Calcutta ~ 1944 New Year

Wali seemed a trifle worried and in a bit of a hurry.He almost bumped into the bearer of the restaurant carrying a tray full of wine glasses .His brows were sweaty and it was not on account of the cream sharkskin dinner jacket that he was wearing for this New Year party.

GS had known him enough for the last few years to deduce that something was amiss. Excusing himself from the table ,where his fellow officers and their friends were sitting - ”as a flock of penguins" as one of their lady friends had observed earlier in the evening.

\

"GS,let's get out of here now!", said Wali, and moved towards the doors of Firpos.

It was New Year's evening in Calcutta in 1943. Pearl Harbour had been attacked a year earlier and some US Forces were now also stationed in Calcutta.

GS did not question Wali as they went down the steps and onto Chowringhee Road. The yellow bulbs of the street lamps were clouded by the hint of a mist.Wali walked towards Hoggs Market, where there was a taxi stand.The burly Sikh driver was the first in queue and was driving a long open air Ford.There was another Sikh sitting next to him.A recent case where a GI had knifed a driver had prompted an assistant in all taxis.

Wali got in ,almost pulling GS in who by now was more curious than worried.

"Ek minute" said Wali to the sardar driver who switched off the ignition to save the rationed fuel and waited at the end of Lindsay Street.

"What?" said GS

"This is from Joe.Met him in the washoom !"said Wali.He put his right hand in the inner recess of his dinner jacket and pulled out a thousand rupee currency note. GS had never seen one before and he looked at it ,almost incredously.The Kings profile on it returned the amazed stare.

Lt. Joe of the USAF had met Wali the day he landed in Calcutta three months earlier.Walking down Chowringhee early evening ,Joe was looking for a place to eat ; he did not fancy eating dinner at the chummery near Statesman House where he had been put up. The Indian lunch had been a tad spicy.Joe spotted the uniformed Wali on the Chowringhee pavement ,under a large sign that read Grand Hotel - a standard meeting point then.He seemed to be the correct choice to ask for directions.A little later Joe,Wali and his lady friend who he was waiting for, were seated at Firpos reading what the set menu had in store for them. This was the start of their friendship.

"Why"? asked GS.

Wali explained that he had met Joe earlier that week to show him around Calcutta . It was at the Kidderpore Docks that Joe got his first taste of the reprcussions of war.They were hundreds of evacuees from Burma who had crossed over the hills to India and made their way to Calcutta. Homeless and without a country, the refugees lived in makeshift shanties of uncemented brick walls, a few feet from the ground, with roofs made of jute sacks and cardboard boxes.Women squatted in front of their new homes ,cooking a gruel on wood fires.Children ,barely clad,ran around oblivious of the misfortune and the uncertainty ahead.The men had no regular work and it was the half wages of being a casual dock worker and the meagre weekly government ration of rice that sustained them. The sight left Joe shocked.He returned to his Chummery and requested Wali if they could meet before Wali set sail.

"This is to buy food for the refugees.Joe has asked me to arrange this and as I sail the day after ,it has to be done tomorrow."He added that Joe knew that it was a small amount to feed all but it was almost all his salary.At this point the Sikh driver who had listening to their conversation, turned around and asked if he could help.Wali and GS looked at him.

"There is Singh's Dhaba", pointed the driver ,in the backward gesture of a closed fist and thumb outstretched. ”Why don't you just order food from there and take it for them.It will be open now"

GS liked the idea and told him to drive those few hundred yards.They got off at the end of Motisil Street; the Sikh driver just shrugged and refused to accept the fare of a few hundred steps.

Singhji,the owner of the Dhaba, was both amused and surprised.Here were two navy officers, in formal English dinner suits, asking how many refugees could be fed with a thousand rupees!

"Give us the correct estimate", boomed a voice behind them They turned to see their taxi driver standing there along with two other Sardars.

The owner made some rough calculations and suggested that they could take almost twenty big deghs (utensils) of rice,fish,dal and vegetables.He then remarked,almost sheepishly, that he was not adding any profit ! The problem,he said, was carting them to the refugees apart from the fact that food of such such large quantity would only be ready the next evening.

"That is our problem", said the big ,burly Sardar.”We will be here at 5pm tomorrow”. His friends nodded and shook hands with Wali and GS.They took the same taxi, a few hours later, to the docks ,where their respective ships were moored.

The next day Wali and GS arrived at the Dhaba ,a little after five to find that the food had already been put inside a waiting truck that also had a few more Sardars standing at the back.

Singhji was supervising the loading himself and ,in the end ,added a few hundred dry leaf plates along with long ladles to serve the food. The Sikh driver pointed at the truck and explained its family ownership and introduced the occupants with a single word - ”cousins”.He also informed that he had sent word to the refugee camp earlier in the day and had told their designated head to expect dinner.

A few hundred refugees were fed by the Sardars and a few others,that first night of 1944.Singhji had added sweets from his side ! Wali and GS waited for an hour and then left for their duties.The empty utensils week were returned to the Dhaba late at night.The owner of the truck refused to take any hire charges.

Joe was soon transferred to the south China seas .Wali,sailed for a few more years till after the war when he returned to his roots. GS's ship was sunk in a torpedo attack months later but he survived but had to be grounded till the end of the war.

GS was my father. Wali was his batch mate in the Navy.I never met Wali but my father always spoke about his amiable style,wit and charm ,especially with the ladies! My father never saw nor met Joe.There is no information of what happened to him.

The above incident was related by my Father many years ago. He did not remember Joe's surname nor the name of the sardar driver but we did try to find the dhaba ,years later, without success.

Maybe generosity as a trait didn't help their business.

The familiar, tall and friendly sardar drivers ,once the face of Calcutta taxis are all but gone.A few, elder sardar driver are seen sometimes in front of Hotel Hindustan International,waiting in their yellow ,dented Ambassador taxi cars.

Still helpful and never refuse a fare.