marriage
"I have no choice. If I say I am sad I will be even more miserable." John said this in reply after Tim asked him if he was happy living his life in Calcutta.
John was the church pipe organ player at the Sudder Street Church. He had wisps of long white hair and tired eyes surrounded by wrinkles. We stumbled into the church after exploring the area further down Sudder Street while making our way to the Indian Museum which is right at the end of the street. We poked our heads into the church and thought that no one was inside, until John emerged from the dark corner where the pipe organ was situated and ambled all the way towards us at the entrance.
“Please take a look around, church service is over as it was held earlier” His English was fluent without the usual breaks that punctuate the speech of the average Kolkattian, and he seemed like an educated man with his slight air of sagacity. He invited us to walk around the church, but soon enough he offered to play the immense pipe organ for us to appreciate. The music boomed through the hollow halls while we looked on attentively and observed the cathedral. It was old, but in relation to the streets outside it was well-maintained and the ornate decorations stood in contrast to the faceless dust that covered the streets. The air was significantly cooler, which might explain why we were lured into the church in the first place.
John was unsurprisingly gregarious, but what struck me was his willingness to talk candidly about the troubles that plague Calcutta and India as a whole and to give his honest take on the relevant issues. Engaging in deeper conversation with a local was something we are yet to do.
“India is progressing but the people lead hard lives.” He talked about the wages that the common Indian receives and his frustrations with the church’s inability to provide him with the funds to repair his organ.
He had surprisingly harsh words about the district that he calls home. “Sudder Street is a bad place.” He flipped his stash of newspapers and gave us an article that showed us the frequency of crime in this district committed against foreigners. But my experience so far tells me that Sudder Street is a relatively safe place.
“Indians are not welcomed in the other countries. Philippines, America, even Singapore. I know all of these.” This was true, and we did not hesitate to show our concurrence. The phenomenon of migrant Indian workers not being accepted into mainstream society in most countries is perhaps understandable but unacceptable to an idealist that believes in integration and acceptance.
“Yet there are love stories that happen here; some foreigners end up marrying the local girls.” He began to quote nationalities; American, French, Korean, the lot. I was personally skeptical about whether true love can be found within a few days, and tended to believe that the local girls married to escape an otherwise tough and uncomfortable existence, but I withheld from asking more questions. Somehow John’s narration of his experience of foreign tourist marrying locals gave his otherwise dreary account of the realities of life in Calcutta a tinge of hope and happiness, as if to show that anything remains possible.
It was clear to us that John was very proud that many foreigners, like us, stumble into his church and end up talking to him and, most importantly to John, filming him playing his organ. Of course, we ended up filming him playing his organ too. It was comforting to know that he finds solace and pride in his work as an organ player, despite the bureaucracy and lack of funding.
Towards the end of our meeting with him, Tim asked him if he was happy with life here. John’s reply seemed to leak a sense of resentment.
My reply to John’s reply was to ask him if it was because of family, which John seemed to seize upon too quickly. I was left wondering if this was his true reason, or the true reason was, like many of us, he is already beyond a point of life where it was too late to make any drastic changes and harbour any other hope than to live the rest of life in peaceful monotony, even though it was a harsh, unfair and uncomfortable monotony.
John’s reply was surprising because I thought that given his proficiency with the English language he should be able to eke out a better living in some other better part of India. Is this a case of a local, despite having much to complain and criticize about his life, nevertheless finding his home the only place that he can call home during his life?
We left the church, having gained a valuable insight into the troubles of the average Indian. I left with a slightly heavy heart, hoping (perhaps vainly) that somehow life will turn out better for John. As proven by the marriages between locals and foreign tourists, hope lives in all corners of the world.
John was the church pipe organ player at the Sudder Street Church. He had wisps of long white hair and tired eyes surrounded by wrinkles. We stumbled into the church after exploring the area further down Sudder Street while making our way to the Indian Museum which is right at the end of the street. We poked our heads into the church and thought that no one was inside, until John emerged from the dark corner where the pipe organ was situated and ambled all the way towards us at the entrance.
“Please take a look around, church service is over as it was held earlier” His English was fluent without the usual breaks that punctuate the speech of the average Kolkattian, and he seemed like an educated man with his slight air of sagacity. He invited us to walk around the church, but soon enough he offered to play the immense pipe organ for us to appreciate. The music boomed through the hollow halls while we looked on attentively and observed the cathedral. It was old, but in relation to the streets outside it was well-maintained and the ornate decorations stood in contrast to the faceless dust that covered the streets. The air was significantly cooler, which might explain why we were lured into the church in the first place.
John was unsurprisingly gregarious, but what struck me was his willingness to talk candidly about the troubles that plague Calcutta and India as a whole and to give his honest take on the relevant issues. Engaging in deeper conversation with a local was something we are yet to do.
“India is progressing but the people lead hard lives.” He talked about the wages that the common Indian receives and his frustrations with the church’s inability to provide him with the funds to repair his organ.
He had surprisingly harsh words about the district that he calls home. “Sudder Street is a bad place.” He flipped his stash of newspapers and gave us an article that showed us the frequency of crime in this district committed against foreigners. But my experience so far tells me that Sudder Street is a relatively safe place.
“Indians are not welcomed in the other countries. Philippines, America, even Singapore. I know all of these.” This was true, and we did not hesitate to show our concurrence. The phenomenon of migrant Indian workers not being accepted into mainstream society in most countries is perhaps understandable but unacceptable to an idealist that believes in integration and acceptance.
“Yet there are love stories that happen here; some foreigners end up marrying the local girls.” He began to quote nationalities; American, French, Korean, the lot. I was personally skeptical about whether true love can be found within a few days, and tended to believe that the local girls married to escape an otherwise tough and uncomfortable existence, but I withheld from asking more questions. Somehow John’s narration of his experience of foreign tourist marrying locals gave his otherwise dreary account of the realities of life in Calcutta a tinge of hope and happiness, as if to show that anything remains possible.
It was clear to us that John was very proud that many foreigners, like us, stumble into his church and end up talking to him and, most importantly to John, filming him playing his organ. Of course, we ended up filming him playing his organ too. It was comforting to know that he finds solace and pride in his work as an organ player, despite the bureaucracy and lack of funding.
Towards the end of our meeting with him, Tim asked him if he was happy with life here. John’s reply seemed to leak a sense of resentment.
My reply to John’s reply was to ask him if it was because of family, which John seemed to seize upon too quickly. I was left wondering if this was his true reason, or the true reason was, like many of us, he is already beyond a point of life where it was too late to make any drastic changes and harbour any other hope than to live the rest of life in peaceful monotony, even though it was a harsh, unfair and uncomfortable monotony.
John’s reply was surprising because I thought that given his proficiency with the English language he should be able to eke out a better living in some other better part of India. Is this a case of a local, despite having much to complain and criticize about his life, nevertheless finding his home the only place that he can call home during his life?
We left the church, having gained a valuable insight into the troubles of the average Indian. I left with a slightly heavy heart, hoping (perhaps vainly) that somehow life will turn out better for John. As proven by the marriages between locals and foreign tourists, hope lives in all corners of the world.
touched by an angel
It had to start somewhere and it started even before the first train ride of the trip even began. My first “what the heck” moment of the trip.
We boarded the Coromandel Express at Chennai Central train station and waited for the train to start moving. Meanwhile Indians streamed into the cabins and unloaded their various baggage, stuffing them into any corner they can find.
Then it/he/she came on board. It was dressed in a sari, but had the broad shoulders and the deep voice of a male. He was soliciting for donations around the cabins and soon came to our cabin. Everyone in the cabin ignored her in a bid to send the message that we will not be donating anything. I followed the crowd.
But instead of just leaving me alone like she did to everyone else, it decided to get something from what is otherwise a fruitless attempt to wrestle some cash from our small wallets.
She pinched my right cheek. I was too shocked to reply with some abuse or punch her, and I felt like Camus after he was shot. She then swayed her manly hips and left the train cabin.
She was not the only beggar to engage in some degree of bodily contact with me. While Tim tends to attract touts selling all kinds of nonsense (e.g. statutes of Kali, cashmere etc), I was a beggar magnet. Somehow EVERYONE begs from me. I think it is because I look fat and rich. And when they don't get what they want, they start to get a little more bold and pushy. They start to tap my kneecaps, grab my arm, stand in the way, and of course, pinch my cheeks. It is amazing.
And the fact that Calcutta is filled with beggars and the destitute on the streets didn't make things better.
The little kids were particularly heartbreaking. They live with their mothers on the streets, often staying outside air-conditioned supermarts. When their mothers see tourists like us walking their way, they send their children to pester and cling on to us. I want to give them some money, but knew I couldn't because this will only spark off a begging frenzy. When we walked along the streets at night, we had to take care not to step on anyone who happened to be sleeping on the sidewalks, just inches away from the crazy traffic that congests the narrow roads of Calcutta.
The contrast was stark. And this is just another example of the lob-sided economic development that is currently happening in India. Sporadic bursts of signs of economic growth is met with beggars digging into stacks of rotting garbage just metres away from tourist ghettos.
I guess I can always burst into the usual drill of extrapolating what I saw to what I have in Singapore and feel blessed for about 5 seconds that I am staying in comfort in a safe country like Singapore.
But that would be to draw away attention and focus from Calcutta to Singapore, in a rather self-centred way.
Calcutta is really a phenomenon in itself that should stand for what it uniquely is. It is impossible to explain, but possible to describe.
Calcutta is a place where the squallid and desperately destitute coexists and blends with the sparks of emergent prosperity. The everpresent, indifferent and suffocating heat disinfects and kills at the same time, reflecting a harsh and trying existence. It seems to melt everything together into one whole that somehow maintains its cohesiveness despite the miasma of smog, brightly coloured saris, aromatic curries, sweating old men pulling young couples on rickshaws and thousands of yellow taxis jamming their horns and belching black smoke.
Calcutta does not attract many tourists for obvious reasons, but whoever comes here will be humbled by being privy to a peek of a city where the overpowering heat and pollution undergirds an existence that is never guaranteed, which is somehow met by the warmth and courage of a people that somehow manages to trudge along and met the arduous demands of eking out even a simple existence.
We boarded the Coromandel Express at Chennai Central train station and waited for the train to start moving. Meanwhile Indians streamed into the cabins and unloaded their various baggage, stuffing them into any corner they can find.
Then it/he/she came on board. It was dressed in a sari, but had the broad shoulders and the deep voice of a male. He was soliciting for donations around the cabins and soon came to our cabin. Everyone in the cabin ignored her in a bid to send the message that we will not be donating anything. I followed the crowd.
But instead of just leaving me alone like she did to everyone else, it decided to get something from what is otherwise a fruitless attempt to wrestle some cash from our small wallets.
She pinched my right cheek. I was too shocked to reply with some abuse or punch her, and I felt like Camus after he was shot. She then swayed her manly hips and left the train cabin.
She was not the only beggar to engage in some degree of bodily contact with me. While Tim tends to attract touts selling all kinds of nonsense (e.g. statutes of Kali, cashmere etc), I was a beggar magnet. Somehow EVERYONE begs from me. I think it is because I look fat and rich. And when they don't get what they want, they start to get a little more bold and pushy. They start to tap my kneecaps, grab my arm, stand in the way, and of course, pinch my cheeks. It is amazing.
And the fact that Calcutta is filled with beggars and the destitute on the streets didn't make things better.
The little kids were particularly heartbreaking. They live with their mothers on the streets, often staying outside air-conditioned supermarts. When their mothers see tourists like us walking their way, they send their children to pester and cling on to us. I want to give them some money, but knew I couldn't because this will only spark off a begging frenzy. When we walked along the streets at night, we had to take care not to step on anyone who happened to be sleeping on the sidewalks, just inches away from the crazy traffic that congests the narrow roads of Calcutta.
The contrast was stark. And this is just another example of the lob-sided economic development that is currently happening in India. Sporadic bursts of signs of economic growth is met with beggars digging into stacks of rotting garbage just metres away from tourist ghettos.
I guess I can always burst into the usual drill of extrapolating what I saw to what I have in Singapore and feel blessed for about 5 seconds that I am staying in comfort in a safe country like Singapore.
But that would be to draw away attention and focus from Calcutta to Singapore, in a rather self-centred way.
Calcutta is really a phenomenon in itself that should stand for what it uniquely is. It is impossible to explain, but possible to describe.
Calcutta is a place where the squallid and desperately destitute coexists and blends with the sparks of emergent prosperity. The everpresent, indifferent and suffocating heat disinfects and kills at the same time, reflecting a harsh and trying existence. It seems to melt everything together into one whole that somehow maintains its cohesiveness despite the miasma of smog, brightly coloured saris, aromatic curries, sweating old men pulling young couples on rickshaws and thousands of yellow taxis jamming their horns and belching black smoke.
Calcutta does not attract many tourists for obvious reasons, but whoever comes here will be humbled by being privy to a peek of a city where the overpowering heat and pollution undergirds an existence that is never guaranteed, which is somehow met by the warmth and courage of a people that somehow manages to trudge along and met the arduous demands of eking out even a simple existence.
These numbers don't lie
Google Analytics, a website tracking service, provides us with the following hit statistics for our blog to date. We leave you, our readers, to interpret them for yourselves.
Suffice to say, we are most pleased with the enthusiastic response that our blog has received. You, our readers, are why we blog and this trip of ours is all the more exciting for it. We really appreciate your support. Keep the visits and the comments coming!
A stroll in Calcutta
brings us to the following sights.
This is the streetview a mere 200m from our guesthouse. Man and animal cohabit rubbish heaps. The crows are frightening monstrosities twice as large as any you'll find in Singapore.
People seem to keep goats as pets here. We've seen three thus far; this is one of them. It is leashed. Perhaps they are low maintenance creatures? After all, they are known to be highly non-discriminatory consumers of anything edible and most things non-edible too. Though if the saying that you are what you eat is true, I shudder to consider the consequences of the inevitable slaughtering of the goat for its meat for those who eat it.
Yellow taxis are ubiquitous in Calcutta. They don't give way to any vehicle or creature smaller than they are. Which, sadly, includes us.
It is hot and crowded in the streets of Calcutta. One cannot deny that the buildings have character. Though I suppose that after 150 odd years of existence would be tremendously boring for any object, be it living or not, without some character.
A random walk took us to this place called New Market. Which is a collection of many stalls selling clothes, souvenirs, foodstuffs etc. Roshan Garden would be a great place for a party indeed.
Wet market in the middle of the day. With flayed lambs hanging from hooks. I wonder about their diet.
Cake is nice everywhere one goes.
(These were photos 130 to 159. Cryptic, yes I know, but at least now you know that the photos that Elgin and Tim post are not numbered 130 to 159.)
This is the streetview a mere 200m from our guesthouse. Man and animal cohabit rubbish heaps. The crows are frightening monstrosities twice as large as any you'll find in Singapore.
People seem to keep goats as pets here. We've seen three thus far; this is one of them. It is leashed. Perhaps they are low maintenance creatures? After all, they are known to be highly non-discriminatory consumers of anything edible and most things non-edible too. Though if the saying that you are what you eat is true, I shudder to consider the consequences of the inevitable slaughtering of the goat for its meat for those who eat it.
Yellow taxis are ubiquitous in Calcutta. They don't give way to any vehicle or creature smaller than they are. Which, sadly, includes us.
It is hot and crowded in the streets of Calcutta. One cannot deny that the buildings have character. Though I suppose that after 150 odd years of existence would be tremendously boring for any object, be it living or not, without some character.
A random walk took us to this place called New Market. Which is a collection of many stalls selling clothes, souvenirs, foodstuffs etc. Roshan Garden would be a great place for a party indeed.
Wet market in the middle of the day. With flayed lambs hanging from hooks. I wonder about their diet.
Cake is nice everywhere one goes.
(These were photos 130 to 159. Cryptic, yes I know, but at least now you know that the photos that Elgin and Tim post are not numbered 130 to 159.)
i only have the boring photos left to post
as you know, we have split up the photos of the day by numerical order and its just your luck that i got the really boring ones to comment on. nevertheless, i will try my best.
We have decided to have a small competition. Every day, we will take a photo of the most mangy, rabid looking dog that we can find on the streets of India/Nepal/Pakistan. At the end of the trip, you, the reader, will get the chance to vote for the Dog of The Day (whole trip). The person who predicts the most mangy, god-forsaken dog will win 100 rupees.
Without further ado, here is The Dog of the Day:
isn't he handsome?
anyway, further down the road, we came across a man sharpening a blade on an ancient grindstone... he glared at Roger while rog was getting his picture so that kinda put roger off a bit, hence you don't get to see his intense face of rage and anger. but you do get to see his murderous hands.
this is the indian equivalent of Peninsula plaza. generally speaking in india, the shopping malls have security guards and metal detectors situated outside to deter the general populace from entering. hence, you wont get touts or beggars trying their luck on you all the time.
we found copies of Mien Kampf and the Tibetian Book of the Dead in a bookstore within the arcade.
for some reason, we decided it was best to pass the day watching a movie in calcutta. it was a bad idea because the only movie showing was Street Kings by keanu reeves. in typical fashion, we had no idea what the plot was at the end of the movie.
here are the movie tickets. the most expensive tickets are 100 rupees (about 3 bucks), followed by 80 rupees and 50 rupees. We opted for the 100 rupee tickets but there is no real difference in seat quality and arrangement really. the seats are hard leather like those damn lock cock and old sbs transit buses (think buses you sat in kindergarten).
to pass the time we went into one of the supermarkets there (also with security guards and metal detectors). prices in an indian supermarket are much cheaper than in singapore, even accounting for the exchange rate. a jar of marmalade costs 1 SGD for example.
As you can see, 1 kg of PARADISE Basmati Rice goes for 72 rps and that is the most expensive commodity there. (72 rupees is approx 2.10 SGD)
indians also have a good concept of leather goods going.
finally, the weather is so hot we had to keep ourselves cool by drinking tons of juice. a small glass of watermelon juice goes for 15 rupees (50 cents) and one with pomergranate goes for 30 rupees (1 dollar). this is fast becoming our favourite juice cafe in the New Market area. It is the only one that has great air conditioning with soothing lounge music. As you can see, water indeed is life here.
also, here are some shots of the local architecture. they are interspersed with slums and half broken down buildings. truly, india is a land of extreme contrasts. we live 80 metres from a slum. and also 80 metres from a LAN shop, upmarket district, eateries, money changers and a wet market.
we will attempt to visit a museum and just chill out more tomorrow. it is really very hot, with not much to do here, unless you are a saint. then you have the busiest job in the whole world.
We have decided to have a small competition. Every day, we will take a photo of the most mangy, rabid looking dog that we can find on the streets of India/Nepal/Pakistan. At the end of the trip, you, the reader, will get the chance to vote for the Dog of The Day (whole trip). The person who predicts the most mangy, god-forsaken dog will win 100 rupees.
Without further ado, here is The Dog of the Day:
isn't he handsome?
anyway, further down the road, we came across a man sharpening a blade on an ancient grindstone... he glared at Roger while rog was getting his picture so that kinda put roger off a bit, hence you don't get to see his intense face of rage and anger. but you do get to see his murderous hands.
this is the indian equivalent of Peninsula plaza. generally speaking in india, the shopping malls have security guards and metal detectors situated outside to deter the general populace from entering. hence, you wont get touts or beggars trying their luck on you all the time.
we found copies of Mien Kampf and the Tibetian Book of the Dead in a bookstore within the arcade.
for some reason, we decided it was best to pass the day watching a movie in calcutta. it was a bad idea because the only movie showing was Street Kings by keanu reeves. in typical fashion, we had no idea what the plot was at the end of the movie.
here are the movie tickets. the most expensive tickets are 100 rupees (about 3 bucks), followed by 80 rupees and 50 rupees. We opted for the 100 rupee tickets but there is no real difference in seat quality and arrangement really. the seats are hard leather like those damn lock cock and old sbs transit buses (think buses you sat in kindergarten).
to pass the time we went into one of the supermarkets there (also with security guards and metal detectors). prices in an indian supermarket are much cheaper than in singapore, even accounting for the exchange rate. a jar of marmalade costs 1 SGD for example.
As you can see, 1 kg of PARADISE Basmati Rice goes for 72 rps and that is the most expensive commodity there. (72 rupees is approx 2.10 SGD)
indians also have a good concept of leather goods going.
finally, the weather is so hot we had to keep ourselves cool by drinking tons of juice. a small glass of watermelon juice goes for 15 rupees (50 cents) and one with pomergranate goes for 30 rupees (1 dollar). this is fast becoming our favourite juice cafe in the New Market area. It is the only one that has great air conditioning with soothing lounge music. As you can see, water indeed is life here.
also, here are some shots of the local architecture. they are interspersed with slums and half broken down buildings. truly, india is a land of extreme contrasts. we live 80 metres from a slum. and also 80 metres from a LAN shop, upmarket district, eateries, money changers and a wet market.
we will attempt to visit a museum and just chill out more tomorrow. it is really very hot, with not much to do here, unless you are a saint. then you have the busiest job in the whole world.
first night in calcutta, hotel and breakfast
We reached Calcutta in the afternoon, and had the rest of the afternoon and the night to do some exploring around the city. It was VERY WARM. 42 degrees, according to the driver.
Sampling KFC was a ritual we engage in every time we travel. Fortunately Calcutta had an outlet. Which is overstaffed. 299 rupees (less than 10 dollars) for a bucket with 8 pieces, and 50 cents for a pack of fries. And apparently there is no concept of queuing. Here we are trying to figure out where is the queue.
The outlet is large, and the photo below was taken at the second floor balcony. The aircon was only mildly cool; the heat refuses to dissipate despite the sunset. Note the inverted KFC sign on the balloon.
It is surprising how KFC tastes similar everywhere. The chicken in my opinion were a tad tougher, and the hot and spicy chicken a bit spicier. Otherwise everything was the same.
Just another example of the many contrasts between destitution and opulence you can find in Calcutta. This bookstore was clean, well stocked and well-updated with the latest titles. The air con was good too.
This is officially our favourite spot in the whole of Calcutta. Note our positions in the mirror. It is exactly the place where the air con was strongest.
We began our forays into local street food, where the bacteria is abundant and diarrhoea a realistic proposition. We had egg roll from this small shop. Egg roll is like roti prata rolled up, with filling inside. The man used his hands to fill up the egg roll.
The fruit juice from this shop probably saved us from fever and sore throats the next day. We had our vitamin shakes here.
We bought Bengali desserts from this other shop, where the owner (surprise surprise) used his bare hands to handle the food. There was a large variety of sweets but we chose 2 kinds to sample. The thing in white tasted like milk while the crumbly thing in yellow was VERY SWEET and oily at the same time. They looked yellow because we were standing under street lights.
Hotel Gulistan is our sleeping place. Looks like some terrorist hideout. You cant find it from just outside the streets, you have to walk into the alleys and climb hidden stairs to find it. Dont worry we have our water bottles to ward off terrorists.
A special prize for anyone who can guess what is wrong with the picture below:
The morning after, in the blazing heat, searching for breakfast place
Breakfast was at Radhuni's. 2 SGD for a full breakfast with prata, chicken curry and mixed vegetables, washed down with chai.
Sampling KFC was a ritual we engage in every time we travel. Fortunately Calcutta had an outlet. Which is overstaffed. 299 rupees (less than 10 dollars) for a bucket with 8 pieces, and 50 cents for a pack of fries. And apparently there is no concept of queuing. Here we are trying to figure out where is the queue.
The outlet is large, and the photo below was taken at the second floor balcony. The aircon was only mildly cool; the heat refuses to dissipate despite the sunset. Note the inverted KFC sign on the balloon.
It is surprising how KFC tastes similar everywhere. The chicken in my opinion were a tad tougher, and the hot and spicy chicken a bit spicier. Otherwise everything was the same.
Just another example of the many contrasts between destitution and opulence you can find in Calcutta. This bookstore was clean, well stocked and well-updated with the latest titles. The air con was good too.
This is officially our favourite spot in the whole of Calcutta. Note our positions in the mirror. It is exactly the place where the air con was strongest.
We began our forays into local street food, where the bacteria is abundant and diarrhoea a realistic proposition. We had egg roll from this small shop. Egg roll is like roti prata rolled up, with filling inside. The man used his hands to fill up the egg roll.
The fruit juice from this shop probably saved us from fever and sore throats the next day. We had our vitamin shakes here.
We bought Bengali desserts from this other shop, where the owner (surprise surprise) used his bare hands to handle the food. There was a large variety of sweets but we chose 2 kinds to sample. The thing in white tasted like milk while the crumbly thing in yellow was VERY SWEET and oily at the same time. They looked yellow because we were standing under street lights.
Hotel Gulistan is our sleeping place. Looks like some terrorist hideout. You cant find it from just outside the streets, you have to walk into the alleys and climb hidden stairs to find it. Dont worry we have our water bottles to ward off terrorists.
A special prize for anyone who can guess what is wrong with the picture below:
The morning after, in the blazing heat, searching for breakfast place
Breakfast was at Radhuni's. 2 SGD for a full breakfast with prata, chicken curry and mixed vegetables, washed down with chai.
how we pass our quieter moments
Between the three of us, we brought the following books:
Telling lies, Paul Ekman
From Socrates to Satre: The Philosophic Quest, T.Z. Lavine
Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes
Angela Carter's Book of Fairy Tales, collected from various cultures
Lonely Planet India
Lonely Planet Nepal
Lonely Planet Pakistan
These books were selected after careful deliberation about their weight (we have to carry them up mountains in Nepal and Pakistan) and interest value. I also brought two issues of The Economist but they are not really worth mentioning.
So, here's a little game for our faithful and most appreciated readers. For the first reader to guess correctly who brought which book, we will present a photograph of us in an exciting place doing a pose of the reader's choice! We will also try to hold up the reader's name while doing this.
As a hint, I will divulge that of the non-Lonely Planet books, Tim brought two , Elgin brought one, and I brought one. We each brought one Lonely Planet guide. This reduces the possible combinations to a mere 180 (if I'm not wrong).
Shout out your answers in the comments below!
Telling lies, Paul Ekman
From Socrates to Satre: The Philosophic Quest, T.Z. Lavine
Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes
Angela Carter's Book of Fairy Tales, collected from various cultures
Lonely Planet India
Lonely Planet Nepal
Lonely Planet Pakistan
These books were selected after careful deliberation about their weight (we have to carry them up mountains in Nepal and Pakistan) and interest value. I also brought two issues of The Economist but they are not really worth mentioning.
So, here's a little game for our faithful and most appreciated readers. For the first reader to guess correctly who brought which book, we will present a photograph of us in an exciting place doing a pose of the reader's choice! We will also try to hold up the reader's name while doing this.
As a hint, I will divulge that of the non-Lonely Planet books, Tim brought two , Elgin brought one, and I brought one. We each brought one Lonely Planet guide. This reduces the possible combinations to a mere 180 (if I'm not wrong).
Shout out your answers in the comments below!
Black Hawk Down
We are now in Calcutta. All i can say is that there is a reason why Mother Teresa set up shop here. I have never seen a grittier, grimier hot bed of human suffering (until i go to africa i think)
The city is designed to kill people, if not quickly by reckless drivers then slowly by the amount of pollution and the baking heat that sears the air and seems to come out from the ground itself.
the streets are narrow, convuluted, filled with potholes and other twisted debris. once, when our tuk tuk was sandwiched in the middle of the street, it really looked like something out of the streets of Mogadishu in Black Hawk Down. with lines of bazaars seeling everything from fried unspeakable things to cloth to rattan, barbers, tailors, rickshaw men pulling huge loads of goods...the sights and colours around us were overwhelming and the amount of human traffic and the scant disregard for their safety by motorists is also amazing.
Our ride to our hotel location was like a jungle safari, filled with twists and turns down back alley ways while raw sewage poured forth in the gutters beside us. Babies and beggars lay face down on the street, some on a thin strip of rattan, others their faces simply touching the pavement, still and unmoving. (even now as i type this in an internet cafe, a beggar is tapping me on the shoulder asking for some spare change)
the rules of the jungle where traffic is concerned is pretty simple: the bigger you are, the more right of way you have. Thus, pedestrians are at the lowest priority scale, followed by bicycles, tuk tuks (which we were riding on) , cars and then heavy vehicles and trains. i remember our tuk tuk banged into a bicycle on the way here actually although there was no one riding it at that point of time. Going against the flow of traffic is also commonplace and near misses happen with such frequency i was forced to tip my driver extra in admiration of his skill.
we somehow have two days to spend here. God save our soul.
----------------------------------------------------------------
On a lighter note, the 27.5 hour train ride was endlessly eye opening. Travelling in Sleeper Class meant that we were able to interact with the everyday, middle to lower class indians that comprise the country. Here are some of my observations in a nutshell (since roger and elgin are also writing about it and they will have pictures)
- we met two really nice indians, "Lion" (we called him by his nickname cos his real name is too hard) and Ramu. Ramu is a train driver of the train that we were sitting in (although off shift) and lion is a shrimp businessman. they are both 37 and 35 respectively. The thing about indians is that they are endlessly inquisitive.
They kept asking us everything agout Singapore, our education system, our politicial system, our school lives, love lives, prostitution, marriage laws, dowry laws and the type of food that we eat (in addition to a multitude of other things)
- they were also very educational themselves, telling us about the different temples in that region of Andra Pradesh and how they themselves lived their lives. for example, if you have more than 3 children, you are not allowed to run for public office in india. they themselves also have no idea why.
- prostitution is illegal in india, except for parts of bombay and calcutta. in those areas, apparently there are also brothels for women only (although this may be an error in our hearing. their accent made it a little entertaining when we tried to communicate)
- guys generally marry between 20 to 25 and women between 18 to 25. Ramu is "divided" and lion has 2 kids.
- ramu didnt understand when i asked him what happens if the bride's father refuses to pay dowry.
- lion very nicely shared his dinner with us. it was incredible. a true singaporean's dream (super cheap and good). it costs 25 rupees which is about 80 cents. you get a mountain of rice (enough to feed 2 hungry guys), 3 different curries and vegetables, goat's milk, salt and some chilli crackers. it was totally amazing i have never tasted such nice spices before. its not like the spice in singapore where after you eat you need to go to the toilet.
this one was very easy on the stomach and it was delicious, especially since you are supposed to mix every damn thing together and eat them. what is even more amazing is that a total stranger shared his meal with us at no cost and at no prompting. ramu and lion both dropped off before we hit calcutta.
-ramu himself made an interesting series of observations: 1) "my country is becoming more developed but the people are getting poorer". 2) your country is called singa-poor but it is very rich. 3) when other people come to india, we treat them very nicely but why does everyone in other countries treat indians so badly?
- i have never felt such oppressive heat in a vehicle before. it is the equivalent of riding in an armoured vehicle for 27.5 hours but with more space to move around in. i drank like a drunk but i still felt the breath being sucked out of me. even the other indians in our cabin could see that we were suffering cos they kept advising us to take the air conditioned compartments next time. "I think a/c is better for you ya?"
- another indian (whose name we sadly didnt catch) gave us what appeared to look like guava to eat. He also gave us free bottled water. real nice guy but very quiet and kept to himself. we saw him at calcutta station holding his guy friend's hand (apparently guys in india hold hands) and shook his before we left.
- we broke every rule of hygiene - ate with bare hands, ate food from a stranger, drank goat's milk, didn't wash hands after going to the toilet (no soap and water) but we are still fine. in fact, my digestive system is better than it was in singapore when i eat oily or spicy foods. makes you wonder which country is cleaner in reality.
- we saw beggars get on and off at every station stop. 2 shirtless young boys, 2 girls with women, two old women and one old woman who was a leper as well. her fingers were stumps, eaten away by the disease and she had no toes on one foot as well. she came onboard at a station close to midnight but was moved off the train by some police officer with a gun.
roger asked me if leprosy is contagious. leprosy is like AIDS. it isnt contagious in the sense that you wont get it if someone touches you but if their fluids come into contact with you then you may be screwed. i passed the leper woman on the way to the toilet but she didnt say anything at all.
the funniest beggars would be the ones at chennai station itself. they were transvestites and they loved elgin. they fondled his chin in an effort to try to get cash out of him. i merely got a pat on the cheek while roger was busy trying to appear busy with stuff in his bag. quite aggressive though but hey, they weren't pretty enough =)
- a whole motley train of vendors selling items triapsed through our cabin at all hours of the day (except when ppl were sleeping at night). Shouts of "chai! chai!" and various other food items being peddled. we even saw chains and locks being paddled and shoestrings and IT products like thumbdrives and flashlights.
- on a train, the dustbin and the toilet is actually outside the train. everyone throws stuff out the window or the door (which is also left open so you can actually look outside the train full bodied)
at first we felt a bit paiseh throwing out stuff through the window (cos we are singaporean) but we eventually got into the spirit of things and chucked away.
when you pee or shit, your waste also goes through a hole onto the tracks. hence, there is a sign in the toilet which advises against peeing or shitting when the train is at a station for this reason. it is supposed to help prevent stations from smelling like shit and piss but in actual fact the whole of india (almost) smells like piss and shit.
- the indian countryside fluctutates between 3 scenarios: 1) arid african wasteland
2) arid sparsely populated farming community 3) slumdog millionaire
it is exactly like the movies and the books that you read. i was in fact amazed at the accuracy of novels, i literally got the same feeling from reading books last time about india and africa and actually seeing the place unfold before my eyes. it is/was exactly the same as i imagined it to be, or rather very very close.
- indians like to shake their heads from side to side. this can mean : "don't worry about it", "it's ok", "yes, in a sense" or "whatever". this shaking of the head is not done vigorously. it is a somewhat gentle, nonchalant motion that involves the neck more than the head itself. the head sorta pivots sideways with the neck as the fulcrum.
- calcutta and chennai are seriously quite hellish. roger believes its the shittiest city he has ever seen in his life. i think i will concur. but i do like the grittiness of it. and the fact that indians have an inexplicable ability to make any system, no matter how shitty, work well enough for them. if you want to see a true free market, come to calcutta.
- you should visit calcutta or chennai at least once in your life. then you will know despair in some form. (especially if you imagine yourself as one of the street beggars)
elgin has all the photos! and the net here is too slow for them all to be put up; so...just too bad.
enjoy till the next post about calcutta. we are going to try to explore it and survive pollution.
The city is designed to kill people, if not quickly by reckless drivers then slowly by the amount of pollution and the baking heat that sears the air and seems to come out from the ground itself.
the streets are narrow, convuluted, filled with potholes and other twisted debris. once, when our tuk tuk was sandwiched in the middle of the street, it really looked like something out of the streets of Mogadishu in Black Hawk Down. with lines of bazaars seeling everything from fried unspeakable things to cloth to rattan, barbers, tailors, rickshaw men pulling huge loads of goods...the sights and colours around us were overwhelming and the amount of human traffic and the scant disregard for their safety by motorists is also amazing.
Our ride to our hotel location was like a jungle safari, filled with twists and turns down back alley ways while raw sewage poured forth in the gutters beside us. Babies and beggars lay face down on the street, some on a thin strip of rattan, others their faces simply touching the pavement, still and unmoving. (even now as i type this in an internet cafe, a beggar is tapping me on the shoulder asking for some spare change)
the rules of the jungle where traffic is concerned is pretty simple: the bigger you are, the more right of way you have. Thus, pedestrians are at the lowest priority scale, followed by bicycles, tuk tuks (which we were riding on) , cars and then heavy vehicles and trains. i remember our tuk tuk banged into a bicycle on the way here actually although there was no one riding it at that point of time. Going against the flow of traffic is also commonplace and near misses happen with such frequency i was forced to tip my driver extra in admiration of his skill.
we somehow have two days to spend here. God save our soul.
----------------------------------------------------------------
On a lighter note, the 27.5 hour train ride was endlessly eye opening. Travelling in Sleeper Class meant that we were able to interact with the everyday, middle to lower class indians that comprise the country. Here are some of my observations in a nutshell (since roger and elgin are also writing about it and they will have pictures)
- we met two really nice indians, "Lion" (we called him by his nickname cos his real name is too hard) and Ramu. Ramu is a train driver of the train that we were sitting in (although off shift) and lion is a shrimp businessman. they are both 37 and 35 respectively. The thing about indians is that they are endlessly inquisitive.
They kept asking us everything agout Singapore, our education system, our politicial system, our school lives, love lives, prostitution, marriage laws, dowry laws and the type of food that we eat (in addition to a multitude of other things)
- they were also very educational themselves, telling us about the different temples in that region of Andra Pradesh and how they themselves lived their lives. for example, if you have more than 3 children, you are not allowed to run for public office in india. they themselves also have no idea why.
- prostitution is illegal in india, except for parts of bombay and calcutta. in those areas, apparently there are also brothels for women only (although this may be an error in our hearing. their accent made it a little entertaining when we tried to communicate)
- guys generally marry between 20 to 25 and women between 18 to 25. Ramu is "divided" and lion has 2 kids.
- ramu didnt understand when i asked him what happens if the bride's father refuses to pay dowry.
- lion very nicely shared his dinner with us. it was incredible. a true singaporean's dream (super cheap and good). it costs 25 rupees which is about 80 cents. you get a mountain of rice (enough to feed 2 hungry guys), 3 different curries and vegetables, goat's milk, salt and some chilli crackers. it was totally amazing i have never tasted such nice spices before. its not like the spice in singapore where after you eat you need to go to the toilet.
this one was very easy on the stomach and it was delicious, especially since you are supposed to mix every damn thing together and eat them. what is even more amazing is that a total stranger shared his meal with us at no cost and at no prompting. ramu and lion both dropped off before we hit calcutta.
-ramu himself made an interesting series of observations: 1) "my country is becoming more developed but the people are getting poorer". 2) your country is called singa-poor but it is very rich. 3) when other people come to india, we treat them very nicely but why does everyone in other countries treat indians so badly?
- i have never felt such oppressive heat in a vehicle before. it is the equivalent of riding in an armoured vehicle for 27.5 hours but with more space to move around in. i drank like a drunk but i still felt the breath being sucked out of me. even the other indians in our cabin could see that we were suffering cos they kept advising us to take the air conditioned compartments next time. "I think a/c is better for you ya?"
- another indian (whose name we sadly didnt catch) gave us what appeared to look like guava to eat. He also gave us free bottled water. real nice guy but very quiet and kept to himself. we saw him at calcutta station holding his guy friend's hand (apparently guys in india hold hands) and shook his before we left.
- we broke every rule of hygiene - ate with bare hands, ate food from a stranger, drank goat's milk, didn't wash hands after going to the toilet (no soap and water) but we are still fine. in fact, my digestive system is better than it was in singapore when i eat oily or spicy foods. makes you wonder which country is cleaner in reality.
- we saw beggars get on and off at every station stop. 2 shirtless young boys, 2 girls with women, two old women and one old woman who was a leper as well. her fingers were stumps, eaten away by the disease and she had no toes on one foot as well. she came onboard at a station close to midnight but was moved off the train by some police officer with a gun.
roger asked me if leprosy is contagious. leprosy is like AIDS. it isnt contagious in the sense that you wont get it if someone touches you but if their fluids come into contact with you then you may be screwed. i passed the leper woman on the way to the toilet but she didnt say anything at all.
the funniest beggars would be the ones at chennai station itself. they were transvestites and they loved elgin. they fondled his chin in an effort to try to get cash out of him. i merely got a pat on the cheek while roger was busy trying to appear busy with stuff in his bag. quite aggressive though but hey, they weren't pretty enough =)
- a whole motley train of vendors selling items triapsed through our cabin at all hours of the day (except when ppl were sleeping at night). Shouts of "chai! chai!" and various other food items being peddled. we even saw chains and locks being paddled and shoestrings and IT products like thumbdrives and flashlights.
- on a train, the dustbin and the toilet is actually outside the train. everyone throws stuff out the window or the door (which is also left open so you can actually look outside the train full bodied)
at first we felt a bit paiseh throwing out stuff through the window (cos we are singaporean) but we eventually got into the spirit of things and chucked away.
when you pee or shit, your waste also goes through a hole onto the tracks. hence, there is a sign in the toilet which advises against peeing or shitting when the train is at a station for this reason. it is supposed to help prevent stations from smelling like shit and piss but in actual fact the whole of india (almost) smells like piss and shit.
- the indian countryside fluctutates between 3 scenarios: 1) arid african wasteland
2) arid sparsely populated farming community 3) slumdog millionaire
it is exactly like the movies and the books that you read. i was in fact amazed at the accuracy of novels, i literally got the same feeling from reading books last time about india and africa and actually seeing the place unfold before my eyes. it is/was exactly the same as i imagined it to be, or rather very very close.
- indians like to shake their heads from side to side. this can mean : "don't worry about it", "it's ok", "yes, in a sense" or "whatever". this shaking of the head is not done vigorously. it is a somewhat gentle, nonchalant motion that involves the neck more than the head itself. the head sorta pivots sideways with the neck as the fulcrum.
- calcutta and chennai are seriously quite hellish. roger believes its the shittiest city he has ever seen in his life. i think i will concur. but i do like the grittiness of it. and the fact that indians have an inexplicable ability to make any system, no matter how shitty, work well enough for them. if you want to see a true free market, come to calcutta.
- you should visit calcutta or chennai at least once in your life. then you will know despair in some form. (especially if you imagine yourself as one of the street beggars)
elgin has all the photos! and the net here is too slow for them all to be put up; so...just too bad.
enjoy till the next post about calcutta. we are going to try to explore it and survive pollution.
The train ride from hell, with the natives, lepers, beggars and loads of curry
Pictures, from the most intense (and authentic) train ride I ever took.
The night before... at a hotel near Chennai Central Train Station... Clearly very chirpy. The room has no air con (despite the suspicious presence of said machine embedded in the window), so everyone had their shirts off. The cricket commentator on TV is a CHINESE who can speak Hindi.
The room was crappy and Tim got a few mosquito bites. The hotel-owner clearly empathised with us when he pasted glow-in-the-dark stars and planets on the ceiling. Note the tell-tale white patches. We were surprised beyond belief when we switched off the lights to sleep, only to behold a galaxy of stars on the ceiling. For a moment we thought the room was so bad there was no roof.
Pre-train ride breakfast was masala dhosai with chicken curry. We somehow managed to order them from this indian uncle with no teeth at this coffee house near our "hotel". We ate with fingers. The beginning of an education in Indian hygiene. With live chickens on the floor near us.
Chennai Central station, with its crowds
The train. Its packed to the brim. Like a train bound for Auschwitz.
Before trip photos, looking happy and eager. ok not so eager.
Meet the natives. And the cramped interior of the train. People sleep both on the racks to the left and right, and some sleep on the floor.
Tim wanted to pose with him for a photo. But he was eager for a nice curry right at the back of the train.
Fascinated with his butt.
The view was...
OMG its the three holy men. Actually they are just asleep from the heat.
This guy is a real gentleman. He gave us one unripened green guava each to chew on, as well as a bottle of water to Tim, foc. We subsequently debated on whether the "guava" is indeed a guava or not. You can decide yourself after viewing its picture below.
Tim calls him our "night-riding buddy". He lasted the whole journey with us, giving us each a handshake after we reached Howrah.
Meal on the train... with hands and spoons. How did we dispose of the used utensils and aluminium boxes? Out of the window, just like the way the natives do it.
Another person that brigthened up our trip was "Lion". Yes he calls himself that. He offered us his dinner and it turned out to be really nice. The only problem is we had an entire mountain of rice to finish on top of the dinner we ordered, and we couldn't say we don't want the food because he has been so gracious to us. We took turns to finish the mountain, mixing fingernail dirt, saliva and curry together before scoping rice down our throats.
The rest of the people in our cabin were as talkative as "Lion". Ramu, the guy with the handphone, is a train driver with the Indian Railways. He was very eager to learn more about Singapore, and we talked about marriages, currency, handphones... almost anything. Rao, the guy to Ramu's left is also a train operater. "Lion" himself operated vehicles that caught tiger "phrawwnnss". We don't know who is the random indian guy to the extreme right.
Sleeping quarters.... Roger and I slept at the top while Tim slept at the second tier just below me. It was crammed and extremely warm and sweaty.
CAN YOU HANDLE THE TOILET? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TOILET. Actually the toilet wasn't too filthy. It was basically a hole in the train floor. Shit and piss went directly onto the tracks. Which might explain why it smells like that everywhere in India. Tim very graciously offered to enact a pose.
Crazy indian guy who woke us up, singing while playing a drum.
FINALLY, Howrah!
After trip photos. We were clearly very happy to be out of the pressure cooker.
The Indians are actually very nice people. The guy in the picture is really not thinking of robbing/raping/murdering us.
Finally, an interesting poster at the LAN shop we are at now:
Note point number 10.
More pictures tomorrow after our walk around Calcutta.
The night before... at a hotel near Chennai Central Train Station... Clearly very chirpy. The room has no air con (despite the suspicious presence of said machine embedded in the window), so everyone had their shirts off. The cricket commentator on TV is a CHINESE who can speak Hindi.
The room was crappy and Tim got a few mosquito bites. The hotel-owner clearly empathised with us when he pasted glow-in-the-dark stars and planets on the ceiling. Note the tell-tale white patches. We were surprised beyond belief when we switched off the lights to sleep, only to behold a galaxy of stars on the ceiling. For a moment we thought the room was so bad there was no roof.
Pre-train ride breakfast was masala dhosai with chicken curry. We somehow managed to order them from this indian uncle with no teeth at this coffee house near our "hotel". We ate with fingers. The beginning of an education in Indian hygiene. With live chickens on the floor near us.
Chennai Central station, with its crowds
The train. Its packed to the brim. Like a train bound for Auschwitz.
Before trip photos, looking happy and eager. ok not so eager.
Meet the natives. And the cramped interior of the train. People sleep both on the racks to the left and right, and some sleep on the floor.
Tim wanted to pose with him for a photo. But he was eager for a nice curry right at the back of the train.
Fascinated with his butt.
The view was...
OMG its the three holy men. Actually they are just asleep from the heat.
This guy is a real gentleman. He gave us one unripened green guava each to chew on, as well as a bottle of water to Tim, foc. We subsequently debated on whether the "guava" is indeed a guava or not. You can decide yourself after viewing its picture below.
Tim calls him our "night-riding buddy". He lasted the whole journey with us, giving us each a handshake after we reached Howrah.
Meal on the train... with hands and spoons. How did we dispose of the used utensils and aluminium boxes? Out of the window, just like the way the natives do it.
Another person that brigthened up our trip was "Lion". Yes he calls himself that. He offered us his dinner and it turned out to be really nice. The only problem is we had an entire mountain of rice to finish on top of the dinner we ordered, and we couldn't say we don't want the food because he has been so gracious to us. We took turns to finish the mountain, mixing fingernail dirt, saliva and curry together before scoping rice down our throats.
The rest of the people in our cabin were as talkative as "Lion". Ramu, the guy with the handphone, is a train driver with the Indian Railways. He was very eager to learn more about Singapore, and we talked about marriages, currency, handphones... almost anything. Rao, the guy to Ramu's left is also a train operater. "Lion" himself operated vehicles that caught tiger "phrawwnnss". We don't know who is the random indian guy to the extreme right.
Sleeping quarters.... Roger and I slept at the top while Tim slept at the second tier just below me. It was crammed and extremely warm and sweaty.
CAN YOU HANDLE THE TOILET? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TOILET. Actually the toilet wasn't too filthy. It was basically a hole in the train floor. Shit and piss went directly onto the tracks. Which might explain why it smells like that everywhere in India. Tim very graciously offered to enact a pose.
Crazy indian guy who woke us up, singing while playing a drum.
FINALLY, Howrah!
After trip photos. We were clearly very happy to be out of the pressure cooker.
The Indians are actually very nice people. The guy in the picture is really not thinking of robbing/raping/murdering us.
Finally, an interesting poster at the LAN shop we are at now:
Note point number 10.
More pictures tomorrow after our walk around Calcutta.