Editor’s Note: This piece of collaborative art-work emerged from the recent incident that made the Tramways stop forever in Kolkata. The residents especially the old generation has almost romanticised the existence and running of the Tram in that city. Kolkata was one with her Tramways and now she is not going to be home to one of the most enjoyable modes of commuting. The text is by Bitas Dutta and the image is drawn by Koushik Saha.
I remember gliding through Kolkata’s streets, carrying the city's heartbeat. My wheels hummed softly on the old metal tracks, and every Ting Tong at each halt was a melody that marked a thousand moments—laughter, dreams, heartbreaks, and stolen glances. I saw it all: the sleepy-eyed office-goers, the dreamy students, the hawkers who painted every corner with their shouts.
I wasn’t just a tram. I was a witness, a companion.
Through the winding lanes of College Street and Barabazar, I moved gently. Some smiled, others sat in silence, staring out of my windows, thinking of unspoken stories.
But nothing is forever. The children I once carried on school mornings grew up, rushing past me now in speeding cars, never pausing to look back. The world blurred into a streak of light and I became a relic, my tracks lying bare and cold.
Yet, I hope. Even as I fade into the city’s past, I dream that someone will one day remember. Perhaps, in a quiet moment, when the city becomes quiet, someone will hear a faint Ting Tong and feel a familiar warmth. Because though I’ve stopped moving, a part of me still hums beneath these streets.
Waiting, hoping that some day, the world might slow down and remember that even the oldest songs never truly fade away
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