Kolkata
Giant marble lions standing in the shadows of palm trees are a fitting symbol of Calcutta, frequent references to Marxism unmistakeably marks of its new incarnation, Kolkata. Since 1911 this former capital, once the jewel of the Empire, has been sliding backwards in the shadow cast by the usurpers Delhi and Mumbai. It's easy to see why this, rather than Birmingham, was the second city of Britain. Gloriously majestic buildings loom grandly over the streets, a vast open park (replete with horses) provides ample leisure space and a centre for the city. The city has life, character and style, unlike the other large cities of India. In many ways it feels closer to Hanoi or Bangkok than Bangalore or Madras. Teeming hordes of people throng the streets and crowd the vast night markets. After so long in identikit India, this comes as a welcome relief. The people are mature too, drinking is easy to do and doesn't seem to have much of a stigma. Calcutta is known as a hotbed of revolutionary fervour so we plodded slowly to the Indian Coffee House to sample the air of intellectualism. It was different from other ones, the staff surly and frequently arguing with each other and the customers. Food is mainly OK, bar a traditional Bengali festival feast which was expensive and bland. Kathi rolls are a delight, chicken and fried eggs wrapped up in a cone of naan-pancake. Fish is prized here but as usual for India, very bad in quality.
We've arrived on the cusp of Durga Puja, Bengal's biggest festival. A ten-armed goddess of retribution and revenge, Durga is both fierce and beautiful, having been created to do battle for the other gods many year ago. This festival commemorates her victory over the demon Asura and lasts for 4 days proper. Celebrations nowadays take the form of enormous structures called pandals, lavishly decorated and filled up with statues of the lady herself. Everywhere is lit up and garlanded with flowers and ribbon. The atmosphere is a nice one, kids chatting and gathering to flirt and laugh. We wander around for a while, grazing on snacks and enjoying the festive feeling. We answer questions for local TV and jest with locals. All police duties are being fulfilled by youngsters, barely 18 years old in most cases. As in Japan, the old people merrily tell the youngsters to get stuffed. The only letdown comes on the last day - we wanted to see the famous immersion of the idols but it wasn't to be and we trudged dejectedly across the bridge and towards Howrah station once more to catch our last proper Indian train and wave goodbye to malarial tropics.
We stayed in two different hotels, one run by a grumpy sikh who refused to teach Oli to tie a turban and one run by entertainingly odd Bengalis. This second hotel confused both us and a Canadian we met, but they were very kind-hearted. The first time we arrived it took them ten minutes to answer the door, after which they showed us in, gave us the room and proceeded to knock on the door five times in the next ten minutes for towels, passport requests and an offer of a cup of tea. When we went out Pandal hopping, we returned to ask for the key we'd left with them, only to find they'd left waiting it in the door, on purpose!
As for the sights, the Victoria Memorial stands as the finest, a delectable open park filled with monumental statues and soforth. Inside stands a fascinating history museum focusing on Calcutta - probably the best museum we've seen in India. The Indian Museum is quite the opposite, other than some delightfully archaic stuffed animals, a real letdown. One moment of comedy - they have a liger there, supposedly the offspring of a lion and a tiger. The GPO stands on the site of the infamous Black Hole but is worth a diversion in its own right as a fine late Victorian edifice. Both Cathedrals are surprisingly small given that this was a major city of Empire, lending credibility to the oft-repeated claim that the English didn't proselytise. The much-vaunted Kalighat temple was a bit of a letdown, overshadowed a bit by the Durga festivities. The air around the temple was rather poisonous and not just from pollution. We weren't turned away, but it became more and more obvious that we weren't welcome either at this Hindu ritual. The ungracious attitude combined with the filthy surroundings to make it into a rather unpleasant experience - totally removed from the welcoming feel of the festival. The botanical gardens were a real exercise in navigation with their confuserating signs. The banyan tree was something to behold and it was nice to wander the gardens which were laid out by Indian state and Asian country, a real blast from the past few months, rolled into one. It was a fitting way to end our time in the tropics, as from here we head irreversably north, if not west, towards home.
