Kolkata end of days

Sun 29 Dec 2014  

Bleary-eyed and three hours late, we rolled into Kolkata not quite knowing what to expect.  

It was bustling with energy, and there was instantly the recognition by us that this was going to be different to what we'd experienced before.  

We found and queued at the blessed pre-paid taxi rank and were happy to wait the 5 minutes to not get ripped off. We got our slip for Sudder Street, a backpacker haven that we'd been tipped off about.  

The policeman beckoned a taxi over and wrote the number plate on the slip he gave back. We jumped in the cab, threw our bags in the back, and were just about to buckle our belts (I joke, taxis in India don't have brakes let alone belts) when the driver said he needed the other bit of the slip.  

Confused, we checked our pockets but couldn't find anything. We were sure we handed him our 'driver' slip as well as the passenger one, but he wasn't having it. We got out and crossed back over the road to the officer.  

He didn't have the slip either, and with a twinkle in his eye, the shouty and somewhat aggressive policeman marched us back to where the driver was sheepishly waiting. He grabbed the man and took all the money and slips out of his top pocket. Nothing.  

Then the driver had a bright spark. Right where we had been sitting, there was the slip. Magically on the seat.  

The police officer told us not to give it to him again until we'd reached our destination, as it's like a check.  

The driver sped through the city silently, and we finally managed to get out on the road.  

I say road—cars drive down, there are pavements, but there are also an awful lot of people living, eating, cooking, and hanging out on the street. This was the sort of poverty people think of when they imagine India, and although we'd been to some of the poorest parts of the south, and Mumbai, there was something about this city that made it all the more striking.  

With our bags high on our shoulders, we traipsed on keen to find somewhere we could rest.  

We found a hostel with cute cubicle rooms, a shared bathroom, and most importantly, wifi. We still hadn't booked anywhere for Bangkok, and time was running out.  

While our room was shaken down and cleaned, we tucked into a well-earned beer just across the street.  

Suzie stank. After 29 hours of feverish travel, she really needed a shower. The report back was that the temperature was just close to freezing. Luckily, I was fresh as a daisy and decided I didn't need one.  

We'd been informed about a Kali temple deep in the heart of Kolkata. Kali is Shiva's wife and is vengeful with anger. To appease her, the locals sacrifice goats daily and an ox yearly. This is in stark contrast to the usual gentle nature of the Hindu religion, and we were very keen to experience this side of the culture.  

Walking back along the slum—I mean road—towards the metro, we walked past an outdoor urinal. Unfortunately for us, well, unfortunately for Suzie really, a late middle-aged lady was using the floor of said urinal for a squatting poo. Luckily for Suzie, the splash just missed her feet (by a matter of millimetres).  

We hopped onto the metro—the only one we'd managed to find in India—surprisingly clean, not very busy, and obviously very cheap, about 5p to cover the city.  

We got out not really knowing where to go and disorientated by our underground trip. Asking an elderly gentleman in what looked like full military uniform, we headed in the general direction.  

Walking up a busy dual carriageway, unsure of the next turn, some lads were bathing in the street. Seeing us—well, mainly Suze—they decided to do funny walks whilst exposing themselves with their open towels. Not wanting to encourage them any further, we walked hastily on.  

The next pavement was blocked by a man (I assume it was a man) covered head to toe in an old sack he was using as a sleeping bag, rolling around with shakes and excitement. He was clearly enjoying himself—maybe he should have waited for darkness though...  

Finally, after asking someone who was neither exposing themselves nor masturbating, we found the long road to the Kali temple.  

Once inside, a man started explaining aspects of the temple. He was obviously after a few rupees for his time, but it's always better to have a guide, and I read that there are people who work for the temple who are happy to show you around for a small donation.  

He showed us the temple, which was full of energy and vibrancy in every corner. It had a dark edge to it, much more than any other temples, but it felt like a celebration of anger and wrath rather than an angry atmosphere.  

We saw where the sacrifices are made but were told that they are done mid-morning, so we couldn't watch one. To be honest, although it would have been amazing to have seen, it's not on my to-do list to see a goat's head chopped off anyway.  

He then took us into a small part of the temple where we took it in turns to ask Kali to keep us safe, and we prayed for our friends and families back home. We offered the less gory sacrifice of flowers, a bracelet, and of course, a little money.  

It was a great experience, and it felt, as with all things Indian, like we'd been pushed in, thrown around, and spat out again before we'd had a chance to really soak it all up.  

We found ourselves outside haggling once again for a taxi, this time to the more modern temple: the South City Mall.  

This mammoth shopping centre was packed full of post-Christmas shoppers looking to spend their gifted rupees. The goal, as has been since I cut my tight chino trousers into shorts and subsequently threw them in the bin, was to get me some trousers so that:  
1. I could go to a bar/club/restaurant.  
2. I wouldn't look like a schoolboy every time we had date night.  

We ummed and ahhed for hours before we finally found me a pair that would match up to my apparent high standards—but not before Suzie had managed to get a full makeover, half with one coloured foundation, half with another.  

She looked hilarious, and I had to leave her to it as she tried to convince the pushy salesman to take it off and let her go without buying anything.  

Another police-summons taxi later, and we were back at Sudder Street. Hungry and worn out, we marched up and down the badly lit side streets before a disappointing last meal in India.  

We went to bed, ready for what Thailand would bring.  

I've loved (nearly) every minute of India. It's packed so tightly full of life that it's easy to be overwhelmed. With time, we became accustomed to the daily assault on the senses, the warm, generous people, and the scammers.  

The sights and attractions are incredible and innumerable, but there is also something entirely indescribable about this majestic country. Each region has a different culture, different tastes, and sights, although the smell stays the same. And putrid as it is, eventually it becomes homely.  

India, I love you, and I will miss you, but let's just take a break for a bit, ok. xx

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