People write their autobiographies, then why do I not? I hope everyone knows my autobiography. I am a busy road at Amtala Road in Murshidabad. I don’t know if I should be proud or feel sorry for him on my current stage.
At my early stage, my surroundings were not so crowded. There were ponds and trees here and there. And in the midst of that, there was a colony thinly populated. I was not even metalled then as now.
Day by day I have been reformed. Not only metalled, but I have also been widened now. Street lights have been posted to make me lighted all night. Various kinds of shops and houses, some of them multi-storied, are now on either side of my stretching.
My daily routine is now busy from dawn to midnight. Though vehicles are few, morning-walkers come out for strolling on my chest in the wee hours of the day. Then the children come for schooling accompanied by their parents. With the progress of the day, shops open their doors, and the number of vehicles increases, especially in the peak hours for the office-goers from 9 to 11 am. It slowers comparatively at noontime, and then increases from 2 pm to 10 pm.
I feel sad when I look at my deplorable condition with so many patch holes on my body, especially during the rainy season. It becomes a danger to the traffic. But the buses, lorries, taxis and minibuses are running at break-neck speed causing terror to the passersby. The drivers very often try to overtake other vehicles and sometimes collide with one another causing fatal accidents. On the more, the two-wheelers and autos pay little heed to traffic signals.
One day a serious accident took place at about 10 am. A schoolboy of 15 was run over by a private bus. The bus was coming up at high speed when the ill-fated boy was crossing the road. Unfortunately, a book dropped from his school bag and he stooped down to pick it up. The passersby raised shouts of alarm. The driver tried his best to stop, but could not check the speed in time. The boy was run over by the bus, and his body became a lump of flesh in a pool of blood. Still, he was taken to a hospital, and I don’t know what happened afterwards.
I have been hearing from time to time about several schemes to improve the transport system, but so far there has been no considerable improvement. I should draw attention to another important point in the traffic jam. Almost every day long processions are brought out which dislocate the traffic system and put the people too much harassment by paralysing the normal city life.
I cannot but tell you some incidents that I witness off and on. Only the other day a gun battle erupted in the morning as rival gangs fought each other for taking control of the market. The two gangs grew so desperate that they did not bother for the cover of night and got into a clash at broad daylight; and men, women and children ran for finding some safe shelter. The violence went on for an hour, but the police were nowhere to be seen.
Another incident was in the evening. A 40-year-old woman was getting down from a rickshaw when a miscreant suddenly reached the spot, and snatched the gold chain from her neck and fled away. I feel extremely sad when I see eve-teasing by some derailed young boys.
However, there are some bright sides in my life. I have been able to establish communication in various aspects of people. Some go to the hospital through my heart to save a patient’s life; some others go to school, college and office for their daily business.
What I fervently hope now is that there will be no accident, no violence no humiliation of women upon my body in future.