The flight was short, but shaky. On my right-hand side, a tiny, elderly lady was staring at me, the tall girl and the only white person on the plane, in fascination. She reached to grab my hand and examined it with care. One my left-hand side a toddler, sitting on his father’s lap, tried to do the same. I smiled and nodded, but entertaining a conversation proved hard.
We are writing February 2017 and I am sitting on the internal flight from Bengaluru to Kolkata. I’ve spend a couple of weeks working at the former location and in the latter, I will meet up with a friend to go on a trekking on the Indian Himalaya. Kolkata was the perfect meeting point and the fact that the English cricket team will be playing India in the iconic Eden Gardens ground is a great bonus. We’ve got 48 hours before boarding the sleeper train to the hill station where we will start our trekking, we’ve done our research and we are all set for making most of it. Kolkata is the sprawling labyrinth of a childhood book I loved. It is also the scene of the infamous famine and violence of the 1940s that killed hundreds of thousands. “Now”, my colleagues in Bengaluru warned me, “you will get to see the real India”.
This is not my first time in India, but as soon as the taxi gets of the airport premises, I start to get a sense of what they mean. Sure enough, the amount of traffic, motorbikes coming at us the wrong way and cows zigzagging around cars and street vendors are no surprise. But the man-drawn rickshaws and yellow Ambassador cars are new and in this unique place, India’s colonial past is more present than in any other city. After checking into our hotel, the remainder of our evening is spent at dinner. We follow the recommendation of the hotel staff, because we simply cannot believe that proper Naples-style pizza is served in this town. It is, at Fire and Ice in Jawaharlal Nehru road.
The alarm buzzes early because we have a long list of things we want to do. Chai in earthen cups, which are smashed on the pavement upon finishing the brew, can be bought at every corner of the street and keeps us going. High on our list of things to see is the Victoria Memorial, an impressive marble structure that comes quite close to the Taj Mahal, but without the herds of tourists. We spend ample time visiting the memorial and surrounding park, which also makes a great photo spot. Speaking of photos, expect to be asked to feature in lots of selfies with young lads and families alike and be prepared for your shots to be photobombed just as you are striking a pose.
We wander further around the city, pausing to watch a local team play cricket and to buy a coconut of a stall to complement our lunch. Next is Babu Ghat on the river Hooghly. It’s one of several ghats in Kolkata, basically flights of stairs leading down to the river for bathing and ceremonies. The ghat is bustling with people, merchants and even a couple taking wedding photos. At the jetty, we jump on a ferry taking us to the other side of the river. The ride is short, but provides greats views of Howrah bridge. It’s said to be one of the busiest bridges in the world and as we are walking over it to reach the city centre again, I can well believe this. We reach Mallick Ghat, which its impressive flower market and continue our walk. At St John’s church, we jump into a taxi.
We ask to be dropped off at A.J.C Bose Road, at the home of the Missionaries of Charity, perhaps better known as Mother Teresa’s House. This is probably the place where every visitor to Kolkata makes a stop and I do recommend everybody to do the same. The Mother House is a peaceful place that take you away from Indian traffic and the simple museum explaining Mother Teresa’s life and mission is humbling.
On we go, looking for South Park Street Cemetery. We get our bearings wrong and end up at the Scottish Cemetery instead. It is getting late already and we are lucky to be let in by the cleaner. She seems pleased to have visitors and enthusiastically waves us in. I was not aware of the large Scottish population that once existed in Kolkata, but the names on the worn gravestones are obvious. When we exit the graveyard, darkness has fallen and we consider options for dinner. As it turns out, we are just a short walk away from Mocambo, an old-style restaurant dating back to colonial times. Even though the menu is presented as continental, don’t go in if you’re after a good old fish and chips – local influence is definitely present even in the cannelloni leading to a tasty result.
We kick of our second day in Kolkata in vintage style and hail a yellow Ambassador car to take us to the Kalighat temple. The ride is an adventure by itself. Any springs under the seats had been long gone and our driver loved to show off his manoeuvring skills amid the hectic traffic. But the adventure was only about to start. As we walk under the arch leading to Kalighat temple, the crowd of people gets visibly thicker. As we pause to look at the map, a girl on her way to the temple approaches us and leads the way through flower merchants, preachers and animals, but most of all lots and lots of people on their way to the temple. Upon reaching the main square the girl disappears in the crowd and we are left to our own devices again. Not for long though, various people presenting themselves as guides approach us and name their price. They are all sharks and we know it, but given the chaos around the temple we opt for the easy way and male our pick. Our guide leads us past the immensely longs queues of temple-goers carrying flowers and other gifts for the deity, and deeper into the temple. The pandemonium is complete as I am pushed and pulled to all sides by the crowd. I cling on to our guide’s shirt and hope for the best. When we reach the inner sanctuary, the ground is covered with crushed flowers and fruits. Some unidentified dark liquid drips onto the paved walkway. I’m having vague recollections reading about the – controversial – goat sacrifice taking place at Kalighat temple and at that point we decide that enough is enough. We signal to our guide that we our ready to leave. When we reach a marginally more quiet corner outside the temple, he announces with a big solemn smile that the 200 rupees fee is per person. And that it excludes the offering which he will leave a the kundupukur, the sacred water tank next to the temple. A thousand rupees is suggested. We knew they are all sharks, right?
Ploughing through the crowds at Kalighat has turned out to be rather tiring so we decide on a nice posh lunch in the Grand Hotel on Jawaharlal Nehru Road. Our choice for this location is well calculated: it is only a short walk from Eden Gardens, Kolkata’s iconic cricket ground. In less than two hours, the England cricket team will meet the Indian squad for a One Day International (ODI) game. I shall refrain from going into too much detail on the modalities of the game, but let’s just say it is going to be an important one. On the way to the ground, the streets are lined with stalls selling merchandising. For just 5 rupees fans can have the Indian flag or the Union Jack painted on their cheeks. We chat to other visitors in the queue to the entrance and pose for more selfies. Darkness is already falling and the floodlights are on when a win for England is declared by 5 runs. That is a very tight victory.
We rush out of the stadium well ahead of the crowd and fetch an Uber as we walk. That’s the advantage of investing in a local sim card. There is no time to lose for picking up our luggage at the hotel and making our way to the railway station. The sleeper train will take us further north for our Himalayan trek. With a rough week in trekkers huts ahead, we’ve treated ourselves to First Class Air Conditioned, 1AC for the connoisseurs. There was no time to stock up on food, so we eat a small dinner of cereal bars and leftover fruits as we reminisce on our 48 hours in Kolkata and I send some photos to my colleagues in Bengaluru. I dare say I’ve earned my street cred now. We made most of it, my friend and I agree, and it was definitely worth the stopover.
