We've been one week in India and I still have no idea how to begin to describe it. In fact I just had to pause for several minutes and gaze out the train window to reflect again upon the "sub continent" floating past. We are en route from Calcutta to Varanasi. A 14 hour train journey in 2nd class. The rail beds and sidings are covered with garbage. The poorest of the world's poor sleep between the tracks, their meagre laundry laid amongst the filth to dry. Young boys sit cross legged combing the prodigious beards of their grandfathers. At every stop a new army of hawkers jumps on and off, shuffling up and down the aisles selling "garam chai, samosa, cadbury chocolate." Women, cloaked in saris of the most incredibly bright orange, reds, greens and blues, walk along the tracks staring up at us with eyes ghostly white against their sun darkened skin. None are smiling. They say India is not just another world. It's another universe. Nothing we've seen to date was suitable preparation for this. It's exactly what we signed up for.
Calcutta, or Kolkata as it is now officially known, is the third largest city in this country of over a billion people. The name of the place itself is synonymous with poverty and suffering. It is from here that Mother Theresa spent her life serving Christ and the poor and it was here that she died. Coarse black diesel. Garbage. Raw human sewage. Any of these smells would attract our unwanted notice in Canada. In Calcutta, the absence of either of them at any point in time is noteworthy. The sounds of traffic and humanity make Hanoi seem more like Stanley Park in comparison. Some call it "Hell's Ditch." Others "Heaven."
We arrived in Calcutta just before sunset on January 7. I could not comprehend how, after the ordeal we'd gone through to get our visas, we were able to pass customs so easily. "What, you don't want to ask me again what level of education I received or whether I have any distant cousins from Pakistan?". How delighted and surprised we were to see David and Laurel waiting for us amongst a sea of drivers and touts with a sign that read "Welcome Mercer Family."
Less than 10 per cent of the buildings in Calcutta have street numbers on them. Less than that percentage of streets have signs. Even if they did, it would hardly matter as none of the taxi drivers seem to know where anything is. English is barely spoken despite being the "national language." Every ride home to our apartment was an adventure. Confounding one moment. Absurd the next. Driving in circles until someone could point us in the right direction. The four bedroom apartment in Salt Lake, an upscale suburb of greater Calcutta, was reasonably comfortable. We all had our own rooms which was particularly important for Amy who is still nursing Willem. Each room had a combined shower and bathroom that smelled of the mothballs employed generously to keep the bugs in the drains. The beds were typical asian - hard and to my liking.
The place "came with" two male servants who were on site 24/7. They cooked for us, cleaned, did laundry, haled cabs, carried our bags up and down the stairs and otherwise spoke when spoken to. If we went to bed early enough, they would sleep on the two couches in the living room. If we were up playing cards or talking past 10, they would bed down behind a curtain on the kitchen floor. It was uncomfortable (for us) at first but we eventually got used to it. I have to admit that after a day in Calcutta, it was a veritable oasis to return to each day. By day five it felt like home. We celebrated Amy's birthday with a home cooked meal, some Kingfishers and a hearty game of Euchre. I'm proud to announce that Amy and I soundly trounced Deb and David in the Calcutta round of the Cross-India Tourny. Next round - Jaipur. Then a Rubber Match in Delhi if needed (unlikely).
Our first venture into the city was easy enough. We took two cabs to Park Street to meet friends of David that he'd met on a previous trip to India. We found the restaurant on Park Street easily and enjoyed a spectacular Indian meal with Deepak and Nila who spend half their year in Calcutta and half in Montreal. They are lovely, gentle people who gave us some useful survival tips and played grandma and grandpa by insisting that the kids have pop and ice cream with a mischievous wink to the disapproving parents. They phoned us later in the day to make sure we'd arrived home safely. On the way home to Salt Lake we stopped at the Judges Ghat on the Ganges for our first look at this mythical river that is so entwined with India's spirituality. It is filthy, of course, with mountains of garbage washed up on its shore and Vishnu knows what floating on and below the surface. Nonetheless, you could tell that people were comforted to be in its presence and submerged in its waters. They had the same look of peace on their faces that we might have standing on the shores of Lake Louise or the banks of the Blackstone River.
On our second visit to the city we visited the Calcutta Zoo. Despite our reservation about zoos in general, it wasn't completely terrible. The animals seemed to be in reasonable care and the crowds not too overwhelming. We got a good look at a Royal Bengal Tiger which lived up to its spectacular reputation despite its confinement. Other highlights were giraffes, elephants, hippos and a prehistoric looking rino. There were times (actually most of the time) when we felt like the biggest attraction at the zoo. Earlier I'd asked David for some advice as to how to start this blog entry, as I was at a loss. From the window of one taxi to another in the chaos of Calcutta traffic he yelled "We came to see India, but India is seeing us!" Everywhere we went people stared at us. Intently and without embarrassment . While we were taking pictures of the tiger, there would be ten cameras pointing and clicking directly at us. Whereas in Vietnam people wanted to touch the kids' hair and skin, it seemed as if they wanted to devour them here. Poor Laurel and Willem were man handled incessantly until the only thing that worked was strong words and gestures from us. For a place that was once the heart of the British Empire, we were genuinely surprised at what a novelty we were on the streets each day. For the first time, the kids were actually creeped out a little. We're slowly getting used to it now and actually sat on the loading platform at Chitpur Rail Station today and read for an hour awaiting our train while people stared at us, pointed and took pictures.
After the zoo, everyone needed to pee and eat. The kids were getting hot and cranky and we simply were not sure how we were going to do this without someone to guide us. Just then we happened to stroll past the "Taj Calcutta" - a luxury hotel set in amongst the chaos. Despite looking like street people, we were permitted to pass through security and sit ourselves down in the air conditioned haven of the hotel's Mediterranean restaurant. We spent two hours savoring safe and semi-western food, a bottle of champagne, great coffee and spotless toilets. We hated to leave.
Our next destination was Victoria Monument - the Taj inspired tribute to the "Empress of India" commissioned upon Her Majesty's death at the turn of the last century. Attempting to walk there was a mistake. The early afternoon sun was screaming down upon us and there was nothing close to a sidewalk fit for a stroller. As we tried in vain to hail a cab, we passed an old woman relieving herself on the side of the busy street. Any shred of dignity had long been erased from her face. As she gathered up dirty, dried leaves from the garbage strewn ground to clean herself with, we were glad that even the kids were too shocked and saddened to ask questions. It's one of those images that will reside permanently in the halls of my mind.
Victoria monument is a sight to behold. It was constructed at the initiative of Lord Curzon, Governor General of India at the time of Queen Victoria's death. It was built as a timeless tribute to the greatness of the Empire she amassed and particularly India, the Jewel in its Crown. An empire that was still at its height and upon which the sun never set. Despite the violence and hardship that accompanied Indian independence half a century later, the spectacular marble edifice with its attendant sculptures and arches are still well maintained and opulent. The symbolism was not lost to us as we watched the sun set into the trees over the proud and confident statue of Curzon gazing out over the gardens. I wonder what he'd think of his monument and what it stood for now?
For a break from Calcutta's craziness, we booked a two day tour to the Sundarban Tiger Reserve, located in the Ganges Delta on the Bay of Bengal. It boasts the largest tidal mangrove forrest and the highest concentration of Royal Bengal Tigers in the world. We were well advised in advance that the likelihood of seeing one of these majestic, shy creatures was quite low. And sure enough we didn't. The tour guide was a bit of a disappointment too as he shared little information with us about the flora, fauna or history of the spectacular region. Nonetheless, our time on the boat was relaxing and enjoyable. We were joined by a group of young travelers from Quebec who were in India for a friend's wedding. The kids loved speaking "Canadian French" with them and took repeated advantage of the fact that one was a trained massage therapist eager to ply his trade. We may not have seen tigers, but our feet and shoulders felt marvelous after two days on the streets of Calcutta. The highlight of the trip was a walk in the knee deep mud of the mangrove delta. The lowlight was trying to sleep while an army of rats scurried around in the straw of our thatch roof. I put my earplugs in and went to my happy place, but I fear Deb was up all night. The next morning we took an unscheduled walk through the village and were thrilled to watch local villagers preparing wheat for market. They picked some fresh fruit from one of their trees for us which we took back to camp to share with the others. We were exhausted when we got back to Salt Lake but happy with how well the kids, aged 3, 7 and 10, put up with everything we'd been throwing at them in the last few days. Tough kids.
India was not intended to be a holiday for us. In fact it was intended to be the key note address in the hard, cold school of reality that comes with independent world travel. I genuinely think it is having an impact on our outlook. At lunch with Deepak and Nila we had a debate about whether it was wise to expose children to such poverty and suffering as one sees everywhere in India. For me, exposing them to how the vast majority of the world's people live was the whole purpose of coming to here. It's hard to take and uncomfortable to travel in at times. Little is familiar. The fun we are having is the fun that comes with taking strange encounters and situations with a smile and a shrug. We are visitors in a strange and different land and we can no sooner expect them to conform to our values than they could expect us to conform to theirs in Canada. I'm reminded of the recruiting poster that was used by Imperial Oil to draw young men to the Mackenzie Valley to help construct the Canol pipeline. It began, "THIS IS NO PICNIC." It's not. We have to order food on the train soon and I have no idea what any of the selections are or how they were cooked. But we'll survive and look back on it with a smile one day soon I think.
Our last day in Calcutta turned into a Daddy / Daughter adventure after Deb, Amy and Willem headed back to Salt Lake following a visit to the New Market. The New Market, which opened 800 years ago, is chaos embodied. We did our best to ignore the hordes of touts and beggars, despite how pitiful they may have been. We led the reluctant kids into the darkness and stench of the meat market where animals were slaughtered and fat men sliced up the edible bits on filthy wooden cutting boards. The girls had their photo taken with one bulbous butcher who was dicing up a horse. He kindly held up the tail for dramatic effect before covering Laurel's shirt in horse blood with an attempted hug. After that we headed to the spice market where we purchased fresh and fragrant nuts, raisins, masala and tea. We were the only white faces in an ocean of brown. It was wonderful and authentic.
Later we paid a quick visit to the National Library (mostly for a pee break) and the bustling book market on College Street where we thought we may have lost David for good. We capped it off with a moving visit to Mother House - the headquarters of Theresa's Missionaries of Charity. We arrived just before closing but were able to pay respects at her tomb and view some of the artifacts of her incredible life, including the tiny, hot room where she slept and worked. It is still a working mission and we were made to feel so welcome by the Sisters in their simple yet iconic white with pale blue trimmed habits.
Rereading this blog, I seem to be taking a largely negative view of Calcutta. In fact, visiting this ancient bee hive of humanity is a dream realized. We expected India to invoke negative emotions - disgust, sadness, pity, frustration, anger, fear and bewilderment. It has not disappointed. It has also opened our eyes, thrilled and entranced us in addition to reconnecting us to our own humanity in a raw and fundamental way. I honestly don't think you can say you have seen the world unless you experience this spiritual, wonderful, terrible land. Home to a sixth of the world's population and soon to be its most populous country; the world's third largest economy and closing; nuclear superpower; cultural nebulous. India has a big role to play in the proximate future of our civilization. I'm grateful to be getting a street level view before the old boss meets the new boss. I need more time to determine if I'm excited or terrified by what that means.
Tonight we arrive in Varanasi, one of the sacred cities for Hindus. Our guesthouse overlooks the Ganges and the bathing and cremation ghats that line its shores. I've got some 'splainin to do to my curious kids before they lay eyes and noses on the dead that flock here for cremation and an escape from eternal birth and rebirth! "What's Karma Daddy?" Ugghhhhhh, how about an ice cream!
Off to sleep now to the gentle rock and roll of the train as it leaves West Bengal and crosses into Uttar Pradesh.
P.S. We arrived in Varanasi at 3:00 am to find our pick-up was not there. We managed to find a cab in the darkness and chaos of the train station as a small herd of touts followed us around. As we walked down a series of dark and filthy alleyways towards what I hoped was our guesthouse, the gong of prayer bells brought visions of what a trip to Hell's gate must be like, with shadowy figures popping in and out of side alleys ahead and behind and people and massive cows sleeping in shadowy corners. Freaky. This morning Mira and I took a quick walk along the Ganges and witnesses our first cremation. Fascinating and moving. This is going to be awesome.