Not speaking the language is getting a little frustrating. I want to interact with people, I have questions, I want to get to know people. But I can’t speak the language and the majority of Bengalis I have been around do not speak English, or speak only a tiny bit more English than I do of Bengali. It would be so much easier to get around if I knew the language! I must exercise patience, forcing it is not going to make it happen any faster. Luckily, Rebecca’s been teaching me. We had a cute little lesson last night. She taught me some numbers (good to know when bartering!), and taught me some of the colors (very helpful when it comes to saree shopping!) I have been lagging on learning the script. I’m halfway through the vowels (there are 12). I know the devanagari script (Hindi & Sanskrit scripts), and while this script is different, there are a few similarities, so I guess the odds are leaning in my favor in that respect.
Yesterday Rebecca and I did our first tourist, sight-seeing type thing. I thought it would be nice to have some fresh air, be in some open space. So we went to the Chowringhee part of town, where the Maidan and the Victoria Memorial are. So much for fresh clean air. Be grateful all of you over there in the States! Kolkata is clouded over in an incessant haze of air pollution. I still have only seen the sun through a screen of smog since I’ve been here. On the other hand, so far I haven’t experienced the cliché of absolute squalor that is associated with Calcutta (I mean, don’t you think of Mother Teresa and the film “Salaam Bombay!” when you think of Calcutta?) Fyi – I think many Calcuttans resent that stereotype – so if you meet someone from here, make sure that’s not your first topic of conversation. Better to bring up the other stereotype of Bengali’s being poets, writers, bohemians, and revolutionaries. Better even to bring up the stereotype that the men are effeminate (although I think the colonial British were just jealous because the Bengali’s were far more gentlemanly and intellectual than they would ever be. Just a theory…).
Okay, so, yes, there is poverty here. And, no, I definitely have not been to all parts of Calcutta. Yet I have not (yet) noticed any more poverty here than I have in other parts of India. In fact, I’ve noticed less here so far, particularly in contrast to other cities, like Jaipur for instance. Or perhaps the poverty-stricken Calcuttans are more mild than in other parts of India. I mean, I’ve experienced people hounding me, I’ve seen Westerners in Jaipur surrounded by yelling beggars, I’ve been followed by poor young women and girls carrying babies. I’ve seen (what looks like) miles of dilapidated cardboard hut neighborhoods, and whole families living under overpasses. So while any poverty tugs on my heartstrings, I haven’t found Calcutta any worse than any other part of India.
So coming back to the topic of our Maidan (pronounced more like ‘moidan’) and Victoria Memorial outing. I read up a little before we went out. Of course I referred to my Lonely Planet “Northeast India” guidebook. I was even more eager, though, to open up my newly acquired “Calcutta: A Cultural and Literary History” by Krishna Dutta. I borrowed it from the school where Rebecca studies language: American Institute of Indian Studies. I had met up with her there the day before to have lunch with her and her two teachers: Prashanjeet Da (‘Da’ is like older brother and considered a term of respect) and Protima Di (‘Di’ like older sister, also considered respectful). They’re both really great and welcomed me to the school with a lot of warmth. This particular book just called out to me, and I’m really glad I found it. I highly recommend it to anyone who plans on visiting here.
As the title suggests, Victoria Memorial is a memorial to Queen Victoria, who died in 1901, I believe. Lord Curzon was viceroy of India at the time, and pulled together enough money to start building this Taj Mahal/White House-like palace in her honor. It wasn’t finished until about 20 years later and he was no longer Viceroy by then. Actually, I don’t even think the building of it started until after he left India and his position of Viceroy. Now it’s a museum. And, lovely, they charge foreigners 150 rupees, while Indians pay 10 rupees! Okay, so 150 is only $3, but compared to 10 rupees – isn’t that a bit much?! My guidebook said foreigners pay 50 rupees. Well that needs to be updated. Honestly, I find it insulting, perhaps wrongly so, but the fact is I do. I just find the price difference insane and I’ve seen this before elsewhere. One drastic example: in 2006, when I was studying dance in Chennai, somebody was even charging for yoga something like 100 rupees for Indians and 1000 rupees ($20) for foreigners. That was just too insulting, I didn’t take the class. I have a better idea – make people bring proof of income and charge them based on that, because, I can tell you right now, probably half of the Indians going to that museum have a larger income than I do.
On the bright side, I really enjoyed the exhibits. The older I get, the more I take after my father in this regard. I didn’t realize the extent of it until yesterday though. Poor Rebecca was just at the end of her rope by the time we left and I didn’t even have a chance to thoroughly look at everything to my full satisfaction. Not even close! I remember when I was a kid and it felt like my dad was reading every damn description allllllllll the way through each and every step of the way when we were at museums or historical sites. It would drive me crazy, I just didn’t get it. And now look at me! In my defense, the artwork and exhibits at the Victoria Memorial were exactly my interests historically and artistically, so I was having a really hard time pulling myself away. And Rebecca was being incredibly patient considering that there was only one exhibit that she was at all interested in (the awesome Kalighat paintings. Wow, they were really fantastic. As luck would have it, the exhibit closes today, so we got there in the nick of time. Mom – you would just absolutely love that exhibit. Look up some examples on Google. My favorites were the paintings based on social and political commentary). I hope to go again before the end of my trip, next time I won’t drag poor Rebecca along. I’ll make sure I go on my own so I can marinate to my full selfish satisfaction in the awesome artistic history that surrounding me. But, I warn you, I am going to be outraged all over again about that damn entrance fee!
There are tons of royal looking horse-drawn carriages along the road to Victoria Memorial. They are covered with silver, or mirrors, or gold and beautifully etched designs. They also offer horse-back riding, although not in the Western sense. These are scruffy, undernourished donkey-looking horses. I felt so sad for this one little baby horse. I still can’t stop thinking about it. It was this little brown one and it had this gaping wound in the side of it’s neck. There were all these gnats and flies that wouldn’t leave it alone. And I could tell it was really itchy for the poor thing, cuz it kept rubbing it’s neck against the stone fence! I sat down to pet the little guy for awhile, he kept trying to rub his wound against me for relief. I felt so sad and helpless, I just didn’t know what to do to help it. I kept thinking of Shyama, cuz she’s this incredible horse person and she would know just what to do to soothe and nurture the poor thing. Shyama, if you’re reading this, you need to fly over here and give some lovin’ to this poor baby!
So, I have a confession to make. I’m an addict and I’m going to be suffering from serious withdrawals when I return to the States. Cha and Daab. It’s everywhere around here, available on every corner and somebody who has a weakness for it should just not be in this city. “Oh no! What is cha and daab?!” you’re probably wondering. Fine, I’ll share my secret with you. Cha: piping hot (literally!) spiced milk tea served out of an unfired biodegradable clay cup, preferably. And the cup is always tiny, by the way. Yep, tiny. Like about 4 ounces tiny, maybe even less. And, shockingly, it is the perfect amount. It’s the standard size around here. American’s would be scandalized, it’s so small. But, think about it – aren’t pistachios so much better when you take them out of the shell yourself? You just savor it all the more, right? There is absolutely nowhere else where tea is this damn good. It just can’t be replicated. Oh yeah, and daab: fresh baby coconut juice straight out of the coconut (also biodegradable!). It tastes nothing like the bottled and canned baby coconut juice that is all the rage in the States these days. It tastes a million billion infinity times better. Yet another aspect of being here in India that just makes me swoon with ecstasy.
I forgot to mention. India has all of these hilarious garbage cans. It’s clearly very difficult to convince people to use the damn garbage can. I even see really modern educated looking Indians my age littering shamelessly. Well, the other day, this girl littered on the side walk and it didn’t look so shameless – she surreptitiously dropped it as she was casually walking along. Oh, honey - that wasn’t by mistake, you knew you were throwing that piece of trash on the ground and the way you did it I could tell you knew better! Anyway, back to the garbage cans - they’re often in the shape of animals, like rabbits or alligators. As we were leaving the Victoria Memorial, I saw my favorite one to date: a scary, gargoyle-like, rumplestiltskin face. Wouldn’t that scare people away from throwing out their trash?!
Shoot, I had photos all set for this blog and now I'm having a hard time posting them. If I figure it out, I'll post them later.
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