“Well, having taken the woman on board,” she said in the lighter vein, “man knows it pays to keep her in good humor, doesn’t he?”
“Don't I know you are naughty,” he said enthusiastically, “but on the trams, one fares much better there, literally that is. It’s a funny sight to see some pretending to be fast asleep as the conductor approaches them for the fare. Maybe, being wiser for his unpleasant experiences on earlier occasions, the conductor prefers not to disturb such. But once their destination is reached, these sleepy bhadraloks alight from it with alacrity. Oh, all this farce, when one can travel from one end to the other for a fare of eighteen paisa! It appears communism doesn’t confine itself to proletariat in Calcutta. It seems to be at work at all levels of its society. Doesn’t the state own all property and isn’t the state our very own? So the state property is people’s own property and why should pay for the services of what he owns and it could as well be the reasoning of the Bengali intellect.”
“What makes communism tick there?”
“It’s not for nothing that communism is so well entrenched in Bengal’s polity,” he said, assuming the tone of a political pundit. “The philosophy of communism is but the credo of the Bengali: high on rhetoric and slow to takeoff. Could it be any different given the Bengali penchant for artistic excellence? What an artistic people these Bengalis are. Why should things mundane interest them at all? See the creative range of the pandalserected for Durga Puja and others, and you would get to know the brilliance of their ingenuous minds. After all, communism is all about each working according to his abilities and paid according to one's needs. What abilities can an illiterate possess and what more would the poor need than a plate of mori and a cup of chai, that together cost twenty-five paisa. It’s a different matter that the gentry feign asleep, on the trams, to save much less than that.”
“What a city of contrasts the Cal is!”
“The contradictory ethos of the Calcuttans is no less puzzling,” he said. “Even as they come out in numbers to mourn the death of a minor comrade, they all remain immune to the plight of the rickshawala, who doubles up for a mule. One evening, Gopal engaged a rickshaw though I felt odd about it. But after a short ride, to my great surprise, my conscience stopped troubling me, maybe, it’s in communism to cast a shadow on the collective consciousness of the Calcuttans, and well the rickshawalasserve the needy, otherwise too, by pimping for the prostitutes. It’s amusing to see them line up their rickshaws near the pavements at the Dharmatalla and ring their hand bells as a call for service.”