Keya Sarkar: The unofficial directory

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

When I had first relocated to Santiniketan, I discovered to my dismay that BSNL's telephone guide was about four years dated. There being no "Ask me" or pages in the city sections of newspapers to turn to for important numbers, I was left with little choice but to compile my own directory.

Since by nature I am enthusiastic to a fault about most things I do, by the time I was done I not only had the numbers of the railway station, the electricity sub station, the phone fault reporting service, the cable TV supplier, the electrician, the plumber, the carpenter and all such important numbers, I also had whole sections on hotels in Santiniketan (AC and non-AC), dabba delivery services, sweet shops, car hire guys, artisans (kantha girls and terracotta artists and even ironsmiths), and much else.

I was so satisfied with my effort that initially I was showing off. To friends from Santiniketan and occasional visitors from Kolkata, I must confess, I was beginning to volunteer phone numbers without even being asked. Gradually, over a period of a couple of years, for many of my acquaintances I was beginning to be the unofficial Santiniketan phone directory.

This was fine, really. I kind of felt rather important as friends thanked me profusely for just looking at my diary to help them out with numbers that they needed. But over time, my home grown phone directory service didn't remain restricted either to friends and acquaintances or to phone numbers.

Before I even realised it I was answering calls from strangers (referred by friends) on available hotels in Santiniketan (would I have the numbers?), convenient trains to and from Santniketan (are those trains usually on time?, easy to get reservation?), timings of the Tagore museum and so on.

If this wasn't bad enough, my friends and relatives began to overestimate my appetite for information. A couple who have been in Santiniketan for a decade rang up to ask if I knew of any guy who supplies tarpaulin. When I said there were several "decorators" shops on the main road that I had seen whom they could ask, they said they had seen them too but were wondering if I had their numbers! Another friend, a professor at the University here, called to figure out where her maid could go through a beautician's course in Santiniketan! A third friend called from Kolkata to ask me if I knew of any "village woman" who does kantha embroidery who could pose for pictures for her American friend working with Indian handicrafts. Friends have called to check out land prices in and around Santiniketan without having a clue as to whether the land in question was on or off the main road, near or far from the centre of town or agricultural or non-agricultural.

And, of course, with the near obscene increase in art prices, nouveau riche friends from Kolkata keen on good investments call to check on whether I know of "good" artists, how much do their work cost and so on?

But a lot of this I have learnt to deal with, or at least have answers which are good enough to fob off enquirers. But last week, a young 20-something came to stay with us. In between her loud chatter with her friends and moments of silence when she was busy typing her sms, she told me she was leaving for Mumbai the week after and questioned me on trains to Mumbai from Kolkata. I suppose my credentials for her faith were the many years that I had spent in Mumbai. Once she decided that Geetanjali Express was a good train to take she instructed a friend to get her a ticket. The friend called from the booking counter and my guest hollered across the house, "Keya-di, is 36 on the waitlist alright on the Geetanjali Express?" I knew then that I was truly beaten. My quest for information had come full circle.