Kolkata is hot
and dirty yet strangely peaceful. The
residents have accommodated themselves and their lives to the air around
them. They are polite and respectful,
although somewhat wary of foreigners who are quite obvious as there are so
few. This city is not a tourist
mecca. In contrast, there are flowers
and incense everywhere and many statues of the gods.
My daily walk
from the Star D’Lite Guest House was to the “Internet Café” a couple of blocks
away. The only thing on the “Café’s”
menu was a room with about 8 ancient computers and small, squat old
monitors. In the US this would have been
called trash; but I give whoever set this up a lot of credit for piecing
together spare parts that actually—eventually—connected to the World Wide
Web. Cooling consisted of a lethargic
ceiling fan (standard equipment in this area—except for the daily power
outage).
The Black Hole of
Calcutta. The term is familiar but like
many, I never really knew what it was. I
think it represented the whole city to me—probably with good reason. What it actually was: a dungeon that housed British soldiers in
1756 during a conflict with the Nawab of Bengal. Due to the suffocating conditions and lack of
water, a majority of the captives died, although the number remains in dispute
to this day. I digress. Kolkata/Calcutta is not a “black hole” but it
has been a sadly neglected piece of the planet, with dogs not the only beings
sleeping in the streets.
This was not always so; Kolkata
(formerly Calcutta) has a noble and rich history and has been a religiously and
ethnically diverse center of culture in Bengal and India. It served as the capital of India from 1772
until 1911. Remnants of the British Raj
regime are still evident, even though Indian independence was established in
1947. The Victoria Memorial Museum is a
treasure of beautiful works of arts and information on the history of India and
Kolkata. My son-in-law is a descendant
of some of the early landowners who sold out to the East India Company and the
British, eventually leading to the state of the city which even now continues
to work on revitalization after many years of upheaval. Kolkata is a tapestry of many threads of
cultures and religions. Church work and
missions are ongoing; Mother Teresa continues to be remembered and honored.
You can’t help but notice where
you are when you step off the plane. The
airport is just the beginning of what the city is like. Leaving the airport the heat slaps your face
like a wet towel and there are boys and men everywhere grabbing your luggage
and begging for coins. Taxis are
bountiful, well used-Ambassadors, some adorned with Hindu gods, flowers and
incense. The roads might as well be made
of loose rocks. I feel safer riding in a
bumper car than on the streets of Calcutta.
There are lights and signs, but on the roads it’s a free for all. The poverty of the streets contrasts sharply
with the grand
British buildings that still stand, like the Bengal
Club with its elegant furnishings and old world charm. A plaque on the wall lists the past Presidents
with the names changing from British to Indian in 1947.
I was in Calcutta
for my daughter’s wedding. I don’t know
if it would be much different as a tourist; I probably would have seen more
visitor-oriented sites, maybe prettier, I don’t know. I’m sure I wouldn’t have had the hospitality
of a Kolkata household and the opportunity to meet so many different and
interesting people. The heat, power
outages and condition of the streets are constants. I did go on shopping trips for saris and
kurtas, and I was dazzled by the colors and sounds of the outdoor markets. Rupees are individually worthless; it takes
hundreds or thousands of them to buy anything and it overtaxed by
non-mathematical brain to make a simple purchase. Fortunately my son-in-law was able to guide
me in all things financial. I’m rambling
and digressing—I was talking about dogs, wasn’t I?
Two or three dogs
graced the entrance of the Star D’Lite Guest House, along with the men who
worked there. Always men, always
many. I asked about doing laundry; they
assured me it was no problem. After two
days, my clothes returned, damp and smelling strongly of curry. Note to self:
next trip to India bring enough clothes or wear them dirty. They did prepare the pre-wedding luncheon and
it was quite good.
All the food was good. Despite the heat, minimal refrigeration, the
staff of Dev’s grandparents’ home turned out substantial quantities of
eminently edible food 3 times per day. The table was always covered with
amazing quantities of vegetables, curries, croquettes, breads, chutney and
always a lot of rice and dal. There is a wonderful yogurt that was served in an
earthenware bowl; if I could, I would order daily deliveries. When
summoned to eat, I rarely say no.
Although I worried about my delicate digestive system, my body was on
company manners for the entire trip.
Except for the whole fish they seemed to love, I was able to eat and
enjoy everything else served (I don’t much like fish, but it’s worse when
they’re staring at me). Since the family
knew the food was unfamiliar to me, they went out of their way to name each
dish and make sure my plate was full. You don’t have to be an experienced traveler
to know that good guests praise the food of their hosts, and that was quite
easy to do. In addition to the home
based meals, the pre- and post-wedding feasts were extravagant, colorful, and
delicious.
My hosts were
wonderful. My only negative feeling was
inadequacy to be around so many educated, intelligent and successful people—to
me, being able to put on a sari yourself is a very specialized skill set. I felt as in the presence of royalty; the
women are jewel-like, the men, in the pajama-like kurtas are polished and
sophisticated. Western dress is quite
drab by comparison; I understand why Indian women in the US continue to wear
saris. Once you get the hang of going to
the bathroom in one (and not tripping over yourself like I did) you can
appreciate the attraction of this kind of dress. It is a very forgiving style.
Back to the
dogs—I worry about animals on the street.
But in Calcutta, they’re all on the street, not surprising in a place
where people live on the street. Some
don’t look so well, as would be expected.
At the Guest House, they seemed to have food and water and were allowed
to hang out inside the gate. It’s hard
to tell if they’re pets—or just co-exist, like the people on the street.
I’m not a world
traveler, I’m a wide-eyed tourist. The
world looks like a different place when seen from the other side; and yet, so
much smaller. How amazing to sit down
for 20+ hours, then walk out into a totally different environment. I’m used to provincial people; whether in
Brooklyn or Georgia there are many people who can’t imagine going outside their
comfort zone; never mind a whole different country. For me, even though India was a new
experience, I have felt like a tourist for much of my life. I’ve never quite been in the “in crowd”, so
being one of a small group of two (my daughter and I) with a different skin
tone and body type didn’t seem that strange.
When I was a child in Brooklyn, I lived in a housing project that was
almost all black and Puerto Rican by the time we moved. I have always been on the fringes (although
fortunately, not ever in the street).
I wish I could
make everyone see how big, and how small, our world is. When you live your life in a small town in
Georgia, it is understandable that you think people are supposed to be only one
of two colors, and definitely only one religion. I want to do a mind meld with these people so
they can understand what the world really looks like; I haven’t seen that much
of it, but I think I would feel fine with any part of it I could see. Would the dogs of Calcutta get along with the
dogs of Waresboro? I think they would
growl some, sniff a few butts, and then move on.
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