Varanassi

The reason I came back to India. I could not make my peace with the country without seeing its most sacred city.

My first impression was terrifying. The flight from Calcutta was two hours of turbulence, not fun in a tiny 20 seater propeller plane, and darkness has fallen by the time we landed. All I could see below me was blackness lit only by burning fires. No street lights, nothing.

My 'driver' sent by the guest house was very sweet but his erratic driving\habit of opening the door to spit was increasingly disconcerting during the 90 minute rollarcoaster ride over the dark, potholed but very busy road.

I distracted myself from having a full blown panic attack by admiring the wedding processions around us. The leading contingent carry different light shades on their heads, from chandeliers to candelabras, all linked together by ancient power cables which looked lethal! Colourful carriages and the accompanying crowd bring the traffic to a halt at regular intervals.

Varanassi looked like bedlam incarnate. We pulled up in the chaotic old city where a young man appeared through the throng, took my case, handed me a torch and off we set up tiny alleys, past cows (omg) dodging motorbikes and monkeys.

My Nemesis

The guest house was a relief, as was the kind welcome from Sanjeev, the owner ( the image of Manuel from Fawlty towers). And the news that the city was experiencing a power cut. ....thank goodness. Nevertheless I was too scared to do anything but go to bed (oh for a mattress and not a 'board'), locking the windows against the monkeys peering in with intent.

In daylight Varanasi was another story. I chose this basic guest house (no a\c, I miss it) for its location. It is literally seconds from the Ganges.  Breakfast on the shady roof terrace (monkey proofed) overlooking the water restored by equilibrium. Off to explore, taking Sanjeev’s advice to use the river as the highway.

1st day in Varanassi

The ghats each have their own individual look and it will take me time to identify them but the "burning" ghats are obvious. The smell and sight of bodies set alight and set sail was overwhelming to all my senses. Piles of wood line the banks, big business selling for pall bearing. I sat for a while under a tarpaulin out of the heat of the sun...though not out of the heat of the fires...just absorbing the scene.

The Cremation Ghat

From above - the smoke is aweful. The wood is for the pall bearers to bear the bodies to the river

The 'ghalis', the warren of lanes above the river, are a minefield for the uninitiated but I managed a ten minute walk to a vegetarian cafe recommended by the mine of information, Sanjeev, where I had a massive plate of vegetables, chip, spinach burger and two cups of tea for a pound.  I could not face street food in the stench/ smoke of the burning bodies.

This Temple has a bit of subsidence

This evening I joined the masses for the evening ceremonies at the main ghats at subset. An hour of singing, religious 'performance' by the holy men, watched with great joy by worshippers thronging the steps.  An emotional evening, an experience it felt a privilege to participate in. There is a palpable sense of excitement in the air everywhere here. I’ve barely touched the surface of this unique place. The dominace of the sacred cows I could do without

Its Cardboard! and nothing for the men. I didn't use this one

Spiritual Guidance

Another day another mission, literally. A dawn start to accompany Lamxi and her neighbour to Belur Math, the headquarters of the Ramakrishna movement and the men only monastery for followers of Sri Ramakrishna , the famous 19th century Bengali 'saint' and social campaigner who is known as 'the prophet of the modern age'

This modern temple sits on the banks of the Ganges in North Calcutta and during the hours drive the cityscape became increasingly derelict and poverty stricken. Our western a/c car and driver was not an ideal vehicle to transverse the narrow lanes and a too close call with a bicycle rickshaw left a dent, to the dismay of our driver.

Fortunately for him Laxmi's neighbour, a devout Hindu,  was too busy trying to convert me and praising Modi, the Hindu PM, to notice the prang.  A wealthy housewife with a lengthy ancestral roll call and family owned considerable property in Calcutta, her passion in life is her religion and the missions.  In particular the neighbouring women centred Sri Sarada Math, a female only 'minature' version to Belur in honour of Ramakrishna's mother. The devotees also run a number of projects for girls but after three hours of being introduced to Senior 'nuns' in various buildings I'm ashamed to say my mind was focused more on the need for coffee than the need for charity.

Lunch was 'parsadam': the temple food blessed so as to taste 'divine'. It didn't. Nor did it have coffee. Instead I sat on a rickety bench by an open door to the holy Ganges so a distinctly unholy smell wafted in. I committed the cardinal sin of leaving my meal unfinished as the food just kept coming and I decided waste was a lesser sin than being ill in public. I also caused much mirth by tipping my desert rice bowl onto my plate along with the main rice. Alas, to me, rice is rice...

I finally escaped with promises to return (I lied) and a telling off for taking a picture. Um.

got into trouble for taking this picture of the Mother's Temple

The journey back turned into a nightmare as bumper to bumper traffic had hit the highway creating an even denser smog than usual. Although the slow crawl did give me the chance to photograph the impressive arches abandoned in the middle of nowhere which represent a failed Indonesian bid to build a neighbourhood here, plus I sneaked  a (forbidden) shot of the new modern suspension bridge, a contemporary landmark in present day Calcutta.

Bumper to Bumper traffic

Unfinished Indonesian project

Negotiating the new Suspension Bridge

Deposited back for a much needed coffee. Going without from 6am to 3pm is not good for my western caffeine habit. Then I rounded up today's non Christian focus with a walk to the nearby Hare Krishna temple.  Over the top extravaganza but with no one there bar a group of flower craftswomen, a chance to sit in solitude.  I now realise the 'shrines with a difference' I've seen everywhere belong to the large Hare Krishna contingent here.

Devotees of the Hare Krishna temple

Some of my "souvenirs" - maybe I am in need of spiritual guidance!

Then I celebrated my last day in Calcutta by doing the one thing that always happens when I believe I have got my bearings: I got lost. Fortunately I found myself again before darkness fell, returning with time for one more swim.  I will be glad to leave Calcutta, the unrelenting hardship which surrounds me the moment I step outside in contrast to the entrenched class system, the noise, the smell, the dirt, the dust...but it has been a fascinating experience, albeit not one I'd want to repeat. On top of the multitude of other perils, there is now a swine flu outbreak.  A good time to leave.

Kali Temple

Kalighat Kali temple is a Hindu temple which draws crowds of pilgrims from across India. It is also infamous for continuing the age old practise of animal sacrifice. Not an experience I ever expected to see, but as chance would have it I arrived at the right place at just the right time to see it in action.

You have read the notice... be warned!

Animal sacrifice

The shock realisation that this was actually happening came when I realised, having left my shoes as usual at the gate, that my bare feet were paddling in blood. I stood stock still in disgust. As I was already inside I had no choice but to be swept along with the clamouring crowds as the priests deftly cut the throats of young kid goats and flung them out of the holy inner shrines to waiting helpers. They took the bleeding bodies outside, skinned them in one 'go' then cut into sections to be given to the highest bidder.

Repulsive but compelling spectacle. Although, had I not been aware of the disgusting state of Indian loos, I might have thrown up in one. As it was I escaped outside down a side alley only to find myself cut off by a canal of raw sewage. The improvised bridge of boats was too precarious for me and  I gave in  to my western sensibilities and hired a bicycle rickshaw to get back to the metro. Feeling guilty about my 'colonial' mode of transport I tipped the young lad by giving him 50 rupee (pence) instead of 30 and he was so obviously delighted I decided I'd inadvertantly done a good deed by travelling as a 'tourist' rather than a local.

Improvised Bridge

After a rest in the cool of a KFC where my guilty conscience for using a western outlet was soothed by the knowledge that this particular one is run by 100% deaf staff I wandered slowly in the blistering heat in search of South Park Cemetery. Famously haunted after dark even in daylight it still had an atmospheric eerie air. The ruins of imposing Gothic tombs from the 18th and 19th century sit alongside towering Indo-Saracenic pyramid style monuments soaring high into the shady trees.

The atmospheric South Park Cemetery

Looking pensive in the cemetery

I passed a pleasant hour gazing at half legible eulogies of those British and Europeans who shaped Calcutta centuries ago. Incredible to think that in the late 18th century this city was the second largest in the British Empire. The heritage and infrastructure is quintessentially British but Calcutta was as much victim as benefactor from our colonialism. Japanese bombing in the 2nd world war decimated the city and thousands died in the subsequent famine caused by the British diverting food elsewhere during the war.

Mother Theresa drew media attention to the crisis here in the postwar years and I have always thought of it as a place dominated by poverty. Which it is. But it is also a vibrant living entity with a unique identity.

The Newsstand. I get a paper delivered, but the locals read it pinned up in the street!

Beyond Words

I have no language to describe the slums of Calcutta. Until now the constant hassle from beggars has been an irritation. Today I understand why it is the custom here to hand over coins. The grinding poverty, the dirt and dust, the piles of rubbish which line the bamboo walls of the flimsy shelters, the overwhelming stench, words defeat me.

Today I was taken by charity workers from the project I'd visited on Friday out into the 'field'  I'd asked to see one of the many communal shelters they run in the slums. After much complicated arrangements, early this morning I made my way across town to their headquarters where a land rover was waiting to escort me away from the city streets and into the labyrinth of alleys beyond.

I thought I was prepared but I was not, not just for the sheer filth, the disgusting smell and the indescribable living conditions but also unprepared for the delightful children, their enthusiasm to learn,  their pride in their drawings, their sums, their reading, their sheer joy for life.

We weren't far into the slums, they extend for miles and miles (it's reckoned 40% of the state lives in these 'communities') but far enough for it to be a whole different world. The driver stood guard over us as we had to leave the car and walk, at which point my feet landed in thick mud and sewage, my body was covered in grim and flies from the rubbish descended. Overcoming my English instinct to turn and run I made it into the shelter, a basic brick 'oven' with a straw roof where children of any age are welcome.

The teacher was inspiring, a tiny woman with full command over the 40 plus children crammed into this tiny space. She walked with a limp as a result of being caught in a fight on an impossibly crowded train (falling off/out of the train causes injury/deaths every day here and are rarely reported) but told me she opens the shelter every day even in the summer heat when temperatures inside the hut reach 50 degrees plus as the children are always queuing up to come in.

A snack and water provides added incentives but there was a real keenness to learn here. In the hour I sat inside I marked sums, wrote English words in recycled notebooks with a stubby pencil, sang nursery rhymes and watched a Bengali dance improvised in my honour.  When I had to go as I was melting away and desperate for clean air/water, the children queued up to shake my hand. I felt a failure for not lasting longer but the conditions these people live their lives in defeated me after 60 minutes.

This charity is hoping to give children the opportunity for a better way of life through education and training. Many will never escape, particularly the girls as I was told teenage pregnancy and prostitution for much needed money is rife.  There is a chronic alcohol problem here and domestic life is, to quote my project worker escort, often 'hell' but the charity, like many others is doing what it can.

I took my camera but could not bring myself to take pictures of such desperate poverty. There are homeless families everywhere in the city, like the ones who live outside the walls here who wave merrily as I climb past their meagre possessions each morning. The naked children play in the road and the adults take it turns to wash themselves and their possessions in the stand pipe on the street. But these are, apparently, the lucky ones. They make a living selling snacks they cook in massive pots. Those who live outside the city are the truly invisible. Abandoned pipes are used as homes in one area, known as 'pipe village’, where competition to move into the comparative cool is immense.

I write this back in my safe secure lodging at this  'club' for the wealthy where the main concern is to be dressed appropriately as the rigid rules are enforced to ensure no one can sneak in without 'belonging'. 'Ayahs, servants and drivers' are not allowed to enter the hallowed halls but have to wait outside the gates. Grateful though I am for the protection this affords me I have felt uncomfortable here from the start. I hide away in my room to avoid participating in the old fashioned class rituals at dinner and when I use the pool in the evening I tip the kind lady who clears up after me with unusual pleasure. Every evening I give her ten rupees (10p) for which she is clearly delighted.

After leaving the slums at lunchtime I was dropped off at Laxmi's air conditioned apartment where she had prepared me a welcome meal of sweet Bengali curry, dosas, yogurt and sweet milky tea. The contrast with the shelter was incredible but I have never been so grateful to have a wash, sit down in comfortable surroundings and breathe fresh air!

Then another moving experience of what has been a very emotional day.  A trip to 'Mother's House’ the convent in Calcutta which was Mother Theresa's base for many decades until her death in 1997. Laxmi had the privilege of meeting her once. The place is still a convent and echoes with hymns as white clad nuns gather for prayers. Mother Theresa's room is still as it was in her lifetime, her tomb is a shrine awash with blossoms which overflow and are handed out to visitors. The small museum is full of her life's work, her prayers and speeches, and touching personal mementos.

The calm stillness in the cool dark building fragrant with flower scents reading Mother Theresa's dedication to the poor, coming on top of seeing the depths of deprivation and poverty this morning, reduced me to tears.

I have no words to explain today clearly other than I hope to remember to be truly grateful for the simple things in my life and to value the 'privileges'' which are mine simply by right of being a white English middle class woman. My nice normal everyday routines back in Lewes will fill me with an appreciative joy.  Tonight I am homesick for my family and my home, cherishing just how much I have when so many have so little.

A weekend in Calcutta.

Saturday turned out to be rather like an other Saturday. As was due to meet up with the Calcutta Soroptomists at 4 pm i joined everyone else in keeping cool (I didn't want to arrive a melting mess) in the south city mall. Where Marks and Spencer et al continue the British connection here!

Calcutta's British connection

The meeting was great fun. Unlike Bangalore here I'd been asked to give a lecture. . so I delivered my PhD thesis in the allocated twenty minutes and provoked an intense energetic debate on domesticity and feminism.

At the Soroptomists Meeting - Laxmi, Me and the Committee

The whole "gang"

A sandwich ( minus crusts) and a nice cup of tea to round off a pleasant time with new friends. And I was even back in time for a swim.
Travelling the streets in a car at night is every bit as scary as in daylight. All the daytime hassle with the added extra of prostitution in every possible variety!

Sunday too turned out to have an English slant. The streets were eerily empty thus morning as church attendance is high, a chance for me to admire the city gardens in peace before heading into the Indian museum. Aka the British museum but with a twist. ' living fossils' were stuffed animals, ancient bones displayed in even more ancient cabinets, a creepy collection of pickled fish for an aquarium,  but also a stunning display of decorative arts and an exhibition on Indian Buddhist history which has attracted monks from across Asia.

Early morning in one of Calcutta's parks

City parks are surprisingly beautiful - in sharp contrast to the city streets

Stunning historic decorative art in the Indian Museum

Ivory Sandals - bet they were uncomfortable!

Superb collection of Buddhist Indian art attracts many visitors

1 of the Museum's pickled fish

A very old and dusty collection of fossils

Sunday afternoon I browsed the flea markets,  decided against travelling on the city's antiquated tram system as its quicker to walk and watched the antics in the parks, from trapeze artists to the inevitable cricket games. Just a normal weekend, albeit  in the Calcutta heat rather than the English winter..

If only the inside was as nice as the outside.....

Circus act in a field near to the bus station

A shrine with a difference

The Ancient tram system

The hidden underside of Calcutta

This morning I had arranged to get a taxi across the city to Laxmi's high rise luxury apartment in South City so we could visit a refuge and charity projects.
First challenge: finding a taxi driver who could read English for her address (success) and find one who would put the meter on (fail). But for only 150 rupees for a forty minute drive I wasn't going to haggle over the extra 50p-. (I knew it should have been about 100, i.e. a pound).

Laxmi's apartment is in an opulent gated four tower complex set in its own grounds alongside a massive shiny modern mall. The contrast to the refuge we visited within ten minutes drive could not have been more marked.

View of Calcutta from Laxmi's appartment

In a tiny house volunteers house, clothe, feed, educate and provide vocational training for as many girls as they can (at present they have squeezed in 30) rescued from the slums, the streets, abusive families and grinding poverty. They even provide kick boxing classes to aid confidence for these vulnerable girls.

Me with the children

Dorm for 30 girls living at the refuge

1 locker each for their posessions

At the refuge with Laxmi - she is at the back wearing glasses

Relying on charity support these women also run pre school classes,, after school clubs and women's groups, telling me that in Bengal, as around India , education may be compulsory but unless  a child goes to an elite (expensive) school the teaching is usually poor, the learning often nil... and no one cares.

I was genuinely moved by the hard work of these dedicated women who have trained themselves in education techniques to give kids a chance. The level of poverty in Calcutta is staggering. The more I look the more I see. Travelling with Laxmi in the car/driver she employs marked us out as wealthy and we were a target for beggars, banging repeatedly on the windows whenever we had to stop for traffic. Laxmi barely noticed, I found it very upsetting.

Yesterday on the Metro and the buses I was relatively unhassled and felt relatively safe. But in the territory/company of those obviously 'monied' I am a target.  The class system is still very much in place here. There are those who have or  those  who have not. Nothing in the middle as far as I can see, in any way.

Laxmi tells me I am too nice to the staff here;  that 'the boys' are used to being ordered around and that I must practise an air of superiority to command respect. I couldn't even if I wanted to. Whilst I know what she means I have also noticed that I am smiled at by the servants now because I acknowledge them whereas the norm is to pretend they are invisible.  It's a truly difficult environment for a middle class middle aged English woman like me when there is no 'middle'.

Lunch was a Punjab dish, Chana Bhatura. a massive leavened fried Indian bread to dip in a bowl of spicy chickpeas. The bread was delicious. The chickpea broth was rather too spicy for my taste and I was grateful for the ice cream which followed. Thanks to Laxmi for a fascinating if deeply upsetting insight into the hidden dark side of Calcutta. 

Lunch

As I swum in the luxury of the heated pool within the sanctuary of the Club I counted my many blessings.

Metro madness

Calcutta's metro is remarkably similar to London's underground, other than my venture out to Howrah Bridge, the architectural landmark over the Ganges, cost me 5 pence.  For 7 stops. Trains come every few minutes and, despite the crowds, there are seats labeled 'ladies' where I was ushered by men and women alike with welcoming smiles.

The bridge is, apparently, a piece of engineering brilliance,  steel interwoven girders held  together by gravity and with only two pillars at either end.  It was more a destination for a journey through the city for my purposes, but admittedly rather stunning. My main purpose was to tackle the metro and then the ancient buses and to see the Ganges River.

The Ganges

The transport was negotiated without a problem given the kindness of Calcutta's crowds. Helpful staff and fellow passengers got me on the right platform for the ancient metro and when I alighted people insisted on walking me to the bus 'stop'...there isn't any markers here, the locals simply know where to leap on and off as the even more ancient buses don't actually stop (probably would not get going again) so I had to literally throw myself on.

The bridge is near to the massive Howrah station on the opposite side of the Ganges River to the main city, the side where the infamous slums sprawl out inland.  The station is bedlam. Porters shift massive loads, on their heads, by rickshaw, by cart, by bicycle....I have already learnt the main hazard in this town is ducking out or under 'wide loads' of every description. One chap had a double bed on his head, honestly. No peripheral vision!

Mind the Porters

I retired to the 'retiring' room for a breather above the madness. An upper class ticket is technically required but my Britishness trumped this. People think my English accent is wonderful and my solo status, whilst eccentric, doesn't seem to be as much of an issue, everyone is keen to chat or wave.  I had a rather surreal conversation with one upper class gentleman keen to tell me about how Calcutta's problems are due to immigration.

Im safer here - in the Retiring room at the station

Walking back over the bridge I found the colourful flower markets under its shadows. The path between the stalls was filthy, an open sewer, but the buds and blossoms were glorious. The sight and smell from the sublime to the definitely not!

Views of the Flower Market

By chance I found the entrance to the ghat where locals were bathing in the river, washing clothes, pots and pans, etc. The children thought my camera was great fun! Everyone seemed happy for me to wander unhindered around the steps and I even sat for a while in the shade without hassle.

Kids playing

Ganges River life

Returning to the metro by foot along the bazaar area of old Chinatown, revived by tea in clay pots and fruit cake,  I joined the throngs back in the main city for the late afternoon promenade in the flower filled gardens before my evening swim. The indoor heated pool here is a delight, I gently lap the pool letting the warm soothing waters cool my limbs. The nearest sensation to a bath since leaving England, my nightly joy!

Calcutta street life

Road Hazards - and check that wiring!

Relaxing in the park at the end of the day

Calcutta

Shriva Ratri...an auspicious day to arrive in Calcutta but the worst night. Devotional songs and prayers, loudly amplified, echoed through the building til the early hours.

I was not at my best for my first day in West Bengal, a state very different to those I've seen before. The most notable absence-the auto rickshaw, or tuk tuk. There aren't any.  So confusing!! Here transport is by yellow taxi -surreal, like New York but these are all old fashioned ambassador style cars.

I'm in the city centre so set off on food to explore.  Oddity number 2:  street stall Tea is served in disposable  tiny clay pots. Um. Tasted the same though. And at 5 rupees (5p) I can afford two or three at a go.

The streets and alleys are typical India , chaotic bamboo scaffolding, potholes, beggars,  stall holders everywhere. Lurking to admire an old British tea shop I nearly got run down by a market rickshaw pulling tons of goods.   On the plus side, as well as the missing autos, there don't seem to be any cows.  yippee!!

Calcutta. Scaffolding everywhere these streets are lethal. No cows but dangers at every turn

Calcutta street views

Dodging the touts in the markets I hotfooted it to the park to admire the splendid white marble Victorian Memorial hall.  Dedicated to the memory of Queen Victoria it is a popular sight set amid glorious gardens. I was transported back to Britain.

Think I was attracting more attention than the memorial!

It all looks rather British

Returned for a swim before the evening rush as I haven't even started to get to grips with this odd city. There are few tourists and whilst the youngsters are, in the main, westernised the older generation stare at me in perplexed awe. It doesn't have the cosmopolitain feel of Bangalore, instead it has a feel of being steeped in history.

Past is all around but not Indian Heritage

There is obviously a high level of poverty but the homeless live literally on the doorstep of high end malls and outside the security gates of the club.  I may have had my doubts when I first arrived but 24 hours on the cockroach in the bathroom matters less than to be staying somewhere safe with everything on hand. I don't fancy these streets after dark.

Poor horses and literally poor drivers as no takers