Keya Sarkar: Lessons from travelling salesmen

It was a couple of years ago that I met Alijan mia. Alijan comes from Jharkhand to sell baskets at the annual mela held in Santiniketan every December. He doesn't make them, just trades in them. He buys them from tribals in and around his village and sells them at fairs. Attracted by the pile of baskets, I remember having walked towards Alijan at the fair. But while looking at his baskets my eyes fell on a quilt that lay next to his wares.

Obviously used the night before since Alijan had spent the night at the fair ground under a plastic sheet that he and his co-villagers had put up to keep the cold at bay, the quilt lay in an exquisite heap. I tiptoed over the baskets, and reached over to the rug much to Alijan's amazement. As I held the quilt, which was made by layering at least six to eight sarees, and then hand embroidered, I asked Alijan if it was for sale.

He said it wasn't since his wife had made it for him. I took his address and told him I would visit his village to see a few more quilts that had no sentimental ties and could be acquired. I don't think he had taken me seriously and was surprised to see me at his door one day. I did acquire a few pieces made by his daughters and truly treasured the experience of finalising the transaction with many of his 35-odd grandchildren looking on. Ever since then, every time Alijan comes for the Santiniketan mela he drops by for a cup of tea. Last week, talking to a few friends who had come from Kolkata, we decided to pay Alijan a visit. They had seen the quilts and were keen to see where they had come from.

Alijan's village, Ratanpur, is 100 km away from Santiniketan. We thought we would be able to make it in two and a half hours keeping in mind the possibility that the turn-off to his village could be bad. We were, of course, terribly wrong.

Of the 100 km, just about half is in West Bengal. So the first 50 km stretch took us over two and a half hours. Given the number of times Mamata Banerjee has said it, I think all the residents of West Bengal are apprised of the fact that it is due to the former CPM government not having done anything for over 35 years, and how her Trinamool Congress government now can't because it is cash-strapped, that infrastructure is bad - and that it will remain bad for some time. So as our car got stuck behind mile-long truck queues, because of the bad road, our spirits dropped. But they were lifted as we entered Jharkhand. The road was a dream, including the bit that went towards Alijan's village. Unfortunately, we couldn't spend much time with Alijan and his family since we wanted to beat the traffic before it got too dark. So we had some fruit, sweets, tea and set off again. In the middle of the chatter on our way back my thoughts were elsewhere.

My other relationship with Jharkhand is thanks to Nijam, an artisan who works in bronze casting by the lost-wax method, known as dokra. He visits me twice a month to supply things for my craft shop in Santiniketan. But invariably, Nijam turns up about six to eight hours late, sometimes an entire day later. And I never fail to reprimand him, even giving him sermons on how it's important to be on time.

Now that I had made the same journey by car, which Nijam does by the crowded public transport, I realised how blessed I am that he turns up at all. He never complained about the roads or the length and uncertainty of travel. His silence is, for me, my true reprimand.