Running like a leopard, arms pumping, legs a flash of blur. I stood shell-shocked. I said to myself: ‘Oh! This wretched country of mine! Anywhere else, this man would have been a celebrated athlete.’ And man, he could run fast!
By Gargi Sen
Of late, there have been a spate of robberies in Delhi. These were, indeed, brutal crimes of violence and theft.
My colleague, who grew up in Calcutta, said that he was perplexed by the nature of the crimes. This is because, he said, in Calcutta, theft will take place under your nose and you won’t come to know of it. Whereas, in Delhi, robbers will break down the front door, kill everyone in sight, and go away with something relatively valueless.
He, of course, was exaggerating.
I know what he meant. In his house in Calcutta, his father ran a nursing home in the ground and first floors of their home, and his brother, a car rental service from the adjoining garage. The cars not in use would be parked in the front, on the road.
Like typical Calcutta houses, the windows of the nursing home looked out on the street. The place was populated by nurses, doctors, ayahs and ward boys.
All of them had a good view of the road. And, yet, with monotonous regularity, car batteries would get stolen. And that too during daylight hours! Under the very nose of the nursing home staff.
I experienced something similar in the first few months of my arrival in Calcutta, in the difficult post-pandemic era. A few street dogs live outside my house. As I cook for my pets, I also make enough for them.
Early morning, I feed my pets and then take the food to the outside dogs, crows and street cats. I have to make a couple of trips as there are many bowls to balance.
That day, I had given the dogs their food. While returning with the bowls for the cats, I saw a man hurriedly cross the living room. Seeing me, he said, solicitously, “Do you remember me? I had come here…”
However, before completing the sentence, he began to run. By the time I crossed the room, he was half-way down the street.
And man, he could run fast!
Running like a leopard, arms pumping, legs a flash of blur. I stood shell-shocked.
I said to myself: “Oh! This wretched country of mine! Anywhere else, this man would have been a celebrated athlete.”
In the very short time I had been away, he had entered from the living room, walked into the guest room, and taken away a mobile phone and my guest’s wallet. I happened to see the man. Otherwise, the theft would have come to light much later, with no explanation as to how the stuff disappeared.
Tall, dark and athletic, his running reminded me of a childhood film, Chariots of Fire. He ran like those men in that famous movie. Head back, body coordinated. What amazing grace!
Unfortunately, in Calcutta, with no industry or job opportunities for many, the only option left open to him is theft. And at stupendous risk too. Surely, he steals knowing very well that Calcutta hates petty thieves and pickpockets, and if he were to be caught, he would be lynched to death.
If only he could get the opportunities that all human beings are entitled to, he might have been somewhere else altogether. A sense of sadness overwhelmed me.
I have another story of thieves of Calcutta. It’s not my story, it’s my college classmate’s.
His family was visiting relatives in Calcutta. Meeting after a long time, there was a lot of talk, chatter and laughter. Catching up, cooking nostalgic dishes, they would stay up till very late.
One day, my classmate, S, was going to the market with his cousins, when a man accosted them, and said: “Can’t you all go to bed in time? It’s so difficult to work if you stay up so late.”
That man was the local thief!
Quite unlike other cultures, in the northern and eastern Indian traditions, theft has long roots. A lovable, naughty and young Krishna is a celebrated thief and much-loved God. He regularly stole butter that his family of cowherds made, he stole clothes of bathing women, and, finally, as an adolescent, he stole his first cousin, the daughter of his uncle, and had a torrid love affair with her.
The love story of Krishna and Radha is celebrated across the Gangetic plains. Reams have been written about it, beautiful poetry and songs composed.
In 1884, the Bengali poet, author, musician, painter, Rabindranath Tagore, then in his early 20s, wrote Bhanushingher Padabali, a collection of 22 songs, on the legendary love of Radha and Krishna. A romance that has been, and will continue to be, celebrated across the region.
An illicit love, between a ‘thief’ and his beloved, but love nevertheless. Therefore, truly, divine.
Gargi Sen is a filmmaker based in Kolkata.