Back on the Road

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Flew out from London on Thursday afternoon to Kolkata via Dubai. As we climbed above Dubai for the last leg, I wondered (no, seriously, I was pretty sleep deprived at this point) whether there were more light bulbs than people in the world. Below us, the neighbourhoods of Dubai were marked off by millions of the little buggers, some static, some winking, flashing, alternating between on and off. Looking forward to seeing Dubai by day on the way back.

In order to combat the sleep deprivation, I'd booked the first night in a fancy pants hotel in Kolkata, way over my budget. At breakfast, one of the waiters told me that we were in one of the poshest areas in Kolkata, and that some Government minister lived nearby. Then he smiled, as if on cue, and I was reminded of those stories of Indian call centre workers being drilled in Eastenders plotlines and forced to recite the names of Ken Barlow's wives in chronological order.

In the lobby, as I checked out, a teeny tiny woman, dressed in a sari, glided over discreetly and asked if I'd enjoyed my stay. I said yes, and moved to one side, to put my things away in my bag. As I did, I was aware of someone shouting. I looked around, and the lobby seemed to be full of uniformed soldiers or police or whatever they were. A group of about 6 of them were stood around a rather harrassed looking man in a suit, and the ring leader was shouting at him aggressively. The teeny tiny woman was gliding over in my general direction, and when I asked what was going on whispered sadly, "There is nothing for you to be uncomfortable about. It is nothing".

Back home, I'd glossed over the tiny snippets of news about political unrest; the odd train explosion here, the occasional strike there. But the scene in the hotel made it seem a little less far away and unimportant. Also, the surroundings seemed really incongruous - it was as if the IRA had kicked off in the lounge at the Sanderson.

Despite the rain, Kolkata was hot. It wasn't the sort of heat that we get at home, that seems to come from a fixed point somewhere above our heads (ie the sun), but seemed to be in the air all around, seeping from the fabric of the clapped out and decaying clapboard buildings,. and wheezing through exhaust pipes of the little knots of taxis that clogged up the cities arteries. Because the traffic is bad - I seemed to spend hours sat in the back of a taxi in a traffic jam. It's a good position for street watching - enterprising marriage officers had plastered their names and phone numbers on posters around the town; I saw another advert, a massive hoarding tacked to the front of a tall building, plugging heart bypass surgery, for the equivalent of a night in the fancy pants hotel. It seemed odd, reducing something as sober as heart surgery to competing with adverts for electrical goods and make up - the NHS has a lot to answer for, thankfully.

While in Kolkata, I visited the Khaligat temple. It was loud and crowded and the smell of incense wafted everywhere. The temple and surrounding courtyards seemed to be full of people swarming in every direction, some carrying baskets, some clutching votives. I stood and watched a trio, a priest and a man and woman, the woman older than the man, so perhaps his mother, crouching over the head of a baby goat, their hands on top of the goat's head, holding in place vibrant pink petals. The priest's chanting finished, the boy and the woman stood up, the boy smiling sheepishly at the small crowd that had gathered to watch the ritual, many of whom he seemed to know, while the priest stayed crouching on the ground, whispering into the goat's ear. I left them to it...I had an idea that I knew what was coming next, and didn't want to watch.

Travelled last night from Kolkata to Darjeeling, in time for a strike by the group seeking indpependence. Still a bit fuzzy on who or what they want it from, but am sure it will become clear at some point. No hard and fast onward plans yet, but would like to visit some places in sikkim that i missed first time round.

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Comments

[wendy street]

That time again !
I guess there's always somewhere at sometime in India when there's political unrest. Hope it won't be too much of a problem . There's always Weston Super Mare and the donkeys , instead of Kolkata and poor little unsuspecting goats.