Oh Calcutta IV- Not your Mother's India!

Mendicant Monks meet Regular Beggars

Mother Theresa

Mother Ali & Baby Sophie

Readers of a certain vintage will remember the time when all good American mothers would remind their offspring over dinner about “the starving children of India”. This was usual when a kid balked at chowing down fried liver, canned peas, lima beans or other unappealing staple foods of the 50’s.

Well, do I have some good news for you!
As I passed the docks on the Hoogli River this morning I noticed freighters taking on loads of rice from the Bengali countryside. A passerby explained that India, thanks to the green revolution, not only is self-sufficient in food but is also a net exporter of grains to other countries! That makes me feel happy for the starving children of India. Although I must admit I still resent Mom for all those wasted hours I spent staring at bits of rapidly cooling liver on my plate, long after everyone else was excused from the table.

Another marvel of the ‘new Calcutta’ is the subway system which is being constructed downtown. It is fascinating to watch a modern engineering project being built by hand. In the U.S. everything is moved into place by cranes and bolted or riveted together with power tools. In India most of the work is done by hundreds of men in loincloths and turbans dangling precariously from bamboo scaffolds while hauling on thick ropes attached to large pulleys. Rivets are heated on charcoal braziers and banged flat with mallets. Bolts are seated by young boys and men hanging off the ends of wicked long wrenches. It is fascinating. The 19th century meets the 21st century on the new Calcutta Metro construction site. I’ll take bets from anyone that the Kolkata Metro will outlast Boston’s Big Dig by a century or two.

(An interesting thing about the Metro is that the laborers sleep with their families in the sections of tunnel they work on during the day. Yet another example of the ‘all-in-one’ philosophy that characterizes the Bengali mind-set.)

In the new Calcutta even Mother Theresa is no longer sacred. She is considered rather old hat by your average Kolkata man-on-the-street. Although still revered by Catholics all over the world, this diminutive Albanian nun is only tolerated by the average Calcuttan. They consider her a harmless old relic who does a lot to perpetuate the myth of their city as a place chock-full of dying beggars. “Why does every visitor come to see Mother Theresa and no one visits the Calcutta Heart Institute?” is what my informants ask me. They are also proud of the fact that satellites are now being launched into earth orbit via the Satish Dhawan Space Centre near Chennai.

The beggars in my Calcutta neighborhood are clean, well behaved and not evidently at death’s door. They politely line up in the morning near a bridge over a small tributary of the Hoogli where people walking on their way to work dutifully drop coins in their outstretched hands. Higher caste people with jobs are expected and even obligated to provide charity in this way. The beggars are usually greeted by name by their benefactors. In return, they give a ‘namaste’ blessing to their usual patrons. So in traditional Bengali fashion, giving to the less fortunate is part of the daily round.

It’s interesting that in India wandering sadhu’s (or holy-men) are beggars too! They present a small wooden bowl into which people put alms. Somehow this ‘holy beggar’ archetype sanctifies the entire profession. Beggars in America have no such sanction. Their degraded condition contrasts sharply with the lowly but respected position of beggars in Indian society. One difference is that alcohol is readily available in the U.S. In India it's illegal and mostly restricted to fine tourist hotels.

Unfortunately, airport and tourist-hotel beggars in India are just as annoying as anywhere else in the world. I wonder if I offer one of them a case of lima beans will he give me ‘namaste’ or not – somehow I doubt it.

Daktari

P.S. As of this blog date, the Indian space program is still going strong. The launch date for the first Indian lunar orbiter is scheduled for July 2008, to be followed by an unmanned lunar landing in 2010 or 2011.

P.P.S. It’s OK Mom. I forgive you!

Oh Calcutta II - The 'All in One'

Street Barber - Kolkata

Question: What did the Buddha say to the Coney Island hot dog vendor?

Answer: ”Make me one with everything!”

The auto rickshaw drops me off in front of Baba’s ashram in a much nicer suburb of Calcutta than Tiljala. Instead of rushing in immediately, I hoist my knapsack and go for a walk in the neighborhood. It is a sunny and pleasant morning. Small shops are opening, dhoti clad servants are sweeping the compounds and sidewalks, and birds are singing in the tamarind trees. Some of the residents are out for a morning run (men only of course) and one fellow is rowing a single scull down the river.

I stop passersby and ask politely where I might find cheap, mosquito-free accommodations. English is widely spoken in Calcutta and everyone is very friendly and very curious to know that I am from America. To a man, they proudly relate that India is the world’s largest democracy. Indians are very keen on politics in the U.S.A., which they follow closely via many daily newspapers. What I know about politics in the world’s largest democracy could be summed up in two words – Indira Ghandi.

After the political chit-chat, I am directed to the main road and pause to watch haircuts being given by barber wallahs who squat in the gutters while their customers sit on the curbs for a trim. I wait while a herd of goats is driven through traffic by very agile small boys.

Many of the locals are just rolling up their mats after spending the night on the side streets. These homeless people are clean, well-kempt and speak English, too! One of them explains to me the etiquette of sleeping on the streets.
“Very safe and very clean,” he asserts. “Only don’t sleep on the grass. Sleep only on the walks.”
“Isn’t the grass softer?” I inquire.
“It is, yes, it is,” he answers. “But there all always chiggers. On the sidewalks we have no bugs.”

Before going off to look for the day’s employment, my street friend directs me ‘round the corner to a local hotel – ‘very clean and no bugs’.
“Sounds like my kind of place,” I think gratefully. I thank him for the advice and he is pleased to receive a few rupees from the foreigner sadhu.

The Hotel Bliss is indeed free of lice, chiggers, fleas and mosquitoes. Each room is equipped with a bed, a small cupboard and window screens. It costs just $4 per night. It is indeed bliss!

I lie down immediately and sleep like the dead. When my eyes open, they are staring at an amazing contrivance lit by a beam of late afternoon sunlight dancing with motes of dust. It gleams dully in my jet-lagged consciousness and I’m unable to recognize it at first. Then my eyes focus and suddenly – illumination!

Could it be I have found the “All in One”? It can’t be – but it must be. How exciting!
I crawl off the bed and move closer. Behind a cloth curtain in one corner of the room, rests the object of my contemplation. The Hotel Bliss toilet sits pristinely behind the curtain – its metal seat glowing dull silver in the sunlight. Directly above the ‘throne’ is an an old-fashioned 6 inch shower head with a pull chain. On the side wall is a mirror, tooth brush holder and soap shelf. A recessed drain in front carries away waste water. The whole plumbing ensemble is brightly painted in variegated colors a la Dr. Seuss.

Now just imagine this ultimate appliance in action. It’s early morning as you awaken and take your position on the “All in One”. Empty your mind of extraneous thoughts and chant your mantra three times. Then empty your bladder and bowels and pull the chain to wet your whole body in a gentle torrent of room temperature water. Lather with soap and apply shampoo, then turn to the mirror while brushing your teeth and shaving. Yank the chain again. All suds, lathers and expectorations are carried away down the recessed drain. Stand up, grab the towel and lever the chain one last time to allow water from the shower to flush the loo. It’s an amazing ablutional experience. The tropical sun will dry both you and the bathroom in no time. Hotel Bliss – how aptly named.

I’ve only been in India one day and already the weirdness is beginning to seep in. What a wonderful and funny place. Even the plumbing brings enlightenment. I begin to unpack my knapsack. I grab a couple of PowerBars and munch away. Unfortunately, I can’t find my plastic canteen so I have nothing to drink.

In those long-ago days, bottled mineral water was only available in France and other such effete European locales. Instead, I carry my trusty canteen, filled with Daktari’s special mix – 1 L. local tap water, 2 oz. Famous Grouse whiskey and 2 iodine tablets. The iodine kills the bugs and the Famous Grouse kills the taste. (Admit it – good scotch does taste like iodine doesn’t it?). Or should I say that ‘I used to carry my trusty canteen’ – it has definitely gone missing from my travel kit.

After supper, I meditate for a half hour and then fall back to sleep. My last thoughts before the goddess Lethe takes possession of my partially-enlightened corpus: Where does one find a canteen around here? Will I see the guru tomorrow? But that is another story.

Daktari