Everything comes to an end, even the rusting filigreed balcony rails and louvered wood shutters, warped and molding, which gently subside into street rubble throughout Calcutta.
I love Calcutta, regardless that my body bursts into rivulets of sweat in repeated failed attempts to cope with the heat and humidity. Regardless that as I weave my way down the sidewalk I press through an endless crush of people, more in one block than in all of Jackson County. Regardless that taxis, those ubiquitous Ambassador models with what look like permanently slumped shoulders, crawl along, gears grinding, horn gasping helplessly at the onslaught of tuktuks, rickshaws and clattering buses that rise and fall like waves around us.
Worn out
I love the tiny plastic cups of steaming chai I can get on any corner…and do. I’d forgotten how much hotter everything is at sea level. I love the street food, like the thin slabs of potato lashed with batter and fried in oil so hot they instantly puff into pillows of soft potato on the inside with a bronze crisp skin on the outside that would be the envy of any high-class tempura chef.
Blossoms ready to be strung
Yesterday, garlands of brash yellow and orange marigolds were strung on all the shrines. Today, as the latest puja for the Divali festival gives way to the next round of goddess worship it appears that even the goddess Kali might have had a hard night, along with many a delivery boy and rickshaw-walla. The black goats that are ritually sacrificed inside Kali’s main temple seem already to know their fate. They calmly accept being cleansed and cradled before having their heads neatly chopped off. Barefoot devotees cue patiently for a chance to leave their offerings at Kali’s feet. Under the broad branches of a sacred banyan tree, which shade a side shrine, sits a serene young woman with her eyes closed. A wizened crone dips magenta bougainvillea blossoms into blessed water and sprinkles her and the newborn infant on her lap. Is she there to give thanks for having her prayer from the year before answered?
The Goddess Kali
The poor and homeless who receive food once a day in the temple square swarm around a vast pot of rice and another one of turmeric potatoes. Each gets a big ladleful in whatever receptacle they have brought…tin bowl or plastic bag. Nearby a man holds statue still, while his nose hairs are clipped by the corner scissor-man. Oblivious to the bustle, a girl brushes her teeth at a communal hydrant.
Food for the homeless
Next to bowls of red dye, a mother swings her toddler in the air and catches her, mother laughing, toddler chortling with glee, while another plays with a simple toy. Those lucky enough to be harbored by Mother Teresa’s Home for the Sick and the Elderly gather on a second-floor balcony and survey the scene below, as I do from the street.
Amusement
Just sit....
Alas, though, all things come to an end. Even fierce West Bengal curries, strange, unseasonable monsoon weather and a 45-day drive from Istanbul to Calcutta.
Calcutta street
