Keya Sarkar:Questions without answers

PEOPLE LIKE THEM

My grandfather was one of those eminent bhadraloks of his time who had been granted (or rather, invited to buy) a plot of land in Santiniketan when the university was being set up. These plots, about a little over a hundred of them, which are rather large, however, were given on a 99-year lease basis.

The upside is that none of the owners of these plots can sell or subdivide their property without the permission of the university. The downside is that since there is uncertainty over what happens when the lease runs out and that any sale transaction has to be blessed by the university, prices of these properties are far below what they ordinarily should be.

When my mother hinted that I would inherit the Santiniketan property it took me little time to give up my job and cramped apartment in Mumbai and relocate to Santiniketan and our house with its 30-odd fruit trees, large rooms, red cement floors and high ceilings. But habits die hard and for a Mumbaikar like me, so much space was obviously something I needed to acquire a taste for.

In the meanwhile, I decided to allow visitors to Santiniketan a place in my house, home-stay style. In the past two-and-a-half years, this has been a source of fun and friendship and occasional strife. Since I do not advertise, I get to choose the people who come by and when I want them. And it has been interesting to play host to Indians and foreigners, artists and authors, students and veterans. Each person who has stayed has become a part of the house as we refer to rooms by its last occupant and seldom eat without thinking of which guest had been particularly fond of a dish.

By virtue of this I am a small part of the tourist industry of Santiniketan. Especially since some friends and I also run a restaurant and a craft shop, in both of which we encounter more tourists. By the state government's own declaration, Santiniketan ranks second only to Darjeeling as a tourist spot in West Bengal. It is not unreasonable for tourists therefore, to have their expectations when they head towards Kabiguru's very own Santiniketan.

As part of the tourist industry I am called upon to explain why the municipal authorities do not object to names like "Rabindra Mutton Shop", or "Rabindra Hair Cutting" or "Tagore Xerox". Why a better part of this heritage complex is beautified only with plastic garbage. Why don't heritage complex buildings get a coat of paint? Why does no one, except those intimate with the university authorities, get to know on which dates the museum will remain closed for the public? Why do souvenir shops sell only printed batik and leather bags put together with Fevicol?

So many questions. So few answers. When encountered with questions like these, I now flash a smile that I hope implies something in between an apologetic "I sympathise with you" and an arrogant "we are like this only". Unfortunately, what this has implied is that all acquaintances feel completely free to debrief me on all that is wrong and all that needs to be done.

The one that really fazed me, however, and when I knew my smile would be most inappropriate was when a Polish guest of mine went to the State Bank of India to exchange travelers' cheques. After standing in a long queue for a long while (he knew SBI was the only travelers' cheque exchange facility that Santiniketan boasted of), he was told that the bank was sorry but their "quota" was over for the day. When he asked what his alternative was he was helpfully told he could try Kolkata! A mere 200 kms away!