Christmas in Kolkata

Wow. That’s become my catchphrase among the other volunteers here. It sums up my Christmas in Kolkata. It began on Christmas Eve with a house party in what’s known as the “family” apartment. I don’t make this stuff up. The highlight of the night was when each of us received our Secret Santa presents. I was given a name of another volunteer that I had to buy a present for anonymously. The spend limit was 500 Rs. After a few hours wandering aimlessly through South City Mall, I got Kate a book by an Australian woman travelling through India called “Holy Cow!” I was delighted with what I received from Kate and Ann-Marie: two t-shirts and a book on Kolkata. Myself, Alicia and Ben were out on the (caged) balcony till nearly 3am talking. I tried to sing Fairytale of New York but gave up when I forgot the lyrics.

It was a bright, sunny morning. The buses rumbled past with their conductors warbling the destinations or whatever they say to entice people onto public transport. Taxis beeped or crawled their way down busy streets, looking for passengers. Autos whizzed by carrying far too many people. It was just another normal day in the city. Except it was Christmas Day, an event I usually associate with cold weather and calm surroundings. Nothing shuts this city down except strikes and riots. I was on my way to take an auto to the hospital. I got into the back and smiled at the sign written in front of me. “No Somking.” Naturally, the driver was smoking. I took a photo and the man sitting beside smiled benignly. I arrived at the hospital where I was met by Ann-Marie, a long-term volunteer. She told me that she was on her way to Kasba where we would have dinner and watch a dance performance by the girls there. We rushed upstairs to give the kids their presents before jumping into a taxi. On the way, we picked up Ben, my temporary roommate for Christmas while my usual apartment remains empty for the holidays. He was carrying two large cakes that seemed to be made mostly of air as the boxes were so light. We were dropped outside a water pumping station where we waited for two more girls to show up. I was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. The weather was too warm for my regular Christmas attire. We walked down a quiet street that would bring us to the girls’ home at Kasba. We could hear the music before we even saw the building. The roof was hopping. We were offered seats by the kids but it wasn’t long before we were called up to join the dancers. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t half as good as the girls dancing. They just laughed as I attempted to copy their moves. I had no inhibitions. I wasn’t allowed to. Dinner took place on the ground floor in the crèche. We sat around circular tables with chairs meant for infants. The plates were made out of banana leafs stapled together. There was no cutlery. We were served rice, dal, mutton, vegetables and fried potatoes. Eating with the fingers of my right hand was a messy, surreal experience. After two and a half months in this city, I have finally gone native.

At 5.30pm, I went to Punerjibon to celebrate Christmas Day with the boys there. Jitain danced to Beat It by Michael Jackson. I was told he had been practicing for two months. It showed. The cake was then cut and distributed on plates and later, on people’s faces including mine. I gave my camera to some of the boys and made sure the strap was around their wrists before letting them loose. Final tally on my camera from the day was nearly 150 photos. I was having too much fun dancing to worry about it. I did feel slightly ridiculous dancing to Barbie Girl, a perennial favourite among the boys in Punerjibon. We left before nine as everyone was wrecked. It was a memorable and refreshingly different Christmas. There might not have been turkey or any of the other things I enjoy back home. But it was worth it just for the experience alone.

Varanasi

Last Thursday, myself and four other volunteers went to visit Varanasi. This ancient city is located in the densely populated state of Uttar Pradesh, on the banks of the River Ganges. Hindus believe that by dying and being cremated here, they will end the cycle of reincarnation. It’s difficult to describe what I have trouble understanding so I’ll leave it at that. We got an overnight train that I barely slept a wink on. Finally, we arrived and got an auto into the city center. It could only take us so far as the paved streets were barely wide enough for motorbikes. It took us ten minutes of walking through the labyrinthine streets before we reached the hotel. It was worth dodging the cow dung as the view of the Ganges was spectacular. Once we were settled into our rooms, I lay down on the bed and promptly passed out. I woke up a few hours later and went for a walk along the ghats, the steps leading down to the bank of the Ganges where people immersed themselves and washed their clothes in the holy waters. I didn’t so much as dip my toe in it after discovering how polluted the river is. We continued walking until we reached one of the crematorium sites along the river. I was warned not to take photos of the burning pyres. The body is carried down wrapped in brightly-coloured fabrics. It is dipped in the Ganges and placed on top of a pyre. The wood used is precisely weighed beforehand. The eldest son walks around the body seven times and then it is lit. It sounds very morbid but it isn’t as the surroundings bring a sense of peace and calm. We walked back towards the hotel to witness a ceremony that occurs every evening called “Agni Pooja” (Worship to Fire). During the ceremony, we got onto a row boat. I was petrified. Although I can swim, I have this irrational fear of the water. I tensed up every time someone got up to switch positions in the small row boat. I think it’s more to do with falling in fully clothed and drowning. And because the river is a toilet. I was glad when I set foot on the ghats. After the ceremony, the street lights came on and robbed the city of its air of mystique. We ate dinner on a rooftop restauraunt that gave us an eerie view of a dark, shrouded city. We were occasionally distracted by the fireworks exploding in the distance.

I spent Saturday doing as little as possible. After a walk along the ghats, we went for lunch in quite possibly the most uncomfortable restaurant I’ve ever been in. There were no chairs. There were only cushions on the floor with small tables raised about a foot off the ground. This would have been alright if we had space to stretch out our legs. We didn’t because we were sandwiched in a narrow room barely three foot wide. The only way to sit down was by crossing my legs. I had to stand up periodically just to avert cramps. However, we did get a great view of the monkeys and I had a delicious chicken curry so it wasn’t all bad. I still don’t know how Indians sit in these positions for long periods of time. The weekend passed far too quickly but I was glad I got a chance to unwind. It was going so well until the time came to go home. Our train was scheduled to leave Varanasi after 6pm. We groaned when we heard an announcement stating that the train would be delayed by two hours. Two hours became four hours. We were supposed to arrive back in Kolkata around 8am. We didn’t get in until around 3pm. It reminded me of the film The Darjeeling Limited where the protagonists are stranded in the desert because the train got “lost.” I'm still recovering...

Thanks to Kate for the picture of Eoin Mac, Ben and myself.