Calcutta is very, very crowded. And very, very dirty. And has some very, very cool sights to see. Our first day there (and for future travelers to India, two pieces of advice: 1) stay in a four star hotel and 2) there is no reason to spend more than 36 hours in Calcutta. This includes the four hours travel time to and from the airport) was relatively calm. We checked into our four-star-luxurious, air-conditioned, hot water bearing hotel. Paradise. And explored a little bit. Not so paradisic. There is no middle ground there, its either filthy or sparkling. Hideous or spectacular. And intertwined in all of it is livestock.
Well rested and washed off, we set off for our first Hindu temple experience, where we were cuffed with red strings (which, by the way, have stained my wrists yellow), sacrificed some flowers to Kali, were blessed by a fake priest, shoved around by actual devotees, and watched a goat get crowned with a bunch of flowers, right before it was sacrificed. Then we were dutifully ripped off in the name of some God or another. Afterwards we peeked into Mother Theresa's Hospital for the Dying. I wish I hadn't.
Later that afternoon I had my own adventure getting to a temple. I hired a taxi for the afternoon and asked him to take me to some place mentioned in the guidebook. Not realizing quite how big Calcutta is, I started getting quite nervous when the taxi started driving through empty roads lined with smoldering garbage. For a few minutes, I wondered how the cows, intently eating the burning trash, didn't burn their tongues. Then I realized: I'm in Calcutta. People everywhere stare at me (either 'cause I'm white or because the scarf of my Punjabi suit has been fashioned into a neon-green burka-gas-mask). This is a golden opportunity for my cab driver to make a quick buck. I started pondering how much I would pay him not to leave me stranded with the trash and cows... Luckily, my pessimism was unnecessary. Soon, the trash smoked against a background of shantytowns. The shantytowns developed into flower-garland stands. Finally, a giant temple appeared. My faith in the driver was renewed.
Next, I had the driver take me to a Jain temple. What bang for my rupee... I got to see three. A happy, happy Jain priest (who didn't even hit me up for cash!) wanted me to be happy, happy so he showed me the "one-two-three-brothers, one-two-three-temples." The one in the guidebook was the most impressive- built well over a hundred years ago, the entire thing is mosaic of mirror and glass. I got the following explanation about Jainism: "Jains are happy, happy! We want you be happy, happy! We Jain, we no kill anything. That why we sweep."
Enlightening. I still don't know who these three happy, happy brothers were.
Happy, happy, and with only one place left on my to-see-before-I-leave-and-never-look-back-at-Calcutta list, I got back into my taxi. Now the driver was happy, happy also since happy happy priest was so into telling me to be happy happy that a ten minute trip to a temple turned into long, and metered, ordeal.
"To the hotel, madam?"
Have I mentioned that everyone in India calls me madam? Its horrid. I'm not menopausal yet- what is wrong with Miss? Only the beggars don't call me madam. They call me "sister". I'm such an obvious sucker... but I do prefer it to madam. When I gave a doggie bag to a ricksaw driver, he called me auntie. That was a good one, considering he was at least twice my age.
"Nope, I'd like to see the Hoogly Ghats." He looked at me kind of funny and started to drive. He pulled into a parking lot next to what looked like a row of outdoor sweatshops. He got out and told me to follow him. I figured that we had, at this point, develooped a rapport and he wouldn't get me killed. I followed him through what was apparently a deity statue production line and down a staircase. The sun was setting over the Hoogly River. Women in sarees were bathing in the water. For a second, Calcutta was very, very pretty.
I pulled out my camera and started taking a picture of the sunset. A kid came up to me and told me to take her picture. Expecting the usual "you take my picture, then give me money" routine, I told her I wouldn't give her any money.
Yes, the burning garbage on the side of the road has blackened my heart. As, for the record, have self-mutilated beggars, who have clearly chopped off their own arm to get more sympathy change. Waving your stump in my face does not make me feel sorrier for you. It makes me feel like if you hadn't cut your own arm off, maybe you could use it to be a productive member of society. Yeah, you'll see my name on the next Republican ballot.
Anyways, turns out the kid doesn't want money. She doesn't even want gum, chocolate, or candy. She just wants her photo taken. As do the rest of the kids that had previously been swimming in the river. I spent a long time taking photos of the kids. They were the highlight of Calcutta, and did a great job getting the vile taste of that city out of my mouth.
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