A Developed Utopia

We love comforting narratives that instill in us a sense of schadenfreude, especially the type that tell us that we are doing better than the ones we don’t like. Maybe not a whole lot better, and maybe the guys we dislike are still way ahead of us. But we still tend to take pleasure in thinking they aren’t doing that great right now, and we are.

This is the familiar narrative that the China-India economic competition has fallen into. Time was when we used to look the other way when questions of Chinese economic growth came up. Both the countries were growing, but one was growing steadily and had a head start. You’d say that was India based on history, but it was really China. In fact, ever since the reforms that occurred roughly around the time of Tiananmen Square, their economy has been growing rapidly.

Gone were the days of Mao, when the peasant was all that was there to China. Within decades, this peasant utopia had transformed itself into the manufacturing hub of the world. Countries,  ranging from the US to even India, outsourced their production to China. Initially it was just the small and simple stuff – nuts and bolts if you like – that came from China. The Chinese picked up the tab themselves, eventually manufacturing such stuff themselves and pushing it into other emerging markets like India, Indonesia, Vietnam and others.

Those were the days when you would disparage Chinese goods for their poor quality and still lower pricing. But India is famous for lapping up anything that is cheap, regardless of what it may do for competitors’ pockets or their own health. So we lapped up all the Chinese “branded” – fake branded that is – flashlights, toys, plastic equipment and so on. These were things India could easily make, but we simply preferred to import from China, often through dubious routes through Nepal and the North-East.

Over time, the orders from international buyers grew, including the humble ordinary Indian, and China could afford to upgrade its know-how. It began making motherboards, chipsets, sophisticated electronics and so on. For Western countries, initially. Then, as would be inevitable, it began making these on its own. Manufacturers like Foxconn, which produced goods for Motorola and Samsung, began to produce goods for Chinese startups like Huawei, Xiaomi, Oppo, and so on. I’m naming only smartphone companies here because they seem to be the most glamorous, but this know-how has spread to virtually every part of the manufacturing sphere.

Over time, this ensured that China was able to generate a steady income and produce more and more jobs for its humungous population. Along with its one-child policy, this ensured that support for the Communist regime survived, along with hundreds of people who lived on meagre wages. Sweatshops became a special feature, though even here change was apparent. Wages rose, the state gradually began regulating the market. Despite the significant leeway that the Chinese government still provided (including subsidies), these ensured that living standards rose and prosperity grew.

It also meant production costs went up. China was faced with the problem of ensuring that the market continued to expand at the same click while wages and prices rose. This was inevitable, since every developing country in the world has gone through this phase. For some, like Germany, this process meant imperial expansion leading to the First World War. For others, like the US, this meant indirectly colonizing an entire hemisphere and ensuring that any government remotely freedom-loving was crushed and replaced by a pliant military junta.

But China did not have such possibilities. For one, whereas Germany and the US had risen to power at a time when the world itself was undergoing the Industrial Revolution, China had come to the market at a time when these countries were already way ahead. In a way, the countries of the West offloaded their problems to China, and China was eager to lap it all up. Now China was faced with the same problems, and it had no one to offload them to. Or so it seems.

You see, we haven’t talked of India yet. What did India do? India followed a socialist model that had the unique capacity of ensuring a basic standard of living for everyone while putting the onus of ensuring this on the state instead of the market. The state would provide all the subsidies and rations needed for the poor to survive, while sustaining the complex and difficult economy that ensured these very people didn’t get the jobs that would make them self-reliant. You could argue that self-reliant people aren’t always well-fed, or happy, or in any way at an optimal level of existence. But they don’t depend on the state for everything, especially when the state itself is capricious and corrupt.

In structural terms, India followed what is called an Import Substitution Model. It meant that India would ensure it produced as much of everything as possible and so remove the colonial dependence on foreign imports. This was something it shared with China. Neither country had been especially favourably treated by the West, and even though India didn’t have a Communist government, it still had to go through the nightmare of the PL-480 scheme. So India sought to produce everything, with mixed results. In case of agriculture, the Green Revolution ensured – and still ensures – such economically unviable schemes as the Mid-day Meal and rice at Rs.2/kg. Food security became a reality, even if the mix of nutrients wasn’t always optimal.

But when it came to manufacturing, there was no industrial revolution. India focused on big industry, and state industry, and the two became one. So large steel plants, coal factories, dams and suchlike began to dot the Indian landscape, creating jobs for thousands but also  ensuring that vital manufacturing sectors like consumer goods, remained untapped.

It is said that if you sow the wind, you reap the storm. It is a Chinese proverb and India learnt it the hard way. Today we have a world-class heavy manufacturing industry, from cars to other equipment. These are exported the world over. So are foodgrains and meats, especially beef. But what about other goods? Consumer goods manufactured initially by small enterprises with low levels of sophistication and later followed by larger ones like the Chinese smartphone giants?

This hasn’t come to pass. We can and do manufacture the small goods – I’m talking flashlights and batteries again – but we haven’t managed to leverage the labour potential to develop sophisticated industries. Whereas China’s mix of primary and secondary sector has steadily moved towards the latter, we have had a more dubious record. Since the liberalization, we have managed to move towards the tertiary or service sector but the manufacturing sector has been neglected. IT companies have become all the rage, but the basic fundamentals of manufacturing have grown at rates that may best be described as the Hindu rate of growth.

Given this situation, our per capita income has shown improvement, but not so much on the back of manufacturing as the Chinese economy. With agriculture once again showing signs of stagnating, and the service sector capable of generating only so many jobs, there is still plenty of space that can be utilized for the manufacturing sector.

This has led to some ironical developments. About a decade back, Indian smartphone companies entered the market. The likes of Micromax set the market ablaze by cutting down on margins and of course, sourcing all their stuff from China. In case of one company – Lava – this became so obvious that tech review companies openly called the models by their own Chinese names rather than the rebranded ones Lava used. All of this made perfect sense. India did not have the ecosystem needed to make sophisticated electronics, but a market ready to consume some. Where do you go ? China of course.

But now the reverse is happening. Chinese companies, with far greater experience and patent portfolios, are moving into the Indian market. Despite the patriotic whining that we see from some quarters, it is all too obvious that the Chinese are looking for new markets given the increasing saturation of Western markets, and India provides one. They keep prices cheap, features rich and durability low. Indians lap it all up.

But there has also been a greater structural shift. Chinese companies have begun manufacturing in India, using Indian labour. This is not to say they manufacture everything. A good amount is imported, and a good amount is assembled. But still, manufacturing plants are being opened by the likes of Xiaomi and Foxconn. Beyond obvious PR value, this has an important implication – Chinese companies are doing what Indians, for all their import substitution, failed to do – utilize Indian labour in sophisticated sectors of manufacturing.

Today, this makes good economic sense for Chinese companies. Rather than import from China, they can make the phones at far lower cost in India itself and ensure a greater chunk of the still growing Indian market. This is vital to the Chinese, because as I have pointed out, they face the challenge of finding new markets at a time when their own labour’s wages and costs are going north. Made in India is becoming cheaper than Made in China.

Chinese tapping of our demographic dividend in the sector the Indian government has long championed as leading to self-sufficiency may be somewhat bemusing. But it has important lessons. For one, it is clear that structurally, the Indian and Chinese markets are at vastly different positions. The Chinese market is nearing the point where it makes the jump from developing to developed. As ambitious schemes such as the One Belt One Road scheme suggest, the Chinese today have the financial muscle and technical know-how, not to mention international clout, to push through grand schemes. This becomes important because their core sector – manufacturing – has taken them as far as it possibly can, and structural shifts are needed. These could be afforded by offloading some of the manufacturing to less developed countries – such as India – while keeping the more sophisticated and higher-paying tech jobs.

Remember Japan ? The country began modernizing in the late 19th Century and by the 1950s, had reached a similar point. Its manufacturing prowess was no longer capable of sustaining it. So it shifted to research and higher-end jobs while offloading actual manufacturing to South Korea. This fueled Korea’s growth as a manufacturing centre, eventually giving rise to such tech giants as LG and Samsung.

But the China-India story is not so simple. Remember that India already has a well-developed tech sector, and would come up with her own tech solutions. Already, there is some amount of research into manufacturing processes taking place in India, and it is bound to grow. China can never be so sure that India would stick to the lower end of the spectrum.

But such schadenfreude should still not be comforting. Inevitably, the Chinese dragon would slow down and run out of gas. Offloading and international partnerships would help it chug along for a while, but the slowdown is inevitable. When that happens, China will be faced with the prospect of moving to higher levels of manufacturing and research – including the tertiary sector – with probably lesser jobs than what manufacturing could provide. This would again create the problem of demographic dividend, one that China never managed to solve fully anyway. At such a juncture, China would begin to face the problems of developed countries – low economic growth, specialization into few fields, a weakening and increasingly outsourced manufacturing sector, growing unemployment and eventually, a large number of old people who fueled China’s growth during the boom years and would now demand sustenance in old age. If it can undergo the transition to a specialized, finance-centric and research-centric developed economy, China will thrive. If it can’t, it’ll end up in the infamous depressions that gripped the Asian tigers in the 1990s.

If this is what developed China would look like, what about India? India would get a chunk of the jobs the Chinese can no longer sustain, and probably the know-how to obtain some more jobs. Maybe it will begin exporting more goods, and get more FDI and FII. But would it be enough to push India to the position China finds itself in?

No. China grew through a painful process of learning and picking up where others left off. India will not get the same opportunities of learning and working, simply became the global economy is increasingly becoming conservative. China’s formative period didn’t include crippling recessions and protectionist policies like those of Donald Trump. Neither did they include credit crunches and downsizing of the type we see today.

So we will have to chart a different path to becoming a developed economy. We will have to find jobs for the secondary sector while ensuring that the primary sector gradually becomes leaner but also more productive. We will have to ensure that we get the know-how while developing our own capabilities. These capabilities include simpler laws, easier access to credit, greater infrastructure and so on. This would fuel both FDI and also domestic growth, which today can often be interconnected. Finally, we will have to give up the dream of a tertiary-sector driven economy and understand that this sector can at best be the handmaiden, not the queen. It will grow, but it too will have to become more focused upon developing the other two sectors than outsourcing to US companies.

If we can do all this, we can also reach the position China finds itself in today. Is it a happy destination? No destination in economics is happy, and in that sense, seeing a developed economy as a happy one is utopian. However, if we can get where China is today, we can at least have greater GDP, better per capita income, more access to basic services and healthcare and a society less dependent on the caprices of the state. The demographic problem will still not be solved, but we would have utilized a significant chunk of the dividend that exists today. At that juncture, maybe we would be able to solve the problems China faces today in our own way, in a different global economic scenario. Or we may not, and would sink into depression and eventual economic contraction.

But we have to get to where China is first. And for that, we have many miles to go.

The Road Out of Tehatta – Part V – The Roads That Be – Part I – The Journey To

Remember the part where I had fantasied about living a life alone, in a city with a small  apartment to call my own ? How it’d somehow seemed inspired from Camus ? Well, Camus also wrote about the protagonist, Mersault, heading off on a long bus  ride to his destination. There was little description of the bus  ride itself, except that perhaps it was dusty and hot, and the guy would have dozed off and woken up wondering if the ride was over yet. He would have perhaps made good use of the few stops  that the bus made, refilling on water and what few snacks were available.  He would have also wondered if he was getting late, and thought “fuck that” and would have dozed off again. But the dozing off would not have been comfortable because the guy next to him would  have hogged the space, and the poor protagonist would have been slipping off the seat again and again. And when he reached, he would be a quarter tired, a quarter rested, and half wondering what he would have to do next.

Actually, Camus didn’t elaborate at all. Mersault got on a bus, dozed off and got down.  That’s all there is to the bus ride. Given Camus’ style of writing, it is perhaps not surprising. But that doesn’t stop me from daydreaming here, sitting in front of the computer with a bottle of beer and the task of penning down all I know and felt during my days in Tehatta. But why do I bring this up ? Because before today, I had so often juxtaposed my own experiences onto Mersault’s none too memorable bus ride. But unlike Mersault, long bus rides had become a far more integral part of my life.

As I have mentioned before, the ride to Tehatta is a multi-part affair, with each part lending its own characteristic flavor to the whole affair. More importantly, there are few parts where it is mandatory to take a single mode of transport time and again, though it is very likely that you’d develop your own preferences. Also, within a single mode of transport – it is extremely likely that you’d develop a favorite bus or train, and stick with it over the jibes of your colleagues and the curses of your own body.

But where do I begin now ? Do I provide a chronological list of experiences beginning with me setting out, and ending when I reached (and the reverse during the return journey) ? Or do I take a more hazy  approach to things, letting my mind wander to whatever good memories come along ? Perhaps the historian should follow the timeline strictly. In  this history of my Tehatta though, I don’t want to be a professional. Let me wander, and bear with me as I do.

Early mornings have never been exactly romantic moments for me. Back when I was in school, it meant getting ready and getting through the gate before the gate closed. During my Tehatta days, it inevitably meant balancing a grumpy body with the uber-professional drivers of the Ola  cab service that I used to get to the Kolkata railway station. More than once, I would take too much time doing something and end up  with a cancelled trip.

But more than the incessant fear of cancellations and problems, what I would regret more is that I never got the “heading away from home” feeling. Instead, all I felt was that that day I would probably have to deal with all the problems I’d left behind in Tehatta the last time around, the classes I would take, and the journey itself.

Ola journeys occurring in the timespan of a dozen to a dozen and half minutes aren’t meant to be very memorable. Neither are the endless rushes that I forced upon myself, running across the overbridge like a madman and cursing the Maitri Express for always hogging the first platform. But there was always one pause – a pause that I took even on the last day – the one to get a newspaper. To say that I am an addict of newspapers would be wrong, since many a day passes when I’m at home with newspapers right in the next room and I couldn’t be bothered to open them up. Yet there is something about train journeys that suggest opening a newspaper (“like a Sir’) and reading on your way to work. It just seemed right. So right in fact that regardless of the newspaper concerned, my knowledge of world affairs would inevitably be updated every time I went to Tehatta.

Having verified my name from the passenger list, I would quickly board the train, take my  seat and begin reading. I had a fascination for window seats, and would not part with them for my life. I still don’t, though now things are mainly limited to buses. The train would pull out, and I would be on my way.

Let the train ride speak for itself…..courtesy my lens

Two hours and some change later, I would be running down the platform (or up the platform) to get through the overbridge and board a toto for the bus stand. In  the final months, I’d realized that I was  exiting through the wrong gate. Safety be damned, the right exit required crossing in front of the train and if it meant less wait time, I would do it.

At the end of the toto ride, I was at the bus stop.  The new bus stop to be exact, since there was an old one as well. This new bus stop attracted people heading up the Karimpur, Kanainagar Ghat, Patikabari Ghat, Hridaypur,  Maheshnagar and Palashipara bus routes. You’d be accosted by bus conductors looking to overstuff their buses before heading out. I’d been warned not to take these buses even though they may save some time. Instead, I would head to the right counter and get my ticket.

Though this wasn’t without its problems. As I’d mentioned, the first time I’d gone to Tehatta, I’d been accompanied by a person working at my father’s office. The second time though, I was completely on my own. In other words, I had to choose my bus on my own and do so with precision. Now I’d been told that there are two major types of buses – the Patikabari type bus and the Karimpur type bus. Further, each type was divided into the Super bus, and the slower “route” bus. The best case scenario was to get hold of a Karimpur super and head out, being sure of reaching Tehatta PWD more (or PW more as it is actually called) in a little over an hour.

But for this I had to know which bus would go to Karimpur. I learnt that the first counter was for Patikabari buses, while the second catered to Karimpur buses (and various other categories, which I learnt later). I went to the counter and asked “Karimpur ?”, the way you ask a city bus in Kolkata whether it would go to Kasba.

The guy nodded, and told another – “একটা করিমপুর কাট” Looking at me, he said – “৫০ টাকা দেন ”। I was quite unpleasantly surprised,  since I knew the fare was a rather odd 28 rupees. I verified and was told that I had heard correctly. I bought the ticket, and headed up the vehicle’s  stairs, preparing to take my allotted seat.

For some reason, I felt that I should have asked about Tehatta specifically. Who knows how many interweaving roads there are ? Every road that goes to Karimpur may, after all, not take me to Tehatta. The previous journey had persuaded me that getting down in the middle of the journey would be akin to getting down amidst jute fields and brick manufacturing units. Needless to say, I wanted to be absolutely sure that I was jumping onto the right bus.

So I went back and asked – “দাদা, এটা তেহট্ট যাবে তো ?”

The guy was greatly surprised – “আপনি তো বললেন করিমপুর, এখন বলছেন তেহট্ট ?”

I was getting pretty concerned by now. Had I bought the ticket to a Karimpur bound non-Tehatta bus ?

“আমি তেহট্টই যাব। পি ডাবলু ডি মোর।“

“তা বলবেন তো।“

I returned my ticket and was issued a new one, with the balance between 50 and 28 rupees. I was finally sure that I was actually headed to Tehatta.

Back in hindsight, I realise that I had fretted over nothing. The route connecting Karimpur and Krishnanagar was the state highway, with buses being unable and unwilling to navigate any deviations. Hence, the road would inevitably have led me to Tehatta. In fact, barring the Hridaypur and Mahesnagar routes,  all the bus routes passed through Tehatta.

In fact, over time I decided that the Karimpur buses were probably not the best. You’d ask – what do I mean by best ? I can’t exactly say, but one criterion that came to my mind was the amount of space in the overhead bin. Now overhead bin is a term borrowed from airlines, and I should really speak of the overhead rack. This criterion persuaded me that it’d be better to take the Kanainagar Ghat bus called Radhagobindo. Or maybe it was called Chandrayan. The former was emblazoned on its side while the latter was at the front. I shall never know. Anyhow I always called it Radhagobindo because that was what the tickets said.

Now I’ve talked about the formation of preferences. Overtime, reservations in the 2S sections of the Hazarduari became a preference. As did the Radhagobindo. So much so that I would regularly inform my girlfriend (now my ex) that I’d successfully managed to board the Radhagobindo. If I did not, she was mortally worried about me, inquiring whether I had actually managed to catch a bus at all.

Interior of venerable Radhagobindo bus

Over time the conductors and the driver of the bus came to recognize me. True to my nature, I never bothered to find out their names, or what they did apart from running the bus. This was a part of my life that was purely instrumental, and I would have little use of the information even if I obtained it. Looking back though, those faces should have had names attached to them. My memories would somehow be incomplete without that information, as I realized on the last trip. But could I, a regular for over a year and a half, ask without shame the names of those whom I’d come to form a friendly – albeit cynically pragmatic – relationship ? The names remain unknown to me, and the memories therefore incomplete.

Yet these guys – whom I knew as the short one with a balding plate, the taller one and the “others” – showed me a good deal of regard. More than once they would go out of their way to arrange a seat for me when I arrived late and the bus was already about to leave. On the days I turned up early though, I would seek out the red and gold bus and find its personnel. These personnel could be doing anything from taking a leak to having their breakfast. Yet when they turned up I would be waiting for them. After a few months, I no longer needed to tell them where I would go.

Instead, I would simply fish out my wallet while approaching the bus, locate the conductor and hand him the cash. If I was the first, he would carefully inscribe the ticket with religious symbols and text before writing the seat number and the fare amount. Then he would respectfully touch the ticket to his forehead before giving it to me. It was, for the professional of the bus, a small expression of piety and hope that the journey would go well, that perhaps enough money would be earned and the roads would treat them well. They had chosen the fast life on the high roads, and knew the risks. This was the small -and perhaps only real protection – they could muster for the journey ahead.

Even if I did not know the name of the person in front of me, I have kept some of those tickets with me. These shall form proud markers of the unique relationship that I came to had with the bus named Radhagobindo and its attendants.

One of the “first” tickets that I was lucky enough to get!

This relationship extended to favourable seats. Indian buses are notorious for not providing every seat with equal access to window real estate. For the Radhagobindo, this discrimination ensured that the seats 1, 4, 6 and 8 had the greatest access. Indeed, these were the only ones where the seats corresponded to the entirety of a window. I would usually get 6 or 8. On the last day, I got the first ticket, and it was an 8. Again, a memory I shall cherish.

Now came the actual journey. When I’d extrapolated my own ideas onto Mersault, I had done so based on solid experience. Or to put it more aptly – bumpy, state highway grade experience. You see, Indians have a single solution to all the woes that befall riders on the highway. This solution is called the speed breaker, or as we all call it, the bumper. As the number of accidents on the  highway rose, so did the number of bumpers. In fact, a single town on the route – Chapra – had at least 5-6 bumpers. One of my colleagues had calculated the bumpers as anywhere between 30-33, and this only covered the part of the road up to Tehatta.

The result of this was that I had to constantly bounce on my seat as I headed into Tehatta. But strangely, the person who could not sleep on trains and in cars learnt to sleep on that bumpy ride. Occasionally, this meant headbutting the seat or some part of the window and waking up with a painful reminder that I was in fact, on a bus.

Despite these “hazards” though, the ride soon became one of the major ways in which I could rejuvenate myself while on the road. If I got the window seat, this was not very difficult, since the person sitting next to me would inevitably act as a barrier against my falling off. But when I was the one getting the aisle seat, dreams would more often be broken by the strange feeling of being launched into mid-air. Moments later, I was scrambling to maintain my hold on the seat and not to land up in the aisle.

Yet sleep I did, on the dusty roads that led to Tehatta. When I did not, I knew exactly which stop was coming. I never got down at any of them, though eventually fear of having to disembark at one of the more nondescript stops was suppressed. Despite this pragmatic aloofness, I had memorized the people who got on, and the actual appearance of that place.

For instance, I knew that a lot of people who got on at Krishnanagar would get down at Chapra. These would include some schoolgirls and schoolboys, some professionals working in various government jobs (including teachers of the govt. college there), and students returning from tuitions with little intention of actually attending the college.

Also, I knew that at Sonpukur and Maliapota, a lot of schoolgirls would get on, getting down at Taranipur. Again, I never bothered to find out what the school was, and whether any of the girls studying there eventually came to our college. But the very look of the place told me that the bus would suddenly light up with the chatter of a number of young girls. What they talked about – I wasn’t interested in. But the fact that they came and got down ensured that I had a human GPS system working for me, without having to fish out my phone.

In fact, over time I memorized the type of people and the landmarks associated with each of the stops that I went through. While it would be of no interest to the reader, I cannot let this information be lost!

Stop Landmarks People
Ghurni (ঘূর্ণি) A lot of totos and a merger of two roads coming into Krishnanagar with a bust of some important person in between.
Dayerbazar (দইয়েরবাজার) A school that was quite old.  The bus would stop in front of the school right on the bumper there. Mostly students.
Seemanagar (সীমানগর) A BSF camp with the 1st Battalion (and two more). This region was somewhat forested, though why only this region was forested was beyond me. That said, the presence of trees gave a temporary impression of having been taken to a hill station or being enroute to one. Military personnel
Chapra Srinagar More (চাপড়া শ্রীনগর মোড় ) The most important of the landmarks, with a huge number of people disembarking here. I had learnt that if we moved towards the border from here, we would eventually reach the Chapra Govt College Various
Chapra Bazar (চাপড়া বাজার) Literally the bazar. Also the place to meet if you’re planning on getting anything from the Chatro Sathi book house in Chapra. Various
Chapra Bangalchi More (চাপড়া ব্যাঙালচী মোড় ) The Bangalchi college was nearby. Also, the place served as a propaganda centre for shows involving Bangladeshi B-grade actors and performers Various
Choto Andulia (ছোট আন্দুলীয়া) I’m not sure this was a proper stop, but people did get down here. Also, you learned about this place from the various bank office boards. Various
Hatra Bazar (হাটরা বাজার) Smaller than either Tehatta or Chapra, this was probably the middle point of the journey (or felt like it). Various (with preponderance of young and studious types).
Bada Andulia (বড় আন্দুলীয়া) More schools, including one with what looked like a green burial epitaph that had been made part of the school wall Students and various
Sonpukur (সোনপুকুর) Another school, plus a church and a ground with a statue of Christ Various
Maliapota (মালিয়াপোতা) Nothing notable, except a single big green cross in a field. I have speculated that it is probably a grave, but have not been able to verify. Schools and some cool dudes who hang around the girls’ schools
Taranipur ( তরণীপুর ) A huge green mosque-type structure with a huge field in front of it. During winters it hosts local cricket matches and football matches, or both in tandem. Also, home to the Pathariaghata-2 Block Trinamul Office and the office of a certain Dr.  A Khan. Various, but including many schoolgirls with a blue and white uniform
Baliura ( বালিউরা) A building that may have been a school, or an office, at some time. It is now no longer in use, and looms like a relic from a bygone era – perhaps an era of glory for Baliura. Also, there is a ghat where people bathe, and where I was confident the buses would end up someday given their propensity for high stakes racing. Beginning of the riverside stretch of the road. Hardly anyone gets down here, or gets up from here for that matter. Buses often don’t bother to stop at all. I suspect this place is haunted at odd hours.
Tehatta PWD More (so known for the PWD offices located nearby) My stop. Approach marked by the river on  the left, a petrol pump and a small temple on the right All people associated with Tehatta and the college. In other words, the people who matter.
Tehatta Howlia More ( হাউলিয়া মোড়) My other stop. The one I took when I had to go to my camp before heading to college. Various, including some of my students.

 

The last part of my epic journey to the glorious land of Tehatta was a toto ride. Unlike the very professional, almost autorickshaw-like mentality of the Krishnanagar toto drivers, here you could have your way if you were insistent enough. As it happened, I didn’t bother being insistent and so ended up taking a Tehatta tour each day before reaching college. The tour would include trips to various schools, the occasional visit to the ghat and most often, the correctional home located on the outskirts of Tehatta.

Finally, after about five hours on the road (and rail), a turn on the Boyerbanda road would reveal the gate of my college. Depending on the month, either of the gates would be open and I would hop down, pay the amount I felt was right (which could vary between 10 and 20 rupees depending on the extra passengers picked up/dropped en route) and head in.

The journey to Tehatta Government College was complete.