Of all the big cities in India, Calcutta was my favorite.
When I arrived there it was utter chaos. In addition to the millions of inhabitants already residing there, the Communist Party of India had decided to greet me with another half million protesters, brought in with buses from the countryside, bringing inner-city traffic to a standstill.
But I did not mind. In those days I had this habit of exploring a new city on foot anyway after arrival, so I walked all the way from wherever the bus from Darjeeling had surrendered to the Communist crowds, to the one and only place, a self-respecting, die-hard shoestring traveller would go to in those days in Calcutta, the moskito-infested dorms of the Salvation Army´s Red Shield Hostel in Sudder Street.
On my way to the hostel I passed quite an impressive sight. Being from West-Germany I had never seen so many banners with hammer and sickle in real life, only on TV. Sometimes it was hard to get through the revolutionary masses and being the only white guy there I also felt a little bit uneasy, like, what if they accuse me of being a counter-revolutionary colonialist or shit like that?
But they were all smiling and waving, having a field day, so I decided to give them the clenched fist salute, shouting “Hoch die internationale Solidarität!“, whatever that is in English, “Long live international solidarity!“ or whatever, and the crowd went wild, shouting all kinds of slogans in Bengali. What a blast!
Finally I reached the Red Shield Hostel in Sudder Street.
There I met a sweet Australian girl who would volunteer in some Mother Theresa home for the dying during the day and read Tagore poems to me in the evenings.
Being utterly unromantic I never felt the need to impress her by also going to Mother Theresa´s, which was a kind of a big tourist thing to do in those days. Also it was already in my genes to never trust a Catholic nun, having Huguenot ancestors who, being persecuted by them Catholics, had to flee from France to Germany, and I also was not really interested to visit the sick and the dying, the stuff you saw on Indian streets was sometimes already a bit too much for me anyway.
But I liked this general atmosphere of decay and lust for life in Calcutta.
I liked those old crumbling, once majestic, colonial buildings, reminders of the British Raj, the Bengali food, the utter chaos of crowds and traffic, the ultimate Indian-ness of the place.
Calcutta was pretty much the only place left in India where they still had man-pulled rikshaws, other cities had banned them already, replacing them with bicycle- rikshaws, since the image of that relict of colonial times did not go well with the politicians´ ideas of a progressive, prosperous India.
But guess what was the best means of transport through the monsoon-flooded neighborhoods of Calcutta when the water came up to the hips, the faithful rikshaw and its sturdy puller.
I never used those riskshaws myself though. First because I did not want to pay some tourist price but also because I thought it kind of weird being pulled around by some other human being, in a kind of master-slave setup.
But of course, all political correctness aside, this was the guys means of livelihood, a tough life, but at least they had work and could earn some money, however little though.
While freshing up my memory on Kolkata (as it is called now) via internet, I learned that those man-pulled rikshaws had been also banned officially in 2005, but this wouldn´t be India if they wouldn´t be still around. As usual, there is a big gap between rules and regulations, the law and the political will and what really happens on the streets, being a matter of the harsh realities, the dark hands of life.
<br<
Every morning I would go and have breakfast. Twice! Always at the same two places, because once I found something good I stuck with it.
First I would go to one place where I had two parathas and two fried eggs, sunny side up and of course one chai.
Then I would go to the other place for some Puri with veggies and chai.
Those two breakfasts together would cost me 18 rupees, one Deutschmark. Can you see now why Calcutta was my maximum city?
Thus stuffed and happily grounded I could take on the madness of Calcutta for the whole day without really needing lunch.
Those were the days where you went like “What am I going to do today? Ah, right, I need to buy a train ticket to Delhi.“ Just getting to the train station, buying the ticket from the special reserved tourist quota office and coming back would take half a day, so in India I was like “Just one task a day keeps the nervous breakdown away.“
If there is one thing in India we can all be thankful for to the British it is the magnificent Indian Railways, taking train travel to a whole new dimension.
I guess now, 25 years later, everything is much more modern and improved, no need to spend half a day on getting a ticket when you can book online, but I can tell you digital kids, you definitely miss some great experiences in this day and age of instant everything.
For example this sense of achievement when you finally managed to push the money for your ticket into the hand of the clerk through the little opening in the window while ten other pushing and shouting Indians were trying to do the same and you then finally held your ticket like a precious treasure in your hand, retreating victoriously from the melee in front of the ticket counter.
So a few days later I embarked on a long, epic train trip, Howrah (the Kolkata main station) to New Delhi. Good thing about India is those long-distance trains, delivering you across the country in one go, without the need to change trains, so I needed only one train to go to New Delhi. So about 1500 km, 36 hours and countless chais later, I arrived in New Delhi, pretty excited, because in a few days Anja, a friend from my hometown would fly in from Germany for a holiday and to see me again after eight months, so for the first time during my trip I would travel together with somebody I knew from home.
India´s Reggae Resistance
I have now combined all my Pakistan travel stories into one chapter, which can be found here.
For more adventurous stories check out my blog @likedeeler
For more inspiring stories and a group of inspiring and supportive people check out @ecotrain.
Puri and vegetables are my favourite. Better than any non veg dish. Did you try the pani puri?
No, only the "normal" puri.
I live in Calcutta. Glad to hear that you have enjoyed your visit here. Amidst all the chaos, there's some magic in the air here. Hence it is called "The City of Joy". Thanks for writing this. @likedeeler
Anand Nagar? 😉
Yeah, I read the book City of Joy by Lapierre while in India, also Freedom at Midnight, Midnight Children, The God of Small Things, all those great books.
Despite all its problems India is still my favorite country, there is wonders and magic all over.
Did you experience tram in Kolkata, one of things Kolkata is famous is Bags , must have for travellers and also coconut water , you reminded me of my trip to Kolkata , which i took long back.
Glad you enjoyed.
My trip was in 1992/93, for altogether 9 months in India, so I am surprised how much I remember, it´s probbaly because some of my experiences in India were life changing, forever imprinted, but I also try to refresh my memory with the help of the internet sometimes, to reconstruct my journey.
Thats cool, you are doing awesome , this will help lot of other guys to vist new places , it good inspiration. Hope you visit India again . Best wishes ahead.
Hi Likedeeler! Thank you for your writing! I wish you much success and happiness in life!
I love your appreciation for chaos and decrepit. And I'm really craving Indian food now.