Kolkata

After a fun trip through the heart of India I landed at the Howrah Station in Kolkata.

Forgot to mention...i got see very little scenary of the heart of India since the window panes were thick as anything to control the AC! But its basiaclly all the same...a lot of green palm and coconut trees, huts, naked kids and men and women going about daily work- like farming, etc...

The train pulls into the station about 3 hours late. As soon as the train stops, coolies jump on to collect bags. In my compartment, they let me go first. The coolie pulls out my suitcase and carries my art piece out and I follow. Its a hot day and the bright sun hurts my eyes when I step out onto the platform. The guys in my compartment had suggested I set the price for carrying my stuff before heading out of the station. I figure I have the advantage of knowing the language and will be able to bargain well. The guy doesn't speak bengali! They all speak a different dialect!! Ok, but i get the numbers--they pretty much sound the same in any language in Northern India. The guy says Rs.150, I scoff and look at him like he has gone mad and start looking around for a another coolie. I sugest Rs. 60, he goes on and on and I let him. He says Rs. 100. I say no, there are plenty of coolies around, let go of my things and i will find another--I am speaking in broken hindi and bengali. If he will do Rs. 70 then we have a deal. We agree on Rs. 80. Still high in my opinion but I started to feel bad. Its a heavy suitcase and stairs are involved! The coolie hoists the suitcase on his head and another coolie helps him get the painting on top. I decide to carry my own bagpack and off we went. Its a trip. The platform is full of passengers and coolies carrying bags and hawkers and armed security men. I think there were army supplies on the train. We quite literally weaved through the human traffic, ducking in some places to avoid having heads lopped off by a trunk or other cargo! We walked a good 5 mins then we came to the stairs. The coolie didn't skip a beat and climbed the staris up wihout a problem. I had instructed him to take me straight to the pre-paid taxi stand. Every big station has a pre-paid taxi stand. We came onto a collosoal terminal. Its about Grand Central station size. People were sleeping on top of bags or on the floor (pesuamaly waiting for trains) and others eating their breakfast. Chai wallas going around. Its was chaos. I followed my coolie to the gates that led outside. I had never been to Kolkata and was looking forward to seeing a lil bit of it on the 40 min transit to the airport. As I am about walk out the gate, a lackadisical gate keeper asks for ticket. I ignore and keep walking, which forces him to get up and come after me. He wanted my train ticket stub. I hand it over. Then he stops me and asks whats in package. I look at him like he is stupid or drunk.

"suitcase-y?" (in the suitcase?)
"Na, oop poery ki?" (what's on top?) i look at him, then the coolie, then the frame. Is this man for real?
"chobi." (photo) damn, these people are nosy! If its something that will get me in trouble, will I volunteer that information?? He lets me go after i give him a dirty look.

I have to mention that I was wearing J Crew Khaki pants, black long sleeved fitted t-shirt with wedge heels. I looked ferengi (foreginer-european) except that I was brown. As we left the gates, we were immeditaely surrounded by taxi drivers wanting to take me to my desired destination. From every side, and they spoke in broken english since I walked through them like I didn't see or hear them--and probably they way i was dressed. Some of them tried to force my ccoolie to go to their taxi but my coolie was good and he responded with, "I will go where Madam instructed me to go. Get out of my way". (The Madam part stung---usually I should be called Didi (sister) but being addressed as Madam aged me!)

The coolie takes me to the pre-paid taxi stand...I can't even see the counter cause there is such a huge crowd! But, coolie again, calls ahead, "let Madam through" (he is speaking in Hindi, btw) and the crowd parts like the Red Sea. I go to the counter and ask for a taxi to the airport. They charge an exorbinant fee, i pay it, and they hand me a slip ( I am the only female in this crowd. All other females are standing somewhere in the back as some male member or etc. gets the slip). Immidiately, I get hounded about what's my taxi # and if they can help (very aware of the groping that takes place and cheap feels they want to get). The coolie again comes out and asks me for the taxi #. I stare at the slip. Its in english and hindi but I have no clue where the Taxi # is located. I push it in front of the coolie..but he can't read. So, one of the hounders takes a hold and announces the taxi #. The coolie starts calling it out and walks into the parking lot. I finally look at the parking lot. I wish i was a photographer. Its was a sea of yellow ambassors! I didn't even realize Ambassodors still existed. I felt like it was a scene out of the 1920s! The driver for my Taxi # yells out to the coolie and we follow him into the middle of the hive. I am cautious cause my driver looks a little bit of the angry, hot headed sort. He was shouting to a another driver half the way. So, we get to the car and the coolie unloads. I end up giving him Rs.100 cause that was a lot of work and Rs. 100 is nothing to me but a lot to him. I climb into the back seat. Damn friggin cool! I can't describe, you just have to see the indside of a dilipadted old amabassdor!

The driver starts to pull out of the lot and the car next to him does as well. it barely scratches our taxi. Thats it! The driver is off his rockers! He starts yelling and screaming, jumps out of the car and starts puling the other driver out of the car by his collar. The driver is screaming and fighting back. Other taxi drivers stop and try to stop the fight. I look away and sigh. Nothing I can do. i debate whether to leave, but what about my baggage? He will probably break my painting if I go to the counter and ask for another driver. As i am looking out, 3 women walk by looking pretty scared and nervous. They could have been my aunts. I am not scared, just really irritated. Finally, the driver gets in. I don't say anything, just stare out the window as he pulls out of the humongous Howrah station. It pulls out onto road and i look back...its basically 1.5 times the size of 30th Street station in Philly and there is 2 of them. The old station and the new station.

The taxi drives through a market place. Its full of hawkers selling breakfast foods. I am so very tempted to stop the driver so I can pick up the yummy looking street foods, then i debate, i really don't want to chance getting sick. I look the other way. The foot path is crowded with hand bags and luggage. I suppose appropriate, being across the street from the station.

We go through a tiny underpass and i am greeted with delightful sight of men squatting along the open drains having their morning piss n'shit fest. Very little is left to the imagination! I ask the driver how long it will take and he informs me it'll take 45mins if no traffic. Of course, he asks, where I am going. Upon emabrking on a journey to South Asia, leave the idea of privacy at your western doorstep! After little chit chat, I sit back to take in the sights. Greeted with large bus stops and larger billboards adverting modile phone deals and milk. I look on pensively as a small mother with her tiny child and a tall lanky man try to cross the very busy street. The city is not much different from my native Dhaka. Dusty, busy, hawkers and rickshaws (the bicycle ones). A difference is--rickshaws in Kolkata have a square top but ones in Dhaka are rounded. Odd.

It looked like we beat the morning rush hour traffic. It wasn't much of waiting around in stand still traffic. I watched as men (presumably street kids or homeless) bathe at bathing station around the temples. Again, no privacy. I watch as a young man in his chudis (underwear) stands next to my taxi and soaps himself all over before jumping in with the other men under the running faucet. Temples were holding morning pujas so, ringing bells were heard throughout. Laughter of school children walking in groups were mixed in with hawkers calling out their fares...mostly vegetables. I looked up and wires ran criss cross all over, some hanging dangerously above the passerbys on the streets. People were just going about their daily routine business. It just looked like a very crowded busy city. We started driving through a nicer part of town...cause I noticed an HSBC bank---that wouldn't be located in a ghetto! The city started to look less crowded and brighter--the newness of buildings recently built, fresh coats of paint and the thinning crowd of hawkers on the footpaths. Before Iknew it, we had pulled into the airport.