CLOSE CALL

 CLOSE CALL

 

Since I was a child, I was no stranger to danger. In fact, danger followed me around, if you could say that. The first of one such incident where I was in the face of danger happened when I was just a few months old. As a toddler, I have no recollection of this event, but I have heard my Mom narrate it to me on several occasions.

 

In those days, my family lived in the picturesque hill station of Shillong, where both my parents worked for the Central government. My Dad, of course, was a senior scientist posted there, while my Mom was in the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting. As our ancestral house was in Burdwan, West Bengal, our family used to take many trips to Calcutta. It was on one such trip that my brush with the near-fatal experience happened, which now I am going to narrate to you, the way I heard it from my Mom.

 

I was only a few months old when our family decided to take a trip to Calcutta, the city my Dad adored. We took an early Air India flight from Guwahati to Calcutta. The flight itself was uneventful, but we were not prepared for what awaited us upon landing at Dum Dum airport. As we deboarded at Dum Dum airport, we hailed a prepaid yellow taxi to take us to our destination, which happened to be Scott’s Lane, where we often stayed on our many trips to the city. We had a mess in Scott’s Lane, which was run by an Odia cook named Madhav. These quarters were used by my Dad whenever he was in the city, and at other times, my cousin brother used them, as he was a college student in Calcutta then. My cousin brother, who was several years older than me, as it is obvious, was very much involved in youth movements and was active in student politics at his college. His own sprawling house was in Burdwan, as was ours, which was just a couple of hours away from Calcutta.

 

Now, to come back to this incident, it was just my parents and me on this trip. I am not sure whether my sister was born then. Anyway, we hopped onto a yellow prepaid taxi. The taxi driver put all our luggage in the back of the car. ‘Okay, Dada, we are off to Scott’s Lane, and we will be there in a jiffy if the traffic behaves, shouted the exuberant driver in a loud voice, in order to be heard amidst the din of traffic noises emanating from the busy Calcutta thoroughfares. It was Calcutta in the mid late 70’s, and there used to be serpentine traffic jams and commotions amidst the hustle and bustle of the city of joy.

 

As our car made its way through the heavy traffic, I sat on my Dad’s lap quite oblivious to what was going on. After travelling a short distance, we were suddenly jolted by a speeding car approaching from the opposite direction. Our driver tried to swerve and avoid the speeding car, but it was fated to be a full-blown collision. The car from the opposite direction crashed head-on into ours. The point of impact was such that a crack opened, and I slipped from my Dad’s lap onto the concrete road below. My Dad tried to jerk the car door open, but the doors were jammed by the impact and wouldn't open. My Dad started panicking, thinking that they had lost me, for I was nowhere to be found. Everything was happening at a breakneck speed. Our driver was unconscious and was bleeding profusely. 

 

A huge crowd gathered, and the helpful Calcutta crowd soon got to work. Several hands tried to wrench open the passenger door of the car where my parents were trapped. After some heart-stopping minutes, the agitated crowd jerked open the passenger door. By now, my Dad was in full panic mode, for he was thinking about me and didn’t know where I had disappeared during the collision. It so happened that a car ferrying the Air India air hostesses was behind our yellow taxi. Seeing the collision, their driver braked hard just in time to see a little baby fall out onto the road at the point of impact. The air hostesses rushed out, and one air hostess gathered me in her arms. Our luggage, because of the impact, burst open from its suitcases and lay strewn across the pavements. Some onlookers gathered some jute sacks and began to assemble and collect the strewn luggage. The driver of the other car that had crashed into us was dead on the spot.  A screeching ambulance arrived, and after administering some first-aid to my parents, they wheeled out our unconscious driver.

 

By now, my Dad and Mom were about to break down, not knowing where I was. ‘Dr. Mukherjee, don’t worry, we’ve got your child, said an affable air hostess as she handed me to my Dad. My surprised but immensely relieved father gasped out,’ Thank God, but how did you know my name?’ ‘We were in the same flight,’ said the airhostess to my Dad, who couldn’t help but thank them profusely. ‘You see, our car was right behind yours, and when I saw the baby falling out, I just rushed out and got him. Many thanks to the good Lord above that no harm has come to the baby or to you all.’ “Yeah, thank God indeed,’ muttered my Mom, as we got into a police car this time, on our way to Scott’s Lane, under police supervision.