Saturday, November 11 Kolkata City Tour, Crazy Movie Theatres

11/11 today. My train reached Kolkata at 4:50, only 5 minutes late! Surprising! What was also surprising was that while I was sitting in a long row of seats at the train station for the sun to come out, an old hunch-backed woman came around begging. Not one and not a few, but EVERY person gave her at least a Rupee. I don’t get it, so when I asked them, they said it was good karma to help people out, and most times they want to help people who can’t make money and instead rely on begging as a means of survival, such as the sick, blind, handicapped, and lepers. Still, begging is frowned upon and illegal, but it has a long history in India and is legitimized by Hinduism. I had breakfast and was going to use the restroom at the station, but the line was 20 people long. So I just decided to walk to central Kolkata to find a hotel. I walked out of the enormous Howrah Station, past the muddy, disgusting bus station, weaving my way through dozens of light blue and yellow buses. You would think they’re municipal buses, but actually they’re part of a network of thousands of buses owned by a single private company. I walked to the west bank of the Hugli River, which is a branch off the mighty River Ganges, before it empties into the Bay of Bengal in a bout a million different places on an enormous delta that, along with the terminus of the mighty Brahmaputra River, composes the coastal region of Bengal, as well as the entire nation of Bangladesh. The banks of the Hugli were filled with Hindus and destitute Bengalis bathing in the polluted, green-gray, smelly, but nonetheless, holy, rivers o the Ganges. The exit of the train station puts you on the doorstep of the imposing Howrah Bridge, the trademark symbol and gateway to Kolkata from the industrial suburb of Howrah. It was originally built in 1943, has eight lanes of traffic, is 97 meters high, and 705 meters long, making it the third largest cantilever bridge in the world. It carries 57,000 vehicles and two million commuters per day, making it the busiest bridge in the world. Cars whizzed by skinny men in skirts carrying produce and bamboo on their heads. I heard a loud splat beside me, and assumed it was just birdpoop, so I was glad it missed me. Then I stepped closer and realized it was the mangled carcass of a rat. It's going to be a lovely day (and for about an hour after that I kept singing 'Lovely Day' in my head). Kolkata (formerly Calcutta) is the “City of Joy”. It originally consisted of three Bengali fishing villages (the name ‘Kolkata’ derives from ‘Kalikata’, one of these villages), purchased in 1698 by the British East India Company. The British made it their capital, and it grew to be the greatest colonial city in Asia, a major port city and center of commerce, industry, and culture. Like Mumbai, waves of migrants settled there hoping to make their fortunes. It remained the capital until 1912, when it was thought that the Bengalis were becoming too powerful (ironically) through British education, and eventually it became the centre for the Independence struggle. It remains the intellectual capital of India. While Mumbai is the financial centre, Delhi the administrative centre, and Bangalore the IT centre, Kokata is the cultural centre of India. It produces many plays, poems, dances, and films. It is also the capital of a very leftist progressive state, where the Communist party is in power. It exemplifies progressivity, creativity, and vibrance, and is the cradle of the Indian Renaissance. It can also boast that all the Nobel Laureates of India worked at Kolkata: Ronald Ross, Rabinath Tagore (the famous poet who wrote India’s national anthem), CV Raman, Mother Theresa, and Amartya Sen (famous economist, who actually teaches at Delhi University). Today Kolkata is the second-largest city in India, at 10.3 million people, and within the top 10 worldwide, and the hub of Eastern India. It is just like any other Indian city; a city of contrasts and juxtapositions. The intellectuals and politicians live stone’s throw away from massive slums, and some of the worst poverty in India. The media, of course, has portrayed Kolkata unfairly as the latter, a place synonymous with Mother Theresa’s missionary work helping to uplift millions of dispossessed people of the city. I stepped onto Kolkata proper soil at Armenian Ghat, with a huge colorful market with vendors upon vendors, and buyers upon buyers, and porters upon porters yelling and running around India’s largest flower market. I walked down the small streets through Bada Bazaar, a labyrinth of winding alleys enclosed with old colonial buildings at every turn. The streets were teeming with Kolkatans waking up, about to start their days. Many were sleeping on the sidewalks; whole families, old men and women, and dogs. Men were bathing with buckets on the sidewalk, while others carried fish on their heads and pushed carts with boxes and buckets. And I have seen so many rickshaws in my days in India; auto rickshaws, bicycle rickshaws, and now, for the first time, human rickshaws. These skinny guys in tanktops and skirts ran on foot, holding up bars connected to two-wheeler carriages with people sitting inside. Unreal. Bengalis in Kolkata seemed short and really skinny, because of the humid climate. They all have really bulgy dark eyes. In other words, they all look very Indian, or what I picture the quintessential Indian to look like. Actually, the whole scene was what I pictured India as a whole to look like; bamboo shacks with people carrying carts and drawing rickshaws, bathing and sleeping on the streets, and shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. My previous conception of India was West Bengal, I guess. I walked down some larger boulevards through Kolkata’s downtown area, lined with banks and insurance companies. I walked around the town center, BBD Bagh, a square in the Central Business District with a man-made water tank/malarial breeding grounds. I caught the city tour from the adjacent West Bengal tourism office. The tour was actually really fun. We first drove through the narrow crowded streets of industrial Howrah across the river. We got to Belur Math, the international headquarters of the Ramkrishna Mission, which is a temple on the banks of the Hugli River, dedicated to religious untiy. It features Muslim domes, Hindu-style windows, and a crucifixial plan. It has a lot of little rooms with the old, skinny, bearded man’s picture, which a bunch of people were praying to. The site had a good view across the river. After that, we couldn’t get enough of Ramkrishna, so we went to the place where the old skinny bearded man Sri Ramkrishna, lived. It’s now a temple, called Dakshineswar Kali Temple, and is one of the most important Hindu pilgrimage sites in Kolkata. This is because Sri Ramkrishna attained enlightenment here. Because it’s Saturday, it was swarmed with devotees. Prasad-shops lined the entrance, hawkers and beggars on full prowl. The temple grounds consisted of a huge spired temple dedicated to the goddess Kali, and it features a black idol standing atop a blue Shiva and silver lotus. The lines were worse than at Disneyland. Thousands of Hindus in their finest Indian dress and holding offerings stood in massive snaking lines. Us tourists went in the non-devotee line, which still took a while and shoved me around like a beach ball. After that we headed over to the Sitambara Jain Temple in North Kolkata. It is built in a nice garden with fountains, ponds, and trees. The temple is beautifully-decorated and completely covered with ornate inlaid mirrors, stones, and glass. Jain temples are often the most intricate and visually appealing. Considering all the Jains I know are tremendously loaded, their temples should be the nicest. The bus drove us through the old colonial city of North Kolkata, with haphazard city planning and congested streets filled with rickshaws, buses, and taxis. The further south you go, the more modern it becomes, just like Delhi. The south featured brand-new boutiques, new apartment complexes, and wide avenues. We visited the Netaji Bhawan, which is the ancestral home of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose, which has been converted into a museum, and has photographs, Netaji’s personal items, and other documents on the Independence struggle. Bose was a freedom fighter who started the Indian National Army, and fled India to do so. He traveled to Asia and Europe and met leaders like Hitler, Tojo, and Gandhi. The British reported he died in a plane crash in Taiwan, but no one believes that. I thought it was funny when we passed a market with new boutiques, and there was a “Bose” showroom in Kolkata. While in South Kolkata, we stopped at Kalighat, where during Kali Puja, idols of the goddess are bathed in the waters of the Hugli River. It’s a huge pilgrimage site, and it was a huge congregation of thousands of devotees, beggars, and pickpockets. I took off my sandals and stood in mob (not ‘line’) to get a view (darshan) of the Kali idol. It was so crowded, loud, and claustrophobic, so I was glad to get out of the stifling mob. Myth holds that what a specific demon was killed ages ago, he spilled all his blood, which would kill all humans when it hit the ground. Kali, the crazed bloodthirsty deity, swallowed all the demons’ blood to save humanity. So, people worship Kali for her destructive and protective qualities. How Hindus show this love is by giving offerings to the gods. The procession moved to the next area, which is where the offerings were given to the goddess. Basically, a man with a 2.5 foot-long machete stood in a big open stage area, swinging his sword, while a small squealing black goat was carried over by two men by the horns and hind legs. The two men stretched out the kicking goat’s body, and after a few backswings, the man with the machete swung the sword and in one blow, effortlessly chopped off the squealing goat’s head. The two holding the goat flew back in opposite directions, as the head was now severed from its body, blood spurting everywhere. The goat was convulsing, its body now twitching eerily in-synch with its detached head, whose yellow eyes were still open and blinking. The cut exposed its white bones and esophagus, as bright-red blood pumped out in regular rhythms and flowed down into the gutter. Devotees immediately rushed over to the scene, chanted, and kissed the bloody ground in respect to Kali, who has now hopefully been sacrificed. A priest quickly filleted the body and threw the goat’s intestines, but left the entire corpse to drain in the gutter. I couldn’t even speak after witnessing that spectacle. It was unreal; so vivid, so gruesome, so primal, and so fast. It was straight out of a movie, like what you’d see in some Orientalist depiction about India, like Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. I didn’t know Hindus actually still do live sacrifice, being so against killing and being vegetarian. Apparently Kali is a destroyer, so it’s different. Also, in Bengal, Brahmins are allowed to be non-veg, and sacrifices like this happen in West Bengal. I grabbed my shoes and ran out of the temple as fast as possible. Now I know why the two little boys on the tour stayed in the bus during this stop. My feet, I’m sure, are covered in goat blood and some awful disease (which is pretty impure for a place of worship of a religon that is obsessed with purity). Naturally, the next stop was lunch. I sat with the guide, a BK Ghosh, who was basically a well-read genius, really funny, and friendly. He gave me his number and address so that next time I’m in Kolkata (I can’t even count the number of times I’m in Kolkata) we can hang out. The lunch was good, but not Bengali. We next saw St. Paul’s Cathedral (by the way, what cathedral is not named “St. Paul’s”?). It was built in 1847 and was the first Episcopal church in Asia. It had a lot of pews facing a modern altar with statues, in front of beautiful stained-glass windows reaching up to the whitewashed ceiling above. It had a marble slab inscribed onto it how these three Englishmen were heroes who gave their lives by suppressing one of the Independence Struggle insurgencies, something I, and most Indians would say was a villainous act, but that the British Crown and people that write American 5th-grade American history books would commend. We drove through downtown’s towering buildings and huge green area known as the Maidan, housing many museums and monuments, mostly honoring the British Raj Era. We cruised down the “Poor Man’s Marine Drive”, the nice drive along the Hugli River. The modern Vidhyasagar suspension bridge, towered over the also mighty Ganges below. The last stop on the circuit was the Calcutta Gallery, a museum dedicated to the city and to West Bengal. It was really interactive, and had light-up dioramas, talking mannequins, and a 3-D movie. It featured the history of Kolkata, the recounting of battles, points of pride (namely, the Nobel Laureate connection, poets, singers, athletes, politicians, revolutionaries, artists, and intellectuals). After that I walked in Esplanade, the center of town. It was bustling, with tons of street vendors and other pedestrians. It was loud and chaotic as I walked down side roads in search of a hotel. Since Kolkata is expensive, I had to settle for a 450 Rs room, which was basically a really nice dorm room but half the size, and in the most delapidated building ever. Since Bengal is a huge film city, I decided to see a Bengali film, and the hotel clerk recommended the nearby cinema. Little did I know it was an Indian porno. But for a porno, it was horrible. The American previews from the 1970s were better than the feature presentation, a Tamil movie dubbed in Hindi. It had ugly girls and absolutely no nudity. The raunchiest it got was a possessed mullet man squeezing a girl’s stomach fat. The acting was, not surprisingly, horrible, and it culminated in a gross girl stabbing a crazy man who tried raping her. It was worse than spending the morning in class at DU. I want my two hours back. So I went over to the real cinema down the lit, crowded, and busy road. I saw Apna Sapna Money Money, which was really bad but had some good songs. But that experience was even worse than the previous movie, because I saw huge rats scurrying around the floor of the theatre. The rest of the night I had to watch everywhere I stepped, because there were so many little holes in the streets, and I am absolutely paranoid of seeing rats.