui shaager chochhori, mutton curry, chutney and papad. Outside the overcast skies give in to the pressure of a thousand prayers and it starts pouring all over the parched lands. We sit in the verandah smoking and singing. The melodies flow in tandem with the rains.…….
Baadalon mein chhup gaya hai chand kyon….
Zindagi ke safar mein bichhad jaate hain……
Na jaane kyon hota hai yeh zindagi ke saath…..
As we celebrated the ending of another exhausting but enjoyable day I asked myself. How many moments do we remember in this journey of our lives? Here we were- a band of rogues who were trying to notch up the dismal score by living life to the fullest wherever, whenever, however.
Dugga dugga! :)
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