Thank you," we say. "Welcome," he replies with easy grace. And grace is something Raju needs in good measure, as he balances the tin can containers, the jostling crowds, the rhythmic swaying at 60 kmph, our curious gaze — almost his entire life, you could say — with the job at hand. He must get the mixture of muri, peanuts, chana, cucumber, onion, oil and sundry masalas just right. After all, there are customers to feed on the train and mouths to feed back home. And daily passengers have long memories. For Raju, the jhalmuriwala on the Up Howrah-Burdwan local, it's a daily test he can't fail.
It's a sultry weekday afternoon and we're travelling on the Burdwan local on a quirky assignment: to chronicle the lives and wares of the hawkers who sell foodstuff on trains. So there's the jhalmuriwala, the tea guy, the egg seller, the fruit vendor, the sonpapdi hawker and so many others like them. Over a week, these train journeys — Howrah-Burdwan and Sealdah-Bongaon — also become a metaphor for our travels into the lives of these men who spend most of their day on local trains. Like all great stories, there is love, friendship, trust, tragedy and redemption. You could call it a pageant on wheels.
Sweet cravings
Gurbadam. Or chitbadam. Or chikki. Or peanut brittle. A sweet, sticky crunchy concoction of peanuts and jaggery. Nirmal Sarkar has been selling these on the Burdwan line for 40 years. His jhola also contains dilkhush — a milky sweet item made from coconut shavings. When we request him to pose for our camera, he does so happily and then whispers to us, "Are you going to publish my picture?"
Check-mate
Competition? Sure. These unforgiving tracks are not without their fair bit of rivalry. Most of the times, the hawkers make sure they are not selling the same item, in the same coach at the same time. But, once in a while, you also get to witness moments such as these when two chholawalas discuss the day's earnings, business, line-er khobor and share a few jokes. All in a day's work, we guess!
Nutty times
Chinebadam, with or without the shells, are one of the fastest selling items on local trains. Along with rock salt and chilli, these can satiate untimely hunger pangs and double up as the best timepass munch-ons. By the way, these can be tough nuts to crack. Do you remember the first time your parents taught you the right way to break open those shells?
A steaming cuppa
Tea in earthen pots. As the country's national drink is losing a lot of its flavour owing to the rapid disappearance of 'bhaanr' or 'kulhar', Kolkata's suburban railways still offer you the nostalgia-filled hot tea at just `3-5. If you ever spot a chawala shouting, "Kharap cha, kharap cha," do not let him pass without buying yourself one. It, by all probabilities, will prove to be the best tea you have ever had!
On our way back from Bongaon, we meet Pradip Biswas, who sells fried stuff. The rush is on the other side now, the Up train, and our compartment is empty, with a couple of people languishing by the windows. We ask him to sit with us and he obliges apprehensively. Till Duttapukur, where he stays, he tells us the most interesting story. He is known as a doctor in his locality and treats illnesses like influenza and tummy upsets. No, he is not an MBBS. He was doing his BSc when family responsibilities forced him to take up a job as a compounder with a leading neurosurgeon in Kolkata.
"It's only been around six months since I've started hawking. I left the job about a year ago and would earn my living as a medical practitioner. But that wasn't enough. So, these days, in the evenings, I sell stuff on the train to make some extra money," he says. But don't people question his credentials as a doctor? He smiles and replies, "These are really poor people. I give them easily available medicines. I do not treat people with serious conditions. It helps my family as well as them."
Earlier in the day, on the onward journey to Bongaon, a daily passenger had offered us an insight into the thriving hawker business, saying, "Bhaat-maach chhara train e shob othe!" He wasn't exaggerating. Hungry? Buy yourself a plate of bun-ruti and omelette for `10. Thirsty? Sip on the desi mango drink in long poly-packs for `5. Had too much junk? Slurp on amloki lozenges that are `4 for a pack of 10.
While freshly prepared fare abounds on the Howrah line, it's mostly packed items on the Sealdah lines. So on your way to Ranaghat or Gede, look out for munchies like alur papad, kolar papad, chhatur papad, nimki, chire bhaja, kaju biscuit (shaped like cashews and have no nuts!) and popcorn. These are bought directly from traders in Ranaghat, says Madhav, a popcorn hawker. How much does he make in a day? "`400. Tar kome songsaar chole na," he shares.
The hottest items are seasonal fruits like guava, sweet lime and bananas. The man with the sweet limes has an interesting way of hawking his fare — "dokan bajar half daam," he crows. Wazzat? A daily passenger explains, "He means his fruits are priced at half of what they sell for in the markets." Guavas are `2 a piece, and kanthali kola are `10 for 4 pieces. That's way less than half, we feel! We also realize that hawkers on the Burdwan route are easier to talk to. On the Sealdah lines, many of them refuse to give photos or talk about their lives. "Visit the union office if you want answers," they stonewall. Is it because the Howrah line is less crowded or more cosmopolitan? Or are there other political pressures at play? There are no definite answers.
Encounters with those like Sukanta the sonpapdiwala, his friend the chawala, Nirmal Sarkar the dilkhush and gurbadamwala and Kartick Das the hajmiwala tell us how prices have soared over the decades. The price of 50 gms of peanuts has risen from `1 in the '80s to `10 in 2014. In two decades, a bhaanr of cha has gone from 5 paise to `5. "I remember selling a packet of sonpapdi for `2 when I started out," says Sukanta. Nirmal, whose dilkhush and chikki are a hit on the Burdwan line, adds, "Forty years ago, there was no gurbadam. I used to sell plain peanuts then. But that requires a lot of labour. I am growing old and can't put in so much anymore. I earn around `400 per day. I have married off my daughter and my son will sit for his Madhyamik next year. I am good."
But it's not always good. Apart from the physical strain, there is also the trauma of seeing accidents. Gojawala Sujit Mondal remembers, "Once, I saw a guy jump from the running train when asked for a ticket by the TT. He did not survive. Another time, a guy who fell off accidentally, made it back with just a few bruises and cuts. It depends on your luck." A decade on these lines can be tough, but, as he adds, "Dekhte dekhte shoye jay. I can't count how many chain snatchings I have witnessed."
As they say, what can't take you down only makes you stronger. The Sujits, Rajus and Nirmals are living proof of that, as is Kartick, the hajmi seller. "Times change, people change, as do their tastes. We try to keep up with the changing times," he concludes.
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