12 March - Kolkata (Calcutta)
Trip Start
Nov 20, 2007
1
14
22
Trip End
May 04, 2011
Kolkata (Calcutta),
India
Friday, March 14, 2008
It was a day of firsts.. first on the plane, first through customs, greeted by our first authentic Indian head waggle...excellent! And for a budget airline, Air India Express is brilliant - heaps of food and very comfortable.
We arrive at the airport with no rupees, thinking we will use the ATM when we land. Unfortunately there is no ATM at Kolkata´s international airport and the money changer doesn´t accept plastic. So the realisation sets home that we are not in Kansas anymore, things are done a little differently around here...if at all.
On our half km walk to the domestic terminals ATM, we get our first taste of being hassled by locals overly eager to be of assistance
Weeding the 5th story garden
. While L is off to get cash, a young Indian guy strikes up conversation with J. Just for fun, J tries the tactic of answering each question with a question and noting the difficulty with which the guy settles on answers to questions like "how old are you", decides to fabricate a story. J enjoyed being someone else for a while and is still mystified as to if the guy was actually trying to get anything out of him or not. Placing our full faith in Lonely Planet, we opt to arrive in Kolkata without any accommodation booked, instead with the intention of taking a taxi to the "tourist ghetto" of Sudder st, where numerous budget hotels are located. We purchase a prepay taxi coupon - Luckily Louisa is aware enough to realise that the attendee is trying to rip her off by shortchanging her of 500 Rupees.
You don´t get much of a chance to work the systems out for yourself before being "helped" out by eager locals. With the prepay taxi system, there is a number on the receipt that is the license plate of the taxi that is yours. After a displaying a look of confusion for a mere moment, a malnourished cripple lacking left hand offers assistance. Picks up our bags with his stump and starts loading into a taxi. Almost in before we all realise that its not the one we´re supposed to be in. He then takes our bags and leads us down long queue of taxis till we find the one with our number on it. Driver of original taxi follows and gets in front seat of our taxi, much to our confusion. We give the helpful cripple a possibly generous tip and begin the taxi ride. Okay so 3 incidents down and we are finally in our way.
Beep, parp, beep, toot
Jostling buses
. Beepbeep beeeep paaaarrrpp! Goh Blimey the sights and sounds to be rejoiced in during our introduction to Kolkata. Most drivers seem to have their own signature horn-hooting rhythm and offer it up with as little reason as seeing a bird in a passing tree. The resulting cacophony becomes our theme music for the rest of our time in Kolkata.The traffic consists mainly of whimsical yellow `Ambassador Classic´ taxis, some almost new and some rather well beaten, including the one we were riding in, which didn´t have any paint remaining on its entire left side. The taxis continually swerve to avoid the local buses which travel at twice their speed and resemble stunted jugganorts dressed for Mad Max.
About 2/3rds of the way into the journey, traffic comes to a complete standstill. The driver turns off the engine and slumps forward on the steering wheel. Other drivers lean on their horns. Others get out of their vehicles and help themselves to a cup of chai from a street-side stall. After about 10 mins, we start moving again, but the same routine happens about 3 more times before we make it to Sudder St. We read later that at 2pm every day the entire 1-way system of the city changes direction, bringing traffic to a complete standstill. Not all bad as it also gives pedestrians a brief window of opportunity to cross the roads
Taxi view
.We spot the sign of one of the hotels we´ve read about in lonely planet, so decide to ditch the cab and take a look. Manage to walk into hotel continental instead of hotel intercontinental, which is 4 or so doors down, and they happily claimed they were the hotel we were looking for. Nice lobby but out of our price range so we grab our packs and hit the streets.
A step from the door we were tagged by another "helpful" but let´s face it annoying guy trying to put us in a hotel - had to trick him to escape but he did give us the excuse to wander into a range of hotels and look at what was on offer.
Finally after that marathon effort we settled in to our relatively comfortable shoebox and take a long deep breath which in fact turned into a decent meditation session. This would become a common occurrence after most excursions - a requirement to settle the mind from the sensual bombardment. Obviously not put off by the apparent chaos we decide to check out Sudder St - apparently Calcutta´s equivalent to Khao San Rd- according to the lonely planet. Those expecting today´s Khao San with its beers, wares and fanfares will be disappointed
Victroria Memorial
. It does though have the large no. of hotels, travel agents, cheap eateries and a higher proportion of locals to tourists. We took up a curbside position to observe the goings on in the neighbourhood and through the perpetual assault on the senses, experience our first real moment of connection with the city and its people. In front of us, a black skinned, grey haired barefoot man drags his tana-rickshaw to the side of the road and drops off three young kids, then begins to negotiate fares with a couple of aristocrats. Playing out the roles their castes demand, the aristocrats looked upon the rickshaw driver with distain and sternly demanded a lower fare. The rickshaw driver pleads for a little sympathy, apparently saying he´s exhausted and has no money. The aristocrats threaten to walk then turned back to hop on board the rickshaw. The driver turned and looked at us with a gleaming, knowing smile, letting us in on his private victory. Once the men were aboard, he set off, turning again to us and offering another smile - this time filled with wisdom and joy. It was clear that he knew it was all just a game, and that his harsh life circumstances had no bearing on how brightly his spirit shone.
This was the first experience showing us how thin the veil of apparent madness and confronting contrasts is in this city
Sudder St area
. At times it almost has the air of a movie set - you half expect a director to yell `cut´ and everyone to gather around and commend each other on how convincing their performances were. If you relax into the experience a little, open your eyes a bit wider and tune into the energy of the city, the veil falls away and you see the place in an entirely different light - brimming with life and delight. Resonating with an energy that is authentically human. Welcome to India, heart of the Earth!We spent a morning strolling around the colonial part of the town. Several blocks worth of impressive buildings nestled amongst squalor, flanked with rows of white Ambassador Classic cars displaying `on duty´ signs, drivers sitting ready waiting to be called. The whole scene a slightly faded reminder of the time when Kolkata was the capital of British India. The beaurocracy still hasn´t worn thin as we found out when tried to post a letter at the post office. It took 20mins to buy the stamp and have the letter processed. Each line of the address scrutinised and discussed by three men peering over their spectacles.
The area was one of the more challenging to traverse. Constantly confronted by men of all walks with their dicks out, pissing into the gutters or against the walls of buildings; men hurriedly trying to clean up the spill from an overturned rubbish truck before it fermented in the heat; a man crouched and clutching to a sign post, clinging to existence as he suffered through the last few hours of his life, tormented by a gathering of flies
View from the street
. And of course there was the unceasing clamour of horns and revving diesel engines.The biggest display of colonial grandeur in Kolkata is the monument to Queen Victoria. A large, cool, tranquil and intricately detailed white marble structure framed by well maintained green reserves. Very impressive, but the contrast with the rest of Kolkata really makes you wonder what the British were thinking. We spent an hour or so here, catching a breath of semi-fresh air before venturing back out into chaos, poverty and filth lining the surrounding streets. Not fifty paces down the road before we´re spotted by a child beggar across the street. She darts in front of four lanes of traffic, homing in on us like a guided missile.
Bypassing Louisa, she laps at J´s heels with her tin while he tries to ignore her pleas. Her voice, a deep, angry growl like she was ripe for an exorcism, became more insistent and urgent. A man walking towards us with his family spots the scene, accelerates with an angry canter and a torrent of Hindi rolling off his tongue. He gives her a whack on the head with his empty water bottle. Relentless in her pursuit she marches right back to J and tries again. This time Louisa steps in with a firm NO and wave of the hand. Sensing that she may have meet her match the little beggar gives L a little shove, mutters a curse and is then is back on her way.
The begging situation has given us a lot to reflect on - particularly how we as tourists fit into the picture. We have found (and all advice agrees) that its best not to interfere - let the locals deal with it as part of the workings of the culture and the city
Tana rickshaw
. Luckily there are the two of us and one can always intervene on behalf of the other if the situation persists. Of course the children are the hardest to ignore, which is the strategy that works the best. Not much easier to say no to the mothers sporting their babies one arm, gesturing for money for milk with the other. Nor the withered, weathered elderly who can barely stand and rattle their tins. The warnings about Indian men´s warped fascination with western woman do little to prepare one for the onslaught of penetrating looks, stares, glares, jeers and on a couple of occasions applauses, laced with sexual overtones. At times it wasn´t an issue, but at others it was like there was a current in the air causing all men to relinquish their self-respect and express their unfettered carnal urges. Coming from the school of thought where it is considered rude to stare, it can be unnerving and quite intimidating, causing one ordinarily confident woman shrink under the constant scrutiny. Over time though, the discomfort caused by the inappropriateness of it all begins to transform into an acceptance that it´s just the way it is.
On one occasion we were seated at a park bench when a young couple walks past. Apparently quite taken by Louisa, the guy performed a rubbernecking manoeuvre worthy of a yogi
Cutting rebar
. Realising he´d been caught in the act he tries to recover by initiating a conversation about sunglasses, saying his girlfriend had indicated she liked the one´s Louisa was wearing. The girl had obviously said nothing of the sort and her face sank into a deep scowl. We draw the conversation to a close, just in time for him to introduce the girl saying, "This is my girlfriend, I hope she is good." Don´t think he got any that night.One of the possible reasons for this endemic lewd behaviour is the distinct lack of female presence in the city. All the businesses seem to be run entirely by men (including the women´s clothing shops!), and its mainly men who litter the streets. Who knows where all the women are - possibly at home, or as J suspects - frequenting one of the shopping malls. A suspicion that was reinforced on our first trip to a mall - a group of four women, the largest congregation we had seen so far, arrived as we did.
One of the coolest things about Kolkata is the abundance of really good book stores. A number of tiny but very well endowed stores in the Sudder St area, and the Oxford Press store not far from where we were staying. Unlike the typical stores in NZ which tend to have only small corners devoted to body / mind / spirit, and which in most cases only actually stock trashy American `self help´ substitutes, the stores in Kolkata seem to stock nothing but the good stuff. Though we could have easily bought a box loads of books we limited our bounty to about 6 books from the likes of Iyenga, Krishnamurti, Osho at ridiculously cheap prices. Enough to keep us quiet for a couple of weeks.
Our 6 week warm-up in Thailand, it seems, did little to prepare us for our first taste of India. Fresh off the plane. Kolkata presents a continuous chain of challenges to the senses and to one's conditioned view of what is life. The only worthy response is one of malleability. Soften into the experiences and let them erode away any expectations you are carrying until you become aware of the undercurrent of vitality that permeates the city. There is something very special about Kolkata, something bubbling away just beneath the surface. An energy of connectedness, of life, that it octaves and amplitudes above that which we've experienced in any other place.
