"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.