11.04.06...A Week in Waiting...A Week in Kolkata

**THIS ONE IS LONG, SO SETTLE IN AND TAKE SOME TIME TO ENJOY… I ENCOURAGE DIALOGUE IF IT SO HAPPENS TO STRIKE YOU**

FINAL HOURS IN CHENNAI

Although my final post from Chennai excluded photos (honestly I was exhausted), I decided to do a quick recap.

Taking the prize for most worth mentioning was the rain-produced lake. While one doesn’t think to snap ‘before’ photos of someone’s driveway and surrounding property, if I had you’d see that these two areas were nearly bone dry when we arrived. But after several days of severe rains…that had Venice style property.

We spent much of our last day at home packing and chatting. In the evening we (the ladies) headed out for a little shopping. I was able to secure the much sought after south Indian coffee beans I was searching for (coffee drinkers delight!). On the way home we stopped at a small chaat place called gangotree for, what else, chaat (mostly spicy snack mini-meals):

I braved a long-standing taste bud foe of mine: pani puri.

I realized I have been a fool. It was delicious. However, I still wouldn’t buy it from the street vendors.

Just outside of the shop was an SUV with a massive garland on it:

This seriously puts to shame the wimpy Christmas wreaths that so often adorn America’s massive SUVs.

Note to Americans: must have wreaths sized large enough to obscure the size of your vehicle.

The next morning, one final homage to Ganesh was spotted plastered on the back of an auto-rickshaw as we made our way to the airport.

I think these would sell well in Dead Head loving areas of the States…watch out you silly little dancing bears, there’s a new rainbow power player in town.

By my misfortune of the day I read the tickets wrong (about 100 times) and we arrived for our 5:25pm flight thinking it was leaving at 3:25pm. Que sera…what to do? We chatted, read and sipped coffees and tea to pass the time.

Once situated on the plane (and I know this sounds dull but hear me out), the seats were the cramped-est I’ve every seen...

This picture is not an exaggeration. They’re only one step away from standing slots with little ledges to rest your bum on.

And from there we were finally off to Kolkata.

MONDAY

KOLKATA HAS BEEN WAITING FOR ME TOO

(*took this snap as we left, but thought it looked nice here.)

The trouble with always wishing to go somewhere is that when you arrive, invariably your first thoughts are: how unremarkable.

That’s how I reacted to Kolkata. Don’t get me wrong, Kolkata is a fine city and one most worthy of visiting, just don’t expect to be blown away right off the bat. I’ll be honest, that was exactly how I felt about New York when I first arrived. Of all things, I couldn’t believe how small the Statue of Liberty seemed to me. It was disappointing in a way that her torch didn’t reach up to scrap the underbelly of the plane.

As it was night when we arrived, there were fewer things to see than I was sure the light of day would reveal to me. However, my keen eyes were still able to notice a few little things such as there being navy blue auto-rickshaws with white tops (as compared to green and yellow or yellow and black). Also, there are foot-powered rickshaws, which have actually been banned in other parts of the country. Another interesting quirk was the fancy painted chapels (leather slippers) on the back some of the municipal buses next to the words ‘danger’ and ‘ok’ to indicate preferred passing sides.

A yellow taxi raced beside ours with tinseled kerchiefs trailing in the wind from the antenna and door handle. It reminded me of those old cars from the forties with the fox or raccoon tails in the same places.

While pausing at a congested intersection I watched a fully veiled woman cross through the traffic. Her right arm was raised to hold the face piece up over her mouth and nose. The drape of her robe revealed an arm loaded with glittering bangles. When she hopped up on the curb I saw the hem of her trouser peek out. It was turquoise and heavily decorated with sequins. Just below this were some very stylish sandals with 2-inch heels that clicked loudly as she came down on the sidewalk. It seems odd this duality of the veil and high fashion, but I’ve been reading for some time now that some of the best dressed women in the world are hidden beneath the flowing blackness.

Other sights caught and released my attention until we arrived at our destination. While papa was settling the bill I watched the ebbing glowing of Ganesh’s tummy from the dashboard. It was most unsettling in its eerie cuteness.

A night of much needed sleep awaited me as I dozed to the lull of the whirling fan and the faint odor of musty plaster walls.

TUESDAY

VISITING MOTHER TERESA…REALIZING MY WHOLE LIFE IN A MOMENT

**Well I won’t lie and say that I didn’t already commit much of this experience to my own personal notes, so what I’m presenting here is an abridged version. It’s always tough to gauge how much of one’s personal experience one is ready to share with others AND others are ready to hear. Let’s hope a balance is struck in this instance.**

The day began with yoga asanas (postures) and meditation, the same as each day I have passed in India. I was calming myself in preparation for this visit. It struck me that I might get emotional, but I thought of the many times I had landed somewhere sacred and revered and watched with blank emotions as others prostrated themselves in reverence. I just couldn’t see myself getting that worked up, but nonetheless I actively envisioned a peaceful experience.

After a short 20 minute drive in incredibly clogged traffic, we stepped out of the taxi under the sign “Missionaries of Charity.” The doorways we passed along the alley were mainly unoccupied with the exception of two resident spectators.

The door from the city into the mission house was plain and wooden. The sign next to it read: Mother Teresa, M.C. ‘in’. This must have meant forever.

The first courtyard was simple with a couple of statues and a small potted garden. It was here that we slipped off our shoes and stepped through another doorway to the inner courtyard. It had a few modest pieces displayed:

To the left upstairs was the room the Mother had lived and passed away in:

To the right was the room where her tomb was situated. Large, plain white marble with a simple plaque card to remember her by.

And on the top these words spelled out in handfuls of marigold petals:

I knelt down beside her tomb and rested my hands and head on it as I began to give thanks to the Divine spirit for allowing me to realize this opportunity.

And then I wept.

The tears came with such force that I could hardly catch my breath. And all the things that I had done in my life or had been to me, both good and bad, flashed before me in sequence and I felt for each of them equally. If even one of these things--any one of the abuses, any one of the joys—any one at all had been forsaken or regretted then I would never have been rewarded with this day. This simple, yet awesome day.

What were my chances? What were they really? How could some young girl from a working, middle-class Anglo-American family be instilled first with such a passion and inspiration for this little woman from Kolkata, and then realize in an instance that her whole life to that very second had been paving a path to meeting this Mother of Kolkata. My whole life until now…my whole life.

I continued to weep freely and so I moved away from the tomb to find calm. When I thought I had returned to my senses, I allowed myself to return to the tomb where my senses were once again lost. I felt this time a small voice from inside tell me to have courage and assured me that I had made the right choices in life. Peace began to instill itself.

I moved away from the tomb to speak with one of the sisters. She asked my name. I told her ‘Jarucia’ as I choked back fresh tears. She shared kind words with me and I shared my story as best as I could. Thoughts of my grandmother flooded my mind along with all the thoughts of my life’s work and journey. How could I tell this story and it make any sense to any one but me? How could it have the same meaning? She smiled when I told her that I had been baptized with the name Teresa of my own choice and had tried to live up to my namesake in that way. She said she had known Mother and loved her very much and if I should choose that name then she would call me ‘Teresa’. And she did. She told me to take peace from this journey. She offered to pray with me at the tomb. I willingly accepted.

I again reflected on all of the things that had happened, that needed to happen to make this moment happen. Was it me? Was it the Divine spirit? Was it sheer luck? It was more than I could comprehend, and yet I felt I accepted a truth in my heart about life and the truest meaning of love as I have come to know it. I am grateful for this and am at peace with my life and all the pieces of it. I for once felt released from the guilt of not practicing an organized religion because I knew that my Divine spirit was pleased with me and it meant nothing to assign a name or worship in a group or any of the man-made business that goes along with ‘God’. It was about the love of life I have and my willingness to follow my calling, my vocation, to share this love through acts whether they be social service, raising a family, or simply allowing my heart to feel love without conditions or pain.

And if you should wonder: What does one do when one has become aware of all of this in realizing their life’s goal?

Well I will go on in much the same way as I did before, but I will take with me a new peace and a little more light and a lot more love in my heart.

Thank you to all those I have loved and who have loved me, whether for a moment or for my lifetime.

KOLKATA AND LIFE AFTER THE MEETING

As I said, life continues on for me in much the same way. Although I must say that uncontrollable crying generally leaves me with a headache for sometime after, but I actually didn’t mind. How could I when this pain came from such a joyous experience? I suppose in this way they cancelled each other out.

I thought about going back to Mission House before I left, but decided against it. I have much in my mind and heart. Enough to keep me pondering, and feeling like a child learning, in some ways, for quite some time to come.

I don’t doubt that I will go back again someday, but for now let me not be greedy.

THE REST OF THAT TUESDAY

We caught a cab and asked, blindly, for him to take us somewhere that we might find a good restaurant for lunch. Why I say blindly is that for 5 out of the 7 taxis we have taken thus far (and this by Thursday afternoon), the driver clearly meandered about in a way so as to increase the fare. How did we know? I picked up a road map and tour guide to give us direction for the few days we were here.

Honestly, the difference of Rs 1 or 2 is hardly a big deal for us, but it is always discouraging when you know you’re being taken for a ‘ride’. I guess cabbies everywhere work under the same general code… ‘take a little extra when you can, what harm does it do if they don’t know?’

After lunch we visited the Victoria Memorial .

This is a ridiculously large building (and surrounding grounds) which was built to more or less flaunt the wealth and pomp of the British Colonizers. The historical display that is now housed inside was an illuminating piece of history at how one greedy group of men (the British East India Company) encouraged another group of greedy men (the various regional rulers of India) to first give them access to India’s wealth of natural resources and ‘disposable’ labor pool and then eventually just steal control of everything outright. In the end I was struck by the notion that it seems very little has changed for most of India’s population for the past several hundred years with one exception: who the master of the time is. It’s discouraging in this way, especially when one thinks of the Independence movement and what has come since then.

One current example of the forward-backward thinking is to change the name of many of India’s cities. Bombay to Mumbai, Madras to Chennai, Pondicherry to Puducherry, Bangalore to Bengaluru and so on. While the sentiment is nice (a return to roots), why not have done this when the country first gained independence? Instead, all these years later they are going to have to waste a small fortune across the country to pay for the name changes everywhere the old name is printed, not to mention the cost to the private sector. In the meanwhile, there many abjectly poor people of this country are hungry for real change and this is all they are tossed. It’s politicking at its very worst. And before any Americans jump to conclusions I have two words for you: Freedom Fries.

I’m not quite of my stump yet…while these ‘back to our roots’ changes are happening images like these are still popping up everywhere:

I can’t help but see some serious hypocrisy or at least discontinuity between the messages being sent by those in control of this country—which isn’t limited in meaning to politicians.

A rose by any other name…can still sell its spirit for the same price. I really do hope, though, that India manages to retain its richness in heritage and culture, on its own terms, while they are acclimating to the global community and progressing socially. Otherwise it would be a sincerely great and powerful loss not just for Her own self, but all of humanity. At least that is my humble opinion.

ENOUGH OF POLITICS, WHAT ABOUT THE CITY?

Well after some time here, I think that Kolkata is fabulous, and I’m not just saying that. It is an extremely vibrant city and many aspects of it remind me of New York. I’ve heard it referred to as ‘the Paris of India’ because of the art and culture that is present everywhere. I plan on taking as much of it in as I can.

There are so many interesting sights that I needed to go ahead and create an ALBUM , so you may get a better idea of my time thus far. It isn’t so much that I’m ‘doing’ things, I’ve just been enjoying the city. Although I could do with a little less of the pollution which comes in two main forms: noise and exhaust. Until you’ve spent all day in a Kolkata cab, you can’t truly know what is like to be sitting in a cab with a bus to your left and have it rev up at the change of a light. The thick black exhaust cloud blows straight into your face when the window is broken and can’t be rolled up. But I’ve just been chaulking these experiences up to the charm of the city.

AND YOU HEAR ABOUT THE POOREST OF THE POOR

The city isn’t all charm though. There are more people openly living and sleeping on the streets than anywhere else I’ve been in India (but not quite as many as I remember in Mumbai). I pretty much refrained from photographing these people as I felt that it would be a disservice to their dignity. After all, would you walk right into a stranger’s living room and take a snap? Just because their situation forces them to live in public doesn’t mean that all aspects of their lives should be met with judging public scrutiny. What are their options? It made me wonder how much say some of these people have had over the years when photos of them were taken to be used in some charity ad or textbook.

It is a miserable situation for many of the people here and all around India and one can only cling to hope that the current ‘masters’ of this country will truly work with the welfare of the poorest of the poor in mind, too.

And what about my accountability as a visitor here? Well I could give a litany of rationale, but let me try to keep this on the simple side as it is a matter for which I have great compassion.

Having given money directly to the poor and having given time to organizations that help the poor out of their misery or at least suffer it less, I am certain that I am better serving those I encounter by giving my resources to an organization to help more people than just a one or two at a time.

No, it doesn’t feel right to smile and show empty hands as I pass their pleading eyes, nor does it feel right to toss them some pocket change. I feel helpless either way. But it really isn’t about what makes me feel good it is about trying to do right by all peoples of the earth: present and future. I am certain that in stopping for each and every person who asked for help and trying to dole out all of my resources this way I would endlessly fail in having any lasting affect on the institutional and societal wrongs that help form and shape these desperate situations. How can my arbitrary, guilt-ridden hand outs ever do justice to the needs of so many? However, if I act in concert with a larger group of people or organizations whose purposes are to provide the fundamental rights needed by every human being every day (shelter, food, clothing, education, a ‘clean’ environment, protection under law and so on), then I don’t need to worry as much if my work alone will determine even one other’s situation because those people will hopefully be able to determine their lives for themselves, rather than continue suffering under the oppression of a system they likely feel they exact little control over.

In the meanwhile you may question:

“How can you suffer their desperation while all of these good works are in the slow process of improving the situation?”

I can’t, so I at least openly acknowledge it by acknowledging them. I don’t pretend they don’t exist by looking away or clucking my tongue at their sight. I choose not to assuage my guilt this way that so many others do. In acknowledging their suffering I share the discomfort of their suffering even if it is for a moment. And this reminds me always of the service I must do. So I continue to do this work. In the end all of these people and myself will have passed away and many of the injustices that exist in society, which cause their suffering, will likely still be around, but hopefully as many will be gone, leaving a lasting legacy and inspiration for improvement for each generation to come.

Whether you believe in reincarnation or not, the apocalypse or not, God or not, as long as humans continue to be born on this planet it is our fundamental human and spiritual task to leave this world better off than we were given it. Not at least the same as we found it, but better.

For many that materially means a clean environment with sustainable economic habits.

But for me it means first and foremost a kinder spirit in the societies of the world. If even the most materially fortunate and socially dominant of us (and bless those among them, like Bill Gates and even Warren Buffet, for proving me wrong, to an extent, on their accounts) are willing to deny the FACT that their wealth and power comes from the massive outpouring of human productive activity--which has never been adequately compensated in monetary terms or plain social respect--then we all will continue to deny the full value of each human life.

As each human life is then subject to variable value in this world, so the individual and the rest of society can question the worthiness of adoration, ambivalence or abuse.

And as long as even one person on this planet can entertain the thought that their life is somehow more worthy of adoration, and therefore more valuable, there will always then be room for justifying the equitable abuse of one other.

It can never just end with ‘us’ or ‘them’, can it? We are ALL.

WEDNESDAY

ACROSS THE RIVER TO THE BANYAN TREE

The excursion for the day was across Hugli river and Vidyasagar Bridge to west Kolkata and the Botanical garden. The star resident of this garden is the Great Banyan tree.

As a focal point it is nearly a 1km walk (if not more) to reach it along a foot path that has shown to be only minimally maintained. Fair enough if the money needs to spent on more urgent matters.

Along the way we passed a monument to what or whom I cannot say, as well as a pond of wonderfully large lily pads. They were just like the ones we saw in Hawaii.

We then came upon the Banyan:

All of that dark green you see in the center of the frame is the Banyan. ALL OF IT! This massive tree is the largest in India and perhaps all of Asia (or the world). When I walked into the shadow of its canopy I walked into a jungle. The Banyan makes a wonderful metaphor for the world and all of the inhabitants of the earth:

While all appear to stand alone and act as if they do—

Striving for food, fighting for light, pushing for space—

They are all still ONE.

And we are all ONE in the way of this Banyan tree. What makes it even more interesting to think about is the fact the main trunk—the central core of its origination—was removed due to disease nearly 100 years ago. Yet despite this, the tree lives on supporting itself, supporting each part.

It made me ponder the lost human heritage that may or may not have been know at one point, but should be much clearer today than ever before considering the rapid and ceaseless sharing of information. Is it really so strange that all could share a common cause? We all want to live (for the most part). We all want to thrive. We all want to be left to determine our own lives. But just as we cannot achieve this in isolation of one another, we can neither achieve it through force or invasion.

As with the banyan, as one part grows stronger, so another might grow weak. If this one part draws strength still until the rest of the tree is reduced to dust, then it might suddenly find itself lacking some element necessary to its existence, but to what resolve because it became the creator of its own doom.

I know this sounds all philosophical and such, but seriously, people need to get in touch with this bigger picture and get to talking with others about it and get to acting on these thoughts. Don’t let others direct your discourse…dictate it yourself.

A VISIT WITH FRIENDS AND A QUESTION OF GOD

Into the evening we went to visit a friend of Papa’s…a batch-mate from police training days. He was an interesting chap. He couldn’t quite figure out how to address my response of being a non-practitioner of organized religion.

First he said: “Oh so that means that you don’t believe in God.”

“No, not that at all,” I said, “I just don’t believe that any person in the past or present can tell me how to believe in the Divine spirit or how I should relate to it or even act on those feelings.”

Later he said: “Since our friend here doesn’t believe in organized religion…”

“Oh, no, it isn’t that I don’t believe in organized religion. How could I not? I surrounds me and fills the world. I just don’t choose to practice it.”

It is interesting that people feel the need to categorize or compartmentalize others, and often times themselves. It’s remarkable how secure it makes people feel to be able to relate to others in this way. As if putting a label to somebody can even begin to help you understand that person as the individual spirit that they are. Poppycock!

Yet, we are all guilty of it because it just makes life easier in some strange way.

I say it makes life boring because people go about thinking they know a great more about the world and its inhabitants with out actually doing the work they need to do to figure ‘it all’ (i.e. LIFE) out. This is the kind of attitude that leads nations to wars over otherwise benevolent aims. They just don’t take the time to ‘get’ the other side.

A TURN FOR THE WORSE

This very same evening I fell ill from the scourge of all travelers…food related stomach issues to put it kindly. I think I ate something that touched something uncooked. And the irony of it all was it was one of the cleanest places we’d eaten since we’ve been on the road. Go figure.

Thank goodness for the emergency antibiotic Rx I brought with me. Now, I will say generally I hate taking these things (helps to evolve bacteria into super-bacteria…seriously). However, having recalled this feeling from when I was last in Mumbai two years ago and knowing how long it would last for (better part of 5 days), I broke down and took them. And boy did they do wonders by the next evening but in the meantime I was not well for the wear.

THURSDAY

THE MUSEUM AND TEA

I woke up Thursday morning and felt like I had the worst hangover ever, without actually having been drunk the night before, which makes the feeling seem a lot worse.

I thought I’d brave the day.

We made it to the Indian Museum where they had an odd collection of natural science specimens in the fields of zoology, archeology, fossils and geology in addition to some art. I walked through some of these naturalist sections before making a beeline to the painting gallery. I realized that India—nor any other nation really—has some corner hold on knowledge of natural history. What I’ve seen in the U.S. I saw here, and in Europe too. The major difference was the displaying of these items. I couldn’t make much sense of what the displays here were trying to get at. They were somewhat crude, although interesting in that it felt like I was walking through an old antiquities hall that had only seen minimal care over the years. Try to imaging the kind where you aren’t in fear of things toppling over, but where you might see a bench on top of a table with years worth of dust and cobwebs attached, while passing from one gallery to the next. In fact I saw this very thing…and it wasn’t a display of any sort, mind you.

I found it odd to find items such as asbestos on display:

It reminded me of how some things, in small quantities, can be useful. However, with the way many things are over used in the U.S., such as asbestos, they can be deadly.

On the upstairs level I marveled at the grand appearance of the museum and its courtyard set against a semi-clear sky.

While strolling along the upper walkway papa pointed out a FEMALE version of ganesh called ganeshi (that added ‘i’ symbolizes feminine in Hindi). He said that he had never seen one before. Of course neither had I. There was little explanation for her significance other than her name .

The remainder of the visit was split between looking at paintings by Indian artists and sitting on a bench.

While slowly making my way through the painting gallery I was moved by the simple method by which these various artists captured everyday activities in a snap-shot way. There was little posing of their subjects, just people going about their daily business and looking so enrapt by their work or activity. Additionally, there were more contemporary styles of art which were playful with form and color, but still fairly standard in there depictions of Indian life. The preferred medium was watercolor for many of these artists, which I suspect is a reflection of what is available and cost efficient. It is refreshing to see a variety of scenes depicted in the light and airy way which only watercolor can convey as compared to the use of heavy oil. Furthermore, many of these pieces were not done on canvas of cotton or linen, but rather paper or silk.

After satisfying myself with this exhibition I rested on a nearby bench while waiting for the folks to finish their viewing. For those 10 odd minutes I felt like another piece of the art on display. It is amazing how often and unabashedly people stare at me. For the most part their looks are blank but intense and do not break even if I respond with a nod or a quick smile. I know I’m not the only Westerner in India, but when we’ve traveled about I find that I’m often the only Westerner at a lot of the smaller sights and locals we go to. I wonder if they are wondering what I’m doing there. Do they think of me as being intrusive, inquisitive or just insane?

Just as I was nearing my breaking point of spectator tolerance, we pushed off for Lalbazaar to pick up some Darjeeling tea.

Lalbazaar is a maddening place. It is squeezed between the Kolkata police headquarters and long row of mostly tea and musical instrument shops. The taxis wailed their horns, the buses honked wildly, the air was hot and pushing all the dust and smells and fumes down on us. I honestly felt like I was going to pass out.

After selecting the tea shop to buy from (all their teas were in steel cans as opposed to sun exposed plastics), we collapsed into a cab and headed back to our guest house on Hazara road.

The rest of the day was a wash as I slept and took only a little soup. The air was stagnant and oppressive and it felt like there was no escape from it when we were on the roads. It seemed barely better back in our rooms. Maybe I’m exaggerating, but that is the memory pasted to my mind for the rest of that day.

FRIDAY

A STRONG FINISH…HOORAH!

The extra rest did me good. I was feeling much more refreshed in the morning and felt ready to get the most out of this last full day in Kolkata.

We had avoided going to shops up to this point as I really wanted to see the sights. It sounds like fun to shop one’s way through a country, but after awhile it really wears thin and leaves you feeling as if you had really seen and done nothing.

But today the period of abstinence was over.

After much referencing with the tourist guide and map, and checking out local news articles we settled on two places to visit.

The first was Manjusha, the West Bengal arts and crafts emporium on Camac St. While the building that housed the two part shop was quite large, the establishments were quite modest themselves. The main decorative art/craft they displayed were these fascinating copper and paint (?) reliefs of gods, goddesses, animals and people. I selected a simple one of a sitting woman as I figured the one of Kali—the patron goddess of Kolkata along with Durga would be a little too wild for our home.

The second shop we visited was Earthy Myth on Loudon St. This is Indian couture at its finest, I’d like to think. The fabrics used are all dyed using natural plant dyes and each piece is an original hand sewn item. They offered a variety of Western influenced styles and many Indian traditional with contemporary twists such as a layered kameez with an empire waist or tufted netting on a sari or chuni. I tried a number of things on with a thrill in mind that I might find something that was ‘just right’, but in the end I realized I’m not cut out for couture. Maybe I’m getting a little too old to be swayed by the thought alone of owning an original piece of anything…or perhaps I’m just comfortable with window shopping and offering praise to the designer, which I did.

We returned to our guest house for an afternoon rest as we had fine plans of going out for the evening.

KOLKATA—THE CITY OF CULTURE AND THE ARTS

When five o’clock came along I promptly greeted the folks with a ‘let’s go!’ We had been waiting all week to visit the Fine Arts Academy, which had several exhibitions running.

The cab ride to the Academy was totally unremarkable, which makes me actually have to say something about it. Each and every taxi ride has been like being on a chariot pulled by the horses of hell. I believe mummy put it best when she said, “They make you believe in God!”

Or an even more apt counter comparison would be to say “Life was a cake walk, but now it is a Kolkata taxi ride.”

This ride was so modest, slow and non-threatening I actually felt like I was having a pleasant experience while in the cab.

We landed up at the Academy a short while later and made our way into the north gallery just in time to witness a pooja commencing for a brand new exhibition.

This particular exhibition was entitled “Creative Wave” and featured the talent of some very fine artists. As is custom with me, I enjoy taking notes about the artwork I like. I jot down mentions of media used, techniques I see, the juxtaposition of images and so on. If I had the benefit of foresight (or even hindsight at this point in my travels) I may not have done so at this particular event.

As I made my way around the room, I realized that I was attracting attention to myself. Firstly, I was again the only non-Indian in the room. Secondly, I didn’t look like a broke backpacker. Thirdly, I was intensely scribbling notes and standing staring at many of the pieces for quite some time. I started notice the click of cameras near me and from the way my shadow was cast upon the walls with each flash I could tell that I was being a regular subject of the snaps going on. Maybe I’ll be in the papers tomorrow. All for being white. That’s plain crazy.

About half way through the exhibit someone put the guide book directly in front of my face. I turned to see it was a photographer. I thanked him and he smiled. As I stood admiring a large monochromatic (orange) piece, the same photographer tapped me on the shoulder and indicated toward a young man on my left. I was starting to think that the photographer was mute as he didn’t make so much as a grunt at any time when he approached me.

The young man to the left was the artist of the piece I was admiring. All I could do was tell him what I thought about it: “It’s lovely, really lovely.”

As I neared the end of the exhibit another man approached and asked if I wanted a price list. I realized that I might be the realization of their pooja prayer right then and there if I actually bought something. I must admit the prices were very reasonable, but I couldn’t imagine transporting any of those large items back to the states. They tried to sell me on a small bronze statue. I had to be resolute in my mission to only look at the art.

“I’m much more of an admirer of art than a collector.”

That was met with an ‘oh, uh-huh’ but not in a snobbish way as one might expect. Perhaps they thought I was a reporter of some sort. I don’t know. But I did feel glamorous in my flip-flops and flowing floral top for the few minutes they thought something more of me than what met their eye.

On the way back to our guest house we stopped at a book store to pick up some reading material for the trip home the next day and made our way to coffee shop (Café Coffee Day) for cappuccino and sandwiches.

Mummy said it best, “This is how you should end your day after enjoying a fine art exhibition.”

Yes, indeed. Coffee, conversation and the faint waft of hookah smoke with each push and pull of the door.

The last evening in Kolkata was precisely as it ought to be.

SATURDAY

FINAL HOURS

We had read in the newspaper about a very hip ‘natural food’ restaurant called Bhoomi at the Vedic Village Resort, just outside of Kolkata. We thought we might check it out for lunch as a final bid for some Indian fare that only Kolkata could offer

After much detouring and stopping for directions we made it after a brief hour and half drive (forget what they say about 45 minutes from Central Kolkata).

The layout was amazing. Nothing like what one ought to expect to find in India, I suppose, but the kind of place that is needed to grab the attention of high price tourists. Very clean and pleasing to look at in that way.

The food was excellent and the clean air of the surrounding left our lungs feeling refreshed.

When we would touch down in Ahmedabad a few hours later, and as I relished the ‘freshness’ and dryness of the air after two weeks of monsoons and pollution, I realized how even something as foul as pollution really is only relative. Would I have considered Ahmedabad air to be sweet to my senses two weeks ago? No. But now it almost feels like driving through an oxygen bar.

And as this blog progresses out of this first month and into the next two, there will be bit more travel-logging, but likely a lot more thought. With that being the case I really to invite people to engage in dialogue over the topics I may discuss.

With this I bid you adieu until I blog again.

Peace,

A Pink American

P.S. if you would like to email my directly with any comments of feedback please do so at jaruciaj@yahoo.com .

P.P.S. I didn’t make it into the paper.

P.P.P.S. The Kolkata Album link again