Oh Calcutta V - The Return of the Guru

Calico Jack Rackham

Calico Cloth

Victoria Memorial - The Maidan, Kolkata

He, inquiring: “Do you enjoy Kipling?”
She, blushing: “I’m sorry but I don’t believe I’ve ever actually kippled.”

We last glimpsed my Guru, P.R. Sarkar, embarking from his compound in the back of a 1952 Packard, whisked away to parts unknown (see Calcutta Day 3). As a good chela (or devotee), I have been dogging his tracks ever since. I now learn that he is back home! Only two days left of my trip. It’s bliss or bust! My quest for personal contact with Guru Shri Shri Anandamurti resumes at full intensity. But not without the requisite detours, diversions and perambulations associated with the pursuit of enlightenment.

One of these is calico – a cotton fabric, and another is Jack Rackham – a part-time pirate hanged and gibbeted in Jamaica in 1720. I found out today that calico is not named after Calcutta, Bengal, India as I had always thought. Calico (or muslin) is a type of cloth produced by traditional weavers in Calicut, Kerala, India. It is thick cotton that is less coarse than denim and very cheap. In 1700, colorfully printed calico from India was a big hit with certain lower-class ladies of London who were called “Calico Madams”.

Two of these women were Anne Bonney and Mary Read, who made their way to the West Indies and joined a group of 11 pirates led by Jack Rackham. Anne and Mary took to wearing pirate clothes and Jack took to wearing the colorful Calico cloth of the London working girls. Hence his nickname – Calico Jack Rackham. After stealing a small sloop, this cross-dressing band of buccaneers terrorized small fishing boats near Jamaica, until they were captured and imprisoned in Port Royal, Jamaica. Jack was hanged but the ladies pleaded pregnancy and escaped the noose. (I have a hunch that Jack Sparrow of the film Pirates of the Caribbean is modeled after Calico Jack Rackham but it’s only a hunch.)

Incidentally, calico cloth also was responsible for one of the major public health coups of the 18th century – i.e. cotton shorts. The nobility of England had long ago taken up the French fashion of silken “small-clothes” worn next to the skin to prevent good English woolens from irritating the hell out of their noble privates. Cheap cotton muslin from India made possible underwear everywhere for everyone. The new calico cloth was snatched up by English tailors, who fashioned affordable undergarments for the lower classes. Washable undergarments reduced the transmission of parasitic diseases, drastically improving public health and longevity 100 years before the industrial revolution. As my old high school Latin teacher, Dr. Flowers loved to say, “Semper ubi, sub ubi.”

Like a shipload of drunken pirates, this narrative has managed to drift from the East Indies to the West Indies, from the late 20th century to the early 18th and from ladies’ dresses to men’s underwear. It is now high time to return this blog to Calcutta for another glimpse of the guru.

I hear the rumor that Shri Anandamurti is back in town from a fellow devotee while dancing Kirtan on the Maidan late this afternoon. The Maidan, a 5 square km open field in downtown Calcutta, is Kolkata’s Central Park. It is home to the Victoria Memorial and many other public places – including a racecourse and a golf course. The park was originally a drill field for the British and is still owned and operated by the Indian Army. On weekends, military parades compete with political rallies and cricket matches for the public’s attention.

From the Maidan, I hop into a cab and prepare to rush back to the Guru’s bungalow. Unfortunately, rushing and Kolkata are not compatible at this time in the afternoon. The cabbie and I are stuck in traffic for hours. By sunset we are hopelessly enmeshed with hoards of diesel farting auto-rickshaws. My driver, Rasik, and I have exchanged our life stories. He is a retired military officer who served in India’s tribal areas in the Northwest Territories. We decide to knock off and await brighter vehicular prospects after dinner. I am escorted by Rasik’s cab to the Hoogli Hamburger Haven. (Unfortunately, I have neglected to inform Rasik that not all Americans are carnivores.) The Haven is on the riverbank with a beautiful view. The burgers are only so/so. Rasik insists on paying for my repast. I can’t believe it. By 8 P.M. he deposits me at the P.R. Sarkar compound where I spend the night. Fare - $8 with tip. The experience – priceless!

Oh, Calcutta, what a wonder you are! Taking a break during a cab ride to eat imitation American hamburgers in a vegetarian country while the sun sets behind the burning ghats on a tributary of the sacred Ganges is a very weird experience. “Holy smokes!” I haven't achieved Nirvana yet, but I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.