Off the beaten tram track

In Calcutta, before it became Kolkata, the electric tram governed the rhythms of my childhood home.

- KANIKA DA'ITA

Living on a main road bisected by a tramline, the sounds of the day started with the clatter of the first tram at first light merging with the sound of the muezzin's call from the nearby mosque. At the end of the day, it was possible to set the clock by the time of the last tram of the day thundering by to the nearby depot at 11.30 pm. Through the day, the tinkle of the conductor's bell and the rattle of the carriages formed a reassuring background riff. Over the years, we never failed to derive amusement from the alarm of first-time visitors who felt the drawing room tremble every time a tram went by.

Yet those who lived near tram lines never considered trams noisy or intrusive. Through the city, especially in the congested north, they were as much part of the city's daily culture as its quirky humour and work-to-rule principles. Now, with the state government announcing its decision to eliminate tram services, a network that has shrunk rapidly since the nineties, fleeting images come to mind. Of the conductor wielding with practised ease a long bamboo pole stored in the rear carriage to hook back the wheeled loop connecting the tram to the electric line above, a frequent daily occurrence that stalled trams on the tracks; or the terrified expression of men who mistakenly boarded the ladies' compartment and had to endure till the next stop glares that would make Attila quake; the scuffed wooden fittings of the oldest trams with brass plates declaring that Calcutta Tramways was registered in London; and the clipped accent of the commentator on a surprisingly well-curated tourist tram trip (which the government plans to retain).