It’s was a mundane Tuesday afternoon until my grandmother started knocking on the door at our New Alipore home. She had rushed down from upstairs to our second floor apartment to enquire if we have felt the earthquake.
The downside of staying close to the Majherhat station is the occasional quaking of homes caused by the departing trains. But yesterday the tremor was unusual, coupled with a distant thundering noise. However, I had initially disregarded it for I was in hurry to leave home for a meeting, waiting not-so-patiently for my father’s return from work with my car.
As I was talking to my grandmother, I heard voices of people in panic outside. I quickly glanced down at the road from our balcony, to find that people have gathered in the streets, clustered in groups and gripped with panic. Some thought it was an earthquake, while others were just curious. Someone heard a police personnel say that the Majherhat bridge has collapsed. It took me a while to fathom the gravity of the situation. This was beyond my
comprehension. How can an arterial bridge in a posh locality, on which I drive at least two times a day, collapse without warning? I could see the slope of the bridge standing erect from our balcony, and I was expecting my car, carrying my father, to drive down that bridge.
Immediately afterwards, I was reminded of another bridge, the Posta flyover, which had collapsed a couple of years ago, killing over 20 people and injuring many more. I was assigned to cover the aftermath of the collapse by the publication I was working for at the time. The vivid memories came rushing back and I felt a sensation of giddy nervousness. As I was preparing myself to enquire about the situation, I heard the doorbell ring and was relieved to see my father at the door. He didn’t know anything about the news which was circulating amongst our neighbours.
By this time, the roads in our locality was filled with people coming out of the station over which the Majherhat bridge runs. There was a definite sense of chaos and commotion. This piqued my interest and I rushed to the bridge, only to find out that it was barricaded off by the police. By this time, the TV media had arrived and they were struggling to enter the station, frantically squeezing through a tide of people running towards them, away from the platform under the collapsed flyover. The trains were disrupted and the station was in panic. Hundreds of bodies, drenched in sweat, were desperately trying to find the nearest way out. Some chose a shorter route, through the muddy construction site of the upcoming metro station, adjacent to the railway platform.
Pushing my way through the mob, I arrived at the spot where the bridge had collapsed. Firefighters aiding the rescue operations mentioned that around 20-25 people who were trapped under the debris were rescued. One minibus, four cars and a few two wheelers could be seen lying crushed at the site. Reports claimed that one life was lost and 19 were severely injured.
“A section of the bridge came crashing down on a makeshift shelter of a group of five unorganised labour erswho were working in the construction of the metro,” said a witness. The West Bengal government had, by this time, announced compensation of Rs 1 lakh for the deceased’s family and Rs 50,000 for the injured.
In retrospect, I realise that I have witnessed this situation before and perhaps will continue to witness it in the future, in various shapes and forms. Perhaps, like before, this event will be followed by political discussions and deliberations. The 2019 elections will surface in many such debates. Funds will be raised and compensation will be announced. Promises will be made and rallies will be organised in protest. Politicians will keep pointing fingers at one-another at the cost of innocent lives. And soon, Durga Puja will be here and people will forget about the lives lost. The city will move on.
All images by Sutirtha Chatterjee.
Sutirtha Chatterjee is an independent photographer.