Hey
Life in Kolkata
Lepers, cripples, begging children. These are the image conjured when one thinks of Kolkata. And yes, they do exist, but there is much more to this place and the people who live here.
There is an overwhelming sense of formality, be it in the paperwork -- no transaction goes without a written receipt, with carbon copy -- and in the behavior of the people. We are always greeted as "Sir" or "Madame" by merchants or hotel staff. Others, those seeking money, greet us as "Uncle," "Aunt," or "Sister."
"Sister, buy some milk for my baby."
A woman holds a baby in her arms while waiving a dirty bottle in the air. Some of the babies look extremely unhealthy, with skin disorders or physical handicaps. Others look cheery and relatively healthy.
"Aunt, please, I have no parents. I am hungry."
A child grabs onto my hand and holds it as I walk down the street. Looking into his eyes, I see sorrow and sometimes I see happiness. A child of no more than 3 years of age followed us the length of 2 large city blocks, a far distance from his mother and infant sibling sitting upon a blanket on the sidewalk.
It may sound cold, but it's easy to ignore the begging. Although on a radically different scale, the street life in San Francisco has dulled my senses, guilt, and sympathy for beggars. I've read about the scams in the guidebooks, too. The women who beg for milk just go around the corner and sell it. And the children... well... there are a lot of homeless, parentless children here, but it's impossible to give money out to everyone who asks. Instead, today I donated a decent sum to the Brahmins of the Kali Temple. They provide food for the poor.
But back to the things that don't have to do with the deprivation and poverty of Kolkata... the formality of the people seems to stem from a sense of duty and diligence. Paperwork is done with painstaking care. It is quite a process to check in to a hotel, even the cheap guest house variety, as information needs to be logged in a giant leather bound book that spans the entire width of the desk.
The seriousness of the people is worn on their faces. It is rare to find a smiling face in a crowd. Benjamin is on a mission to find an Indian who can appreciate a good joke. It's odd, because I've heard so much about the great Bengali sense of humor. Perhaps we are just making the wrong jokes or perhaps we are just too interesting to look at, so the humor escapes them. We get plenty of stares, a common experience for people of white skin in these parts.
The people here are persistent and tell you what you want to hear. I think they should regroup and open up 'politician traning camps'.
If you ask a yes/no question, they will most likely tell you "yes," just because they don't want to disappoint you. Yesterday we followed an ancient man with sunken cheeks around the market. We were looking for a book with train schedules and he said he had what we wanted. After zig-zagging around a maze of stalls, we climbed up a flight of stairs to find ourselves not in a book shop, but among tapestries and statues.
Regarding persistence: a simple "No," won't do. In fact, a hundred "Nos" won't do. It takes about 1/4 of a mile to get the point across. It can be trying, but as a traveler, you must find the humor in things. Benjamin and I made a game of it. A hide and seek game with the coolies in the market. We would speed up, slow down, duck down an alley or change directions swiftly. It was impossible to shake one guy who was just dying to help us buy things (and make a commision in the process). We could hear him following behind, the flap-flap of his shuffling, flip-flop clad feet. We lost him when another, older man without any front teeth took over. Being older and wiser, he must have felt more adept at handling our kind. But he was easy to lose as the number of his years prevented him from the nimble movements required in following us.
However, later in the day, we came across him once more and he laughed, "it's you!"
I guess we'd found our Indian with a sense of humor afterall....
There is an overwhelming sense of formality, be it in the paperwork -- no transaction goes without a written receipt, with carbon copy -- and in the behavior of the people. We are always greeted as "Sir" or "Madame" by merchants or hotel staff. Others, those seeking money, greet us as "Uncle," "Aunt," or "Sister."
"Sister, buy some milk for my baby."
A woman holds a baby in her arms while waiving a dirty bottle in the air. Some of the babies look extremely unhealthy, with skin disorders or physical handicaps. Others look cheery and relatively healthy.
"Aunt, please, I have no parents. I am hungry."
A child grabs onto my hand and holds it as I walk down the street. Looking into his eyes, I see sorrow and sometimes I see happiness. A child of no more than 3 years of age followed us the length of 2 large city blocks, a far distance from his mother and infant sibling sitting upon a blanket on the sidewalk.
It may sound cold, but it's easy to ignore the begging. Although on a radically different scale, the street life in San Francisco has dulled my senses, guilt, and sympathy for beggars. I've read about the scams in the guidebooks, too. The women who beg for milk just go around the corner and sell it. And the children... well... there are a lot of homeless, parentless children here, but it's impossible to give money out to everyone who asks. Instead, today I donated a decent sum to the Brahmins of the Kali Temple. They provide food for the poor.
But back to the things that don't have to do with the deprivation and poverty of Kolkata... the formality of the people seems to stem from a sense of duty and diligence. Paperwork is done with painstaking care. It is quite a process to check in to a hotel, even the cheap guest house variety, as information needs to be logged in a giant leather bound book that spans the entire width of the desk.
The seriousness of the people is worn on their faces. It is rare to find a smiling face in a crowd. Benjamin is on a mission to find an Indian who can appreciate a good joke. It's odd, because I've heard so much about the great Bengali sense of humor. Perhaps we are just making the wrong jokes or perhaps we are just too interesting to look at, so the humor escapes them. We get plenty of stares, a common experience for people of white skin in these parts.
The people here are persistent and tell you what you want to hear. I think they should regroup and open up 'politician traning camps'.
If you ask a yes/no question, they will most likely tell you "yes," just because they don't want to disappoint you. Yesterday we followed an ancient man with sunken cheeks around the market. We were looking for a book with train schedules and he said he had what we wanted. After zig-zagging around a maze of stalls, we climbed up a flight of stairs to find ourselves not in a book shop, but among tapestries and statues.
Regarding persistence: a simple "No," won't do. In fact, a hundred "Nos" won't do. It takes about 1/4 of a mile to get the point across. It can be trying, but as a traveler, you must find the humor in things. Benjamin and I made a game of it. A hide and seek game with the coolies in the market. We would speed up, slow down, duck down an alley or change directions swiftly. It was impossible to shake one guy who was just dying to help us buy things (and make a commision in the process). We could hear him following behind, the flap-flap of his shuffling, flip-flop clad feet. We lost him when another, older man without any front teeth took over. Being older and wiser, he must have felt more adept at handling our kind. But he was easy to lose as the number of his years prevented him from the nimble movements required in following us.
However, later in the day, we came across him once more and he laughed, "it's you!"
I guess we'd found our Indian with a sense of humor afterall....
posted by Cheryn at 6:22 PM
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