Oh, Kolkata!

As our bus pulled up in front of our hotel, the dark clouds unburdened themselves with firm resolve. Basically, it started raining cats and dogs. We sat in the bus, looked at the crowds hovering under the awnings and the traffic slowed in respect to the wet onslaught, and we all took a deep breath. We were in Kalkuta, the city we’d been warned about, the city of intense heat, intense traffic, and intense population, the city whose name has been jokingly said to be a synonym for chaos. After spending a brief 3 days here, I’m not sure that guy was joking. It’s been a overwhelming, stressful, at times troubling few days, trying to emotionally balance the scent of the jasmine oil in the lobby of our opulent hotel with the stench of the rotting garbage one smells when walking down many extremely crowded streets. Apparently the stalls on the sidewalks are all illegal, but allowed because of police kickbacks, the result of which is that walking the sidewalks of Kolkata is much like walking a gauntlet, with hawkers of wares and beggars constantly assaulting you every step of the very crowded sidewalk. (Did I mention it was extremely crowded?) I’ve been in throngs of hawkers before where I was the object of their pleading (“Mam, just five minutes in my store, PLEASE?”), the old Silk Market of Beijing (pre-Olympic clean up) and the local market née wildhouse behind the Zócalo in Mexico City, but this is quite different. For starters, there are vehicles of every kind in the mix. There is seldom room in the small side streets for anyone to actually access the sidewalks, so to start with, you’re on the street. There are auto rickshaws, motorcycles, the occasional automobile (ALWAYS honking the horn, BTW) and several hundred pedestrians trying to make their way up or down the street. It was like the ultimate multi-tasking assignment: walk down the “street”, fend off the vendors, keep your belongings close, watch for traffic of all manner from both directions, ignore the beggars who are pinching your arm or stepping on your feet on purpose, and try not to lose the other people you are walking with. I have to gird my loins (mentally) every time I leave the jasmine oil smell and the black wrought iron gate of our hotel, and I find I’m irritated at myself for my timidity. That’s until I check in with other Americans who seem quite adaptable, and they are equally paled by the experience. I hope you get the picture, because I was never comfortable enough walking to pull out my camera and snap a photo.
Perhaps this is as good a time as any to write about begging. I don’t have a lot to say, except that people who live here don’t agree on what to do either, so I’m certainly not going to make sense of it in my short time here. I have heard very compassionate people say they firmly believe begging is a business here, and there are reports to that effect. There are some governmental initiatives to take beggars off the streets and give them jobs, but one report I heard said they don’t remain on the jobs but prefer to return to begging. I struggle to see parents (and often, by all accounts, the long arm of organized crime) using children to beg when it seems quite wrong to me. Perhaps I just don’t have the cultural tools to make sense of it, but yesterday when a little boy was following me, pinching my arm and stepping on my feet, I can honestly say I wanted to take him firmly in hand and find his mom and dad and reform that practice within that family immediately. I felt equal parts sad and indignant, and quickly went into teacher think (“…This child needs a core virtue plan and a note home to his parents.”) …Were it so easy to fix....
Finally, yesterday afternoon we visited the Missionaries of Charity. For those of you who might not know, this is a religious society founded by Mother Teresa, whose main aim is to serve the sick, poor, need, and discarded of society. The society now has houses on every continent and in most of the countries of the world. At the house in Kalkuta, Mother Theresa’s home base, there was a crowded museum, a chapel with a mass going on, and her small room where she slept and died. Seeing her few possessions and reading about her incredible life of service was humbling and awe inspiring. A colleague here says there is a recently published book about the inexplicable power some people have to galvanize and move thousands of people, and I assume she’s one of the prime examples. It was a cleansing, uplifting experience after the troubling walk through the street. How she was able to find the courage to continue to serve the “poorest of the Poor” is certainly beyond my comprehension.

In Hindu deity news, it’s Shiva Month! When we were walking along Mother Ganga (otherwise boringly referred to as the River Ganges) we happened onto a group of Shiva worshippers who were making a pilgrimage via busses to several Shiva temples during this auspicious time. They were dressed in orange (Shiva’s color), and bathing in the river (don’t worry, P, I didn’t even dip my toe in, per your wise recommendation). They were a motley crew that had taken a month and a half off their jobs to perform this feat to honor their favorite god. So let’s talk Shiva. He is one of the oldest gods, and plays many roles. He is a devout mediator and yogi, a cosmic dancer, and is the god of destruction, transformation, and regeneration. I’m glad to hear he includes the last 2 parts of his job description, or I would be inclined to think that destruction piece is something he should work on. Snakes and deer are often associated with Shiva because they are able to shed their skin or antlers. Shiva usually sports a trident, the 3 tines which represent the creation, protection, and destruction of the universe. He’s not all business, however, because he’s also seen with a drum. Remember also he’s one of the BIG 3. Between all that meditating and yoga and destroying and regenerating, he’s a very busy Hindude.