Namaste!

                Namaste!

                I’m finally here in India – Can you believe it? I hardly can, it’s been a day and a half now and I feel like I’m in a dream. It took what I think was six-and-a-half long hour flight to London, a seven-and-a-half hour long flight to Delhi, and then a two hour flight to Kolkata (Calcutta) with layovers in between – all-in-all, over 24 hours of travel by my calculation (not to count all the time spent preparing and packing, what a doozey that was). Regarding my flights, all went well. Things got somewhat stressful in the Delhi airport, when I was still going through security a mere 15 minutes before my flight left – I have never run so gracelessly in front of so many people (and that’s saying something). Thank God for the various airport employees that bent the rules and allowed me to cut lines, check an extra bag, etc.! Although admittedly, my favorite airport agent had to be the customs man that allowed me official entrance into India in Delhi. I watched this man stamp visas and passports wordlessly for about an hour when, as he inspected mine, he looked up to confirm that I would be studying in Udaipur (I will). He smiled and said the city’s nickname, “the city of lakes.” Yes it is indeed, sir.

                However, before Udaipur, I decided to spend a few days in Kolkata, previous home of Mother Teresa and still home of her Sisters/Missionaries of Charity. After countless emails and phone calls to friends-of-friends and strangers alike, I was convinced that I had to go. I suppose I’ll start at the airport. It’s pretty small and worn down, and it seems kind of strangely casual in the way it’s run. Just one example: I saw passengers peer through the baggage claim curtains to yell at the security guards who were taking too long to scan our baggage – something, which if tried in an American airport, would probably result in people being tasered.

Auto-rickshaws on a Kolkata Street

                Well, that (along with most of the airplane meals) was just a taste of things I wasn’t used to seeing back home in the States. Stepping outside, I was bombarded by taxi drivers offering me a ride. Having been previously warned about so-called mafia taxis by a tour guide in Poland, I prepaid for my ride. But even still, drivers registered with the company were fighting to drive me, in hopes of getting a good tip. I was whirled into a cab by a driver I’m fairly certain that, upon hearing where I was going, swore in Hindi because my guesthouse is a pretty far from the airport – by my memory, about 6 km, which translates to something over an hour in Kolkata traffic.

                That is, if you can call the mess of cars on pavement in this city “traffic.” There are no lanes, no stop signs, and few lights (that are often ignored) – complete chaos. Good thing I watched a video taken by someone driving through Kolkata traffic before I arrived, or I may have panicked. Imagine: cars, trucks, buses, motorbikes, mechanical and traditional rickshaws, and bicycles with carts going every which way at knuckle-whitening speeds, missing each other by increments of an inch at any given point. It only took two minutes in the car to realize there is no such thing as being an aggressive pedestrian like back home, where you can expect cars to slow down for you as you cross the street, within reason of course. No, here you RUN for your life across the street, even when there is a walk sign allowing you to go. It’s kind of an amusing sight to see people of all walks of life – monks, business men, old women in sarees, beggars – sprint across the street for their dear life.

View from my window, men doing construction work on bamboo stilts

View from my window

                So, on Wednesday evening Kolkata time, I finally arrived at my guesthouse – the Baptist Missionary Society guesthouse, which is located down the street from the Sisters of Charity Mother House. Despite being exhausted and admittedly a bit overwhelmed, I made it to an internet “café” to report that I had arrived. Although it was around the corner, that was quite the walk too. Lots of people do not hesitate to talk to foreigners or beg for money around here as they pass.

My room, complete with complementary toilet paper

                I have no idea why, but I expected both to be located in a quieter area. Yes, I know Kolkata is a huge city. Yes, I had done pretty extensive research to learn about what’s up around here. But somehow, I was not prepared for the hustle and bustle that is this city. Outside my window is a little alley of dwellings – definitely not huts, but not quite houses – that never sleeps. At any given moment, I hear dogs barking, crows and chicken chattering, children playing, women and men yelling, and car horns blaring. Despite the many (useless) “no honking” signs around the city, horns seem to be drivers’ answer to the lack of lanes and rearview mirrors – they use them without mercy around here, to the point where it’s impossible to tell where they’re coming from.

                Because today is the Sister’s day of prayer, I spent the day walking around the city. Boy, did I walk! After breakfast at the guesthouse – bread, fried eggs, fried bananas, and of course TEA (chai) – I headed out with a map in hand and a general itinerary. However, I should have known better than to plan my excursion out – as Edrees, a friend from Youth Journalism International, the journalism group that I’m involved with told me last week, “Travel plans in Asia are not so firm.” My itinerary was disrupted by the fact that most shops don’t open until 10am, many streets are unmarked, multiple streets share names, my map was off at times, and just due to the sheer multitude of people out and about. This in and of itself was so different than the Polish cities I encountered last year, that I found it originally very frustrating. Early on, I ducked into a coffee shop mentioned by my hosts called “Barista” on one of the main streets. After having been somewhat of a spectacle on the way over, surprised was I to see a shop completely full of Americans and Brits, lounging around to the musical stylings of Green Day, Queen and Bon Jovi. So, yes, it was a fail on the Rachel scale of cultural authenticity. But nonetheless, the chai was really good (masala), and it provided a good stop to reevaluate the map before I went on my way.

So all-in-all, I think it worked out for the best. I still walked around all day, saw plenty of things (including a McDonald’s and a KFC, oddly enough), and got a taste of what it means to live in Kolkata. Plus, I successfully made a few purchases (although admittedly continue to fail at bargaining). Amongst all that there is to see just walking around and heading to the various bazaars, or markets, that are around town (more on that to come later, perhaps), I was able to see a mosque, the tower, some pretty regal government buildings, the Writer’s Building, and St. John’s Church.

St. John's Anglican Church, with the rockin' organist

Visiting the church turned out to be a surprisingly amusing experience. After walking around for hours, I was absolutely in needs of finding someplace quiet to sit for a while. After having searched for it and given up, I happened across the church accidentally. It sits in its own walled-in property (well, nothing is on its own property – people live everywhere). I found it strange that I had to pay a tourist fee to get in, and even more strange that the guard at the gate pestered me for additional tips. But I got in and sat down for a while. Inside the church was pretty simplistic – it was modeled after Greek architecture but clearly was worn and in needs of some care. As I was sitting, a man approached me and asked if I was from France (to think – someone thought I look French!) When I said, no, he guessed American and proceeded to tell me about the piano, which is from Chicago. Then he talked on and on about the organ, the piano, the bible at the front of the church, and the painting on a side alter. It turns out he was the church’s organist. He told me about corruption regarding the organist who facilitated the theft of about 100 of the organs pipes, and the corruption of the church employees like the security guard at the front. He then proudly showed me all the articles he was featured in as the church’s pianist and played a few songs for me and the other ladies that came to visit the church. But when they left, hilarity ensued. As I was leaving, he asked if I was familiar with a certain musician. When I replied that I wasn’t, he asked how I could not know the band Foreigner. (Of course I know them, they’re a particular favorite of my mother and I.) Shocked, I asked why he was asking. As it turns out, they randomly showed up to the church on a visit to India. He played me a few bars of “Cold as Ice” on the piano and then told me about how they asked if he knew any Pink Floyd. He was able to pick up on it by ear and played Pink Floyd on the organ, and they ended up recording it and jamming with him. And then he requested that I listen to the Pink Floyd song as I left. Imagine listening to a booming organ version of Pink Floyd in a church in Kolkata! I never would have expected that anywhere, nonetheless in India. So thanks, Johnny, for giving me the opportunity to have that story to tell!

So, that was really long, but what else would you expect of me? More to come later about Kolkata and hopefully my work with Momma Teresa’s crew here. But until then, see you later!