Before I start, please pardon me for trying to inject humour after all that we have been through over the past few days, but then experts always say laughter is the best medicine available. True, it ain’t available in vials, strips or bottles. But it comes from a place more compact. A few inches below your chin and a bit to the left. It’s silly at times. It could be cerebral, too, if you choose to connect with it in a different way. We are a nation that’s going through rough times. The pressure is immense and the mercury’s rising on all counts. Pain relief, anyone?

The doc reminds you, “Prevention is better than cure.”

An ostrich takes a stroll down Babughat. The nerd of a bird peers into a newspaper. Shakes its head with sorrow at the terror attacks some thousand kilometers away and calmly reassures itself, “Ekhane kichhu hobe na. Calcutta is safe.”

Safety belt

Even after the terrible ordeal in Mumbai, we in Calcutta seem to seek refuge and comfort in some Utopian world of our own. Some say this city is a haven for these hardened bullies. The safe passage for many a terrorist. Hence nothing would really happen here. But after 26/11, do we dare fool ourselves?

Our metal detectors hardly detect.

Our havildars are obsessed with their personal ‘toll tax’ collections.

Are our forces on the right side of fitness?

With their progressive paunches being a constant feature of their lifestyles, throwing their weight around has never been a problem.

On the flipside, the question all across the city is how effective would their 303 rifles be against the super-automatic AK 47s and 56s that these highly-trained militants would flaunt if they were to attack us. Leave alone the fear about how accurate their aim would be.

Roma boudi is exasperated with the overzealous security at the malls. “Aamader handbag-gulo tipe tipe ki bojhhe ora? Eibhabe tipe bujhte parbe RDX achhe ki na? Jotto shob dhong!”

Everywhere we seem to witness the same sense of careless mediocrity. We just don’t seem to accept the fact that we too could be attacked. Perhaps this has a lot to do with our pore-dekhe-nebo-guru attitude. Or perhaps as my dewy-eyed grandfather proudly puts forward, “Arre shon, aamra holam Netaji Subhas, Khudiram, Jatin Das-er shontaan. Dengue-Malaria-r moshaa chhara aamra kauke bhoy paina!”

Dadu adds, “We really should have been serious about family planning. That inverted red triangle should have received its due importance years ago. Perhaps that boy Sanjay Gandhi was right after all.”

Roma boudi rues, “Eto lok bere gechhe, police ki korei ba check korbe?”

The pessimistic Bangali fears, “Ekhane je kobe hobe, ke jaane.”

The optimistic one grins, “Bhagyish Anoushka aar Jethro-da shohore baajaate elo. Thanks to them, bala ‘Tull’ gayi!”

My only sigh of relief: the gold factory of the nation, Bappi Lahiri, had to cancel his birthday bash in Mumbai (it was on November 27). Which means, gold continues to be readily available in the market!

Hail boudi

The pundits say, “Information is vital.” And without that, how can you ever survive? The authorities say, correct information at the correct time is the only way to control this menace. Critics say, “Ota baaper jonme hobe na!”

I have a suggestion. You see, every para has a huge boudi contingent. Housewives of various ages who get together every afternoon to gossip. And it baffles me when I realise that these women have amazing access to every single home in the neighbourhood. They seem to know who is what, who goes where, what’s cooking for lunch, who’s having an affair, including the most intimate details about married lives of couples! I say, let us round up these women and form an association as strong and well-networked as the KGB. Except that here we would probably call them KGB — Kolkata’s Gaggle of Boudis! We could commission the first batch at the gates of South Point School!

Talking of basic security for human life, how can you ever guarantee that in a country where even an ordinary aluminium mug in a train toilet has to be chained for fear of getting stolen?

Ghosh babu laments, “Arre dada, gota desh-tai to mog-er muluk. Kichhu korte parben na.”

Touch me not

A stupid common Indian suddenly falls ill. Lies on a Calcutta street. Begs for help. Hundreds pass by. No one volunteers. No one steps up to check.

Why?

The reason is simple. We too are equally stupid, common and Indian and we all follow basic security norms. We obey police instructions and we “DO NOT TOUCH ANY UNIDENTIFIED OBJECT”.