#GuestPost - The Story Behind "Cantilevered Tales" by Jayant Kriplani

The Story Behind Cantilevered Tales

Why Jayant Kripalani wrote this book?

Why did I start writing this set of short stories that became one long story? I don’t really know.

I was on way my back from somewhere by train and at Howrah Station a group of taxi drivers tried to extort a higher fare from me.  This was before the time of pre paid taxi booths.  Rather than shell out five times the fare I thought I’d take a bus. It was peak hour in the morning and though I did get a seat since the bus started from there, I hadn’t calculated the length of time I’d be sitting in the bus on the bridge. Forty five minutes of inching along later I heard a voice behind me say, “AitakiHaora Bridge na Laora Bridge?”

I knew exactly what he meant.

I knew then that I had the beginning of a story.

“Where are you getting off?” I turned around and asked.

“High Court,” he replied.

By now we had reached the East end of the bridge. It still looked like we’d be on the bus for another 45 minutes.

“Walk?” I asked him.

“Let’s,” he said.

And that as they say was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

His name was Khokon. He lived in Santragachhi. And because of that immortal first line, I called the protagonist of my story Khokon. In the book though, the line belongs to his colleague Ashutosh.

Some time later, I overheard a group of people talking about saving a water body from some unscrupulous builder. ArunLal the cricket player might have been a part of the group but I’m not sure.  I started keeping tabs on them. Not because I was interested in saving the environment or even that small little lake.

I am not a crusader. I hate getting involved with issues.

But if you live in Calcutta, even for a short while, trust me, you’ll get involved.

More power to the builder I thought after I first saw the lake if you can call brackish acres of sludge a lake.

What did interest me were the disparate lot of people, and some desperate ones among them, who were determined they were going to save a stagnant water body from becoming an office complex.Frankly in my opinion that lake had outlived its usefulness to be anything at all.

 I didn’t give a damn what happened to the lake.

But over a period of time I did start worrying about the people. And of course fell hopelessly in love with them. Their wellbeing and their good health became a matter of great concern to me especially since I saw the array of ‘villains’ lined up against them.

So rather than concentrate on Builder v Helpless Citizen – enough stories had been written about them, I concentrated on their stories and their histories.

This is their story or should I say these are their stories.  Some of the people are real; some of the people who come to their assistance are thinly disguised caricatures of people I admire; some are just people I met on buses and trams in my journeys across the bridge who wormed their way into the book.

 And that is how this book got wrote.

Book Blurb

 CANTILEVERED TALES IS A STORY ABOUT PEOPLE, THEIR QUIRKS AND WHY THEY BECOME WHO THEY BECOME. AND LOTS OF LAUGHTER!

I overheard a group of people talking about saving a water body from some unscrupulous builder and started keeping tabs on them. Not because I was interested in saving the environment or even that small little lake. What did interest me were the disparate lot of people, and some desperate ones among them, who were determined that they were going to save a stagnant water body, which in my opinion had outlived its usefulness as anything at all, from becoming an office complex.

 This is NOT a Builder v Helpless citizen epic. In fact that is the least important part of the book. This is about a group of inept people who you want to reach out and protect but you discover are more than capable of taking care of not just themselves, but of you too.

Author Bio

Jayant Kripalani is an Indian film, television and stage actor, writer and director. Known for his work in TV series like Khandaan, Mr Ya Mrs and Ji Mantriji, he graduated

from Jadavpur University with a degree in English Literature.

He has played character roles in movies like Heat and Dust, Rockford,

Jaane Tu. . .Ya Jaane Na, 3 Idiots and, most recently, Hawaizaade and The Hunger. He has directed and produced a number of films and is actively involved with theatre. He wrote the screenplay for Shyam Benegal’s film Well Done Abba.

He is the author of the heartwarming and nostalgic New Market Tales, set in the historic New Market area of Kolkata in the 1960s and 1970s. His recent foray into writing performance poetry has brought him acclaim in poetic circles around the country. When he is not in Calcutta, he is either fishing in Himachal, pfaffing in Bombay or being a beach bum in Goa.

Flowers

Mallik Ghat Flower Bazaar, Kolkata
Pic Courtesy : http://www.pikturenama.com 

Why are you here? What do you do, again?

I am a documentary film maker.

Docu.., what ?

Docu-men-tary. I make films.

Like Karan Johar?

A little different. But yes, kind of the same thing.

But we never see you on TV or theater? Why are you here?

I want to make a docu...umm..film..on the flower market.

Did you see Chennai Express? Shahrukh Bhai is amazing! Do you know him?

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He looked back to get his answer but turned back midway. That was an abrupt end to the curiosity and questions of my rickshaw driver. I am sure he was convinced that a man dressed like me, who has never even been on TV, despite being a filmmaker, cannot possibly know the King of Bollywood. I am confident I saw a smirk on his face when he dropped me at Asia's largest wholesale flower market.

Mallik Ghat Flower Bazaar, Kolkata.

To call something chaotic in Kolkata would be redundant.  But it still has a strange serenity in it. I have struggled to find such harmonized disorder in the Mumbais and Delhis of the world.  "Order" is an incomplete and  mortal story. The entropy of the Universe would catch up with it eventually. "Disorder", on the other hand, is self sustaining and ever propagating. It is the closest "absolute" entity that Nature offers. It engulfs stillness of every moment on its way of becoming the sole force of the Universe. I hunt for stories in such pandemonium. People who become accustomed to finding peace in chaos present the most dogged and honest face of humanity.

It is in this quest that I travel and explore stories in the busiest, noisiest and, seemingly, unlikeliest of the places.

And so, instead of making a documentary about  the Howrah Bridge, I came here.

One understands the true difference between "reachable" and "approachable" in India, only while trying to create something. Thanks to the over advertised advancement that we have made as a nation, we can reach to almost every corner of the country. But try making a neighborhood within your approach to accomplish something, and it's a different story altogether. So, first order of business was to find my "handler".

But I was awestruck by Mallik Bazaar. The beauty in this dingy Bazaar was astounding. It was not the obvious kind of beauty that one notices instantly but the one that grows on you and stays forever. It was not the high school crush who tickles sensations for a bit, but the peace of a woman one desires to wake upto for life. The roads were laden with flowers of every kind. The canvas of Mallik Bazaar was painted in bright orange by tens of thousands of Marigolds . Roses, Jasmines and Lilies appeared sporadically like colorful birds in the morning sky. I began to immerse myself in the tranquility of colors amidst the haphazardness.

    

Suddenly, a  tempo whizzed past me, hurling abuses at me in chaste Bengali, while I stood frozen in the middle of the road. I realized that I was in the thick of the action and the director in me was switched on with that jolt. I started looking for Pushpak, a young Bollywood aspirant, and my handler, who was to meet me in the Bazaar Eventually, he found me and started to show me around while I managed my handheld and the stories started unfolding.

We met  Ikhlaq, who claimed to make sales of over ₹10000 in a day but complained about the lack of hygiene in the area. He seemed worried that he would catch Malaria and wanted to switch businesses. But another businessman, known by the moniker "Marwari",  seemed hopeful. He was happy with the way the Bazaar operated and wanted to have a retail shop in the main city as well. A few inquired about the new trend of people ordering flowers on "computer" and rued losing business to the fake educated types!

After about an hour of recording and interviews we proceeded towards the largest shop of the Bazaar, owned by a certain Seth. He had already been notified by Pushpak and was expecting us. He greeted us with refreshing sharbat with rose petals in it. Seth had been in the business for over 35 years and claimed to be one of the biggest business owners of the city.

He talked at length about Horticulture. "Not every bud blossoms into a flower. One must have the eye to spot which [one] would, and that simple trick differentiates me form the rest of them", he bragged. When I asked him how he managed the supply chain of a fresh product I saw his eyes sparkle. He must be proud of his business skills, I thought. He proudly told us how articulate he has to be supplying  to nearly all the temples and mosques in the city. Marigolds to the temples and Lilies to the mosque. No mix up there!

He shouted something in Bengali and before I could ask Pushpak to translate, 4 children came running out from the back of his shop. They were all 10-12 years old boys with flimsy clothes covering them. They were sweating profusely and one look at their hands made it clear that they must have been weaving garlands. I looked behind them and realized they had come up from a basement behind the shop. He proudly pointed at them and said this was his business model. The kids collected the flowers from the farms in the morning and brought them to the Bazaar. They sorted them, made piles of them according to the orders. If a special order for garlands or wreaths or weddings came along, they would make them. Then they carried the piles back to a middleman who distributed them further. Pushpak told me that would be around a 50 km trip for the kids per day. Since every corner of the city was in reach, it looked easy to the businessman. He paid them ₹30 per day.

I tried talking to the kids, via Pushpak, but they looked tired, scared and in a hurry. I turned to Seth and asked why doesn't he eliminate the middleman and maximizes his profits. Seth looked at me in astonishment and then looked at Pushpak as if telling him how could I even ask that question.

"These children aren't allowed to enter the temples". Seth  answered.

"What about mosques? They can deliver there and save you some money, right?"

"Saab, these kids are not allowed anywhere."

He said that with no remorse. I looked at the children who had been standing quietly all this while. Something in me told me that they understood the conversation between Seth and I. They smiled at me and went back down.

Harmonized Disorder.

On the way back, I had a last look at Mallik Bazaar. Seth  was right, not every bud blossoms into a flower. The corners of the flower laden roads were littered with unnoticed squashed buds.

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This post was written in response to #FotoFriday1 a photo-blogprompt, an initiative of  team #BlogbuddyWritehouse @Blogchatter
#FotoFriday prompt posts will be put up on the first Friday of every month by team members of #BlogbuddyWritehouse 

This week's #FotoFriday1 fabulous photo-prompt 

Image credit goes to my super-talented #blogbuddy Anindya Basu 

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