A poster of Ingmar Bergman’s Summer with Monika Actress Deepika Padukone is the new brand ambassador of BSNL; (right) public buses are sometimes the only means of transport

Ingmar Bergman came to Calcutta and stayed for almost the whole of last week, and what’s more, at INOX Forum, Calcutta’s most happening multiplex where only films for the young and those who think young are screened.

Thanks to Palador Pictures and the Embassy of Sweden, seven of the master’s films were screened at the multiplex from August 15 to August 21. And that too for free. But that’s unfortunately not the whole story.

The films were screened at the oddest of hours — beginning 8.50pm and ending close to 11pm, when it is next to impossible to find a bus back home, particularly for a good part of the audience that came from distant places on the outskirts of the city.

Again, thanks to the bandh on Wednesday, all activity ceased in the city for nearly 24 hours, and Summer with Monika had to be given a miss. And what was worse, for the first two or three days, frames were drastically cropped, so that if the bottom half, where the subtitles were typed out, had to be shown, the heads of protagonists had to be cut off altogether. Or if their faces had to be shown in full — and this is so essential in Bergman films with their intense close-ups — the subtitles could not be shown at all. And without subtitles, Swedish would be Greek to most Calcuttans.

The fact of the matter is that this is perhaps the first time that this multiplex was screening films with subtitles and it doesn’t possess the requisite lens for the purpose. Hence the mayhem.

This is not all. On the third day, when Through a Glass Darkly was being screened, a cheat fleeced a man who was not aware that the shows were free. He offered his “extra” ticket to his victim for Rs 100, pocketed the cash, and disappeared.

Freebies with strings

Actress Deepika Padukone is the new brand ambassador of BSNL; (above) public buses are sometimes the only means of transport

BSNL may have launched an ad blitz featuring Bollywood faces and offered free installation of broadband, but its service remains as lousy as ever. And don’t get taken in by these “priceless” offers, for they may come with strings attached.

A user in central Calcutta, who was quite content with his dial-up Internet connection, was taken in by the offer of a free broadband connection from a BSNL general manager himself. All he had to do was to dial a certain number to signify assent. Once he did this, he had to wait for a month for somebody to turn up with a form to be filled up.

After waiting interminably once again, another man came with a telephone set and a modem to be linked with his computer. But the telephone had no dial tone, so there was no question of using the broadband. A few days later, a BSNL bill arrived, charging Rs 1,000 as security deposit and Rs 2 plus as call charge from a telephone that was as dead as an unconnected set can be.

But he had been promised a free broadband connection! So what was this bill all about? The payment was made and after several anxious telephone calls, during which he had to repeat his complaint to uncomprehending BSNL staff at least a dozen times, followed by a trip to the BSNL office on Ganesh Chandra Avenue, he discovered from the customer help desk that a computer glitch was responsible for this botch-up. Red tape and human error were always there. Computers start behaving badly, too, in their company.

Problem No. 78

Barrackpore is the last outpost of greater Calcutta. Although it is separated from the heart of the city by several kilometres, all the small towns in between have Calcutta pin codes. The area up to Chiriamore (where the British had set up a zoo) is included in Calcutta Parganas, and beyond that it is Havelisahar (Halisahar) Parganas. But the transport link to Barrackpore is tenuous.

There is the local train of course, but that is overcrowded. State government buses have their own set of rules that don’t take into account the needs and demands of commuters. The drivers and the conductors and above all the trade union are a law unto themselves and commuters can be damned. Anyway, there are so few buses that they disappear from the Esplanade depot for hours on end. So, ordinary people are left at the mercy of the buses on route No. 78, or else auto-rickshaws. No. 78 has been on strike for the past several weeks and thousands of commuters are suffering as a consequence.

But suffering notwithstanding, this is perhaps the worst imaginable route in this city. The buses with ISO marks were designed to give passengers maximum discomfort. The narrow and cramped seats are hard enough to give one bunions in the wrong part of the anatomy. The conductors and drivers are such rogues that the usual speed at which the buses move would rival that of the proverbial slow coach. But once a bus on the same route is spied anywhere behind, the 78 bus would suddenly spurt ahead at breakneck speed. Then they don’t even stop to allow passengers to get off. They do so only when there is even a remote possibility of a passenger getting in. Cajoling, protests, threats and abuse make as much effect on conductors as water on a duck’s back. But 78 was the only way out. Now even that is gone.

The elusive babu

Voter identity in Salt Lake is in trouble. To get a duplicate voter ID, one is told, one has to meet a certain gentleman in Unnayan Bhavan, one of the grey administrative buildings in Salt Lake near Karunamayee. He is supposed to be there every Wednesday, between 11am and 3pm. When one goes there on the appointed day and time, it transpires that the said gentleman is not there. All there is is an empty, old wooden chair. “He sits there,” someone points out. But he is not there. “He may or may not come,” it is explained. Well? “Well, this person is sighted sometimes in Bikash Bhavan,” is another helpful hint.

How does one find him in Bikash Bhavan, another neighbouring grey building, with no more information than he is missing from his chair? “You will find out,” says the oracle.

In Bikash Bhavan, he is still missing. Finally the hapless voter is sent to an upper floor to a room full of old, wooden chairs and tables. But here they are occupied. The voter is asked to come back a month later.

Bandh economy

On Thursday, a day after the last bandh called by Left trade unions, the owner of a car was asked to cough up Rs 10 for parking below the Gariahat flyover. But the lawful amount was Rs 7, wasn’t it, for it was merely for half an hour? “Yes,” agreed the fees collector. “But Didi, pujor baajar, and we lost out on our income yesterday. We are trying to make up,” he explained smiling sheepishly. Are the bandh-organisers listening? Of course not.

(Contributed by Soumitra Das and Chandrima S. Bhattacharya)