Since my coming to stay in the building complex, I could never stop being marveled at the dress sense of Ghoshbabu and Duttababu living in the apartments, next doors. Clad neatly in trendy suits and pants every morning, with ties peeping smartly from inside their coats; these two men resembled more of TV chat show anchors than clerks or accountants.
Looking down to their feet what grabbed the attention instantly was their shoes with the pant cuffs resting on them in style; and it seemed they competed with each other regularly in making their footwear outshine the other. I had the opportunity of travelling with these polished, grave looking gentlemen in mini buses a few times and watch them speak in soft tones, over monosyllables of 'Hmm ..' 'Thik achay ' (It's OK) and 'Ami dekhchi byaparta office e giye ' (I'll surely look into the matter once I reach office) while keeping their mobile phones glued to their ears, gesturing the conductor with their hands to wait when he asked for their tickets.
A little while ago before changing into the suited and booted attires, they were playing the kurta-pyjamas -chappals wearing middle-class bengali bargaining for a kilo of bhetki (Barramundi fish) or trying to reduce the price of pui saag (Malabar Spinach) by a rupee. The versatility with which they changed roles could've easily sent tollywood or bollywood directors running behind them with tempting offers to sign them for their films .
Again when I found them in the shopping mall on Sundays wearing skin-fit jeans and pulling their T-shirts below their waists in a desperate bid to hide their potbellies, I immediately remembered the idiom 'When in Rome, be like a roman'. Whereas while buying vegetables and fishes they fought over the wide disparity in prices by citing all nearby markets and coming out victorious after reducing a few rupees, with airs of having won lotteries ; at the shopping mall they waited impatiently at the billing counters to sport a number of debit/ credit cards from their pockets, being the least bothered about the price tags of their chosen picks.
I've found these men along with many others to manuovre the narrow road abutting our complex bustling with traffic, undeterred by the heaps of sand and stonechips spilling in round the year from the building constructions or water-logging following a spell of wet weather, like skilled gymnasts; and only to create furore during adda sessions, later on. Since young they've been taught and tamed to be like the cats who would eat fish but wouldn't like to wet their feet .. Even when lifts stopped working in our complex, leaving these fifty plus aged men with no other alternative but to brave out climbing up six floors' stairs, panting and holding their knees with grimace ; they would never complain to the authorities for the fear of being out of their good books. Each year after the budget session, they would whine about the unjustified increment of maintenance charges, but during the General meeting they'd keep mum. Both of these men continue to hold executive designations year after year, by some mysterious circumstances; without getting involved in any affairs of the association other than attending meetings in their typical suited-booted attires and engaging in sycophancy with the secretary and president.
When they could get into the forefront of all affairs, how could they be left behind from cultural activities ? You'd find bookshelves in their flats with fat volumes of Tagore, Bankimchandra and Dickens gracefully sitting on them, to name a few; with pages hardly ever turned on. Come Poila Boishakh (Bengali New Year Day) or Rabindrajayanti (Rabindranath Tagore's birthday) and these people would lose no opportunity in organizing cultural fests and proving their oratory skills with pre-written speeches; while watching poem recitations, songs and dance performances sleepy-eyed, clapping and cheering up the performers like rehearsed acts of a play.
Both Ghoshbabu and Duttababu owned cars but seldom took them out, except while going for shopping or dining out with their families. 'Just see how much the cost of diesel has gone up,' Duttababu would raise his eyebrows'. And they cleaned their vehicles themselves. Sunday mornings would find them in three-quarters shorts and T-Shirts going down under their cars. ' 'You won't believe how much the cleaner guy said he'd charge for this little job. It seems everyone is aiming at the middle-class' purses these days. From domestic gas .. ' Ghoshbabu would start voicing his grievances, sweating like a pig from the sweltering heat; his face and hands smeared with ink. 'The GDP growth has slowed down .. look at the price of rupee falling'. Only about two years back, I was surprised to hear him motivate people with 'Its being little gruelling on our parts, but this will be effective in the long run', while standing in queue for hours infront of a bank, in a bid to exchange a bunch of banned notes for equal sum of money.
Each morning I find them waiting eagerly for their pool car and once they squeeze into the little space inside between thighs and elbows of office colleagues, they close their eyes to hide from onlookers' amused glances; ready for change in roles again. The change in governments can never affect the psyche of Ghoshbabus or Duttababus except their lifestyle . Earlier they rode in buses, minibuses and local trains happily; now they ride cars .. earlier they enjoyed watching films in local theatres, now they can't do without the PVRs .. earlier they found everything at the local markets, now they visit the shopping malls at the drop of a hat. But over the years they never stop criticizing the governments of failing to usher in industries, solve unemployment problems, rid the country of corruption and all those nationalistic stuff as a favourite pastime over cups of tea and cigarettes; all the time concerned actually about feathering their own nests.
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