The next morning we gravely took leave of our luxurious lodgings at Hotel Hindustan, knowing that our days of American-style comfort were over, and our future comfort, our future experience will again be largely unknown, but yet will almost certainly be less comfortable. As I was writing this I had a personal insight: As a traveler, when I decide to become better acquainted with a foreign place in an unfamiliar culture, that I may never see again, I have to almost unconsciously resolve that I will give an extra effort to meet these unknown challenges to come and prepare to endure the distress of not knowing just how uncomfortable I may feel as I explore, and accept not knowing what kinds of problems I will face.
These mental preparations took place beneath my awareness as we were checking out, and infused a somber apprehensiveness into my adventurous outlook.
We met a group of Fulbrighters, led by Yoav, an expert in botany, who was particularly interested in the largest trees of the world (though I have a sinking feeling that if he read this he would dispute this claim in some minor way), to visit the Indian Botanical Gardens to see the 250 year old Great Banyan Tree, one of the largest trees in India.
We left in taxis, and our taxi arrived second. As we in the shadows near the entrance, the moist, hot air dampened our skin. Breathing took more effort. Today the weather had the kind of heat that seemed to constantly sap my energy, and nothing....water, cotton clothes, air conditioning, fans could mitigate this effect of continuous sluggishness.
Despite this swampy, tropical heat, I loved seeing the botanical gardens. Paths were well marked and maintained, and, like Rome, all roads led to the Great Banyan Tree. The pictures of the this park are on the slideshow, so I'll let them provide the descriptions...this blog is wordy enough! Except I will remark that the Great Banyan Tree cannot be photographed in one picture; it really needs to be photographed aerially. The tree actually looks like a forest because many branches grow towards the ground and when they reach the ground they root to it, so it appears as if the tree has grown up from the ground, when really it is part of the larger branch above. After walking the circumference of the tree, which took as long as it would take to walk around the Breslin Center,(which, more accurately, was a circular pathway WITHIN the tree; the tree branches had grown over the rocky walkway and took root in the soil on the other side) we were ready to return to our hotel.
We learned that two taxis were not ready, or even present, to meet our demand. After asking locals (translation: after asking Navjot to ask the locals...I have relied on him too much for his fluency in Hindi...the only way I communicate on my own is if I go out and communicate without him) to point us to the bus stand, and after waiting at a lamp post which the locals insisted was the taxi stand, one taxi eventually showed up. Even though our original party decreased in numbers, we still had seven in our group.
Yoav said, "Hey, this is India, hop in!"
Yoav eased his slim frame next to Jorge, who is just a slightly stockier version of Navjot. That left a kind, tall, and thankfully slim woman, Navjot, and three people with a larger, athletic size and build: me, Cailin, and Paul to somehow squeeze into the backseat. Cailin and I ended up getting stuck sitting on laps.
This is India? True, but we were not Indians. If we were the typical height, weight, and economic status of a native Indian who would sit on laps and overfill a vehicle, we would be about five feet tall, if that, and weigh about ninety pounds. We would not be starting out at five feet six, and weighing 135 lbs! My situation was a little better than Cailin's due to the fact I was married to the guy I was sitting on, and we felt comfortable to make little weight shifts and adjustments so that Navjot did not have to hold all of my weight on his upper legs.
We sweltered and squirmed, and distracted ourselves with idle chat as we rode over the Howrah (Hooley) Bridge and onto the road that led to our hotel, AJC Bose Rd. The taxi halted and shut off the car. Far ahead, there was either a red light or a traffic jam, there was no way of knowing. Our sweaty carload of roasting Americans sat in a still, almost eerie quiet, for all the other cars had shut off their vehicles too. I glanced to my left, and I saw a taxi driver with an empty taxi.
I said, "Nav, maybe we can get that taxi...can we ask him the price?"
Yoav good-naturedly claimed I wasn't going with the flow in the Indian way.
Navjot didn't want to bother. "We aren't that far from the hotel."
I thought to myself, isn't it Indian to break the rules....all the time? I presented my size case to the group...we were big people trying to do what smaller people do. I took care to use certain language to illuminate big: strapping, strong, mid-western stock...lest anyone wrongly suspect that my perceptions were negative.
I asked again in my most cajoling voice, "Paul, can you roll down the window...yeah. Nav, what's the harm? Just ask, please." It was a challenge to make these requests sound nonchalant, as if I wasn't desperate to sit in that spacious back seat!
Navjot did and and the driver replied. I looked for a slight scowl that Nav gets when he doesn't like the price. I saw instead a neutral look, and his eyebrows raised slightly indicating a very faint interest in this new track.
Nav said pleasantly, "He said 40 rupees (nearly a dollar), shall we go?"
"Let's go!"
The midwesterners (Cailin, Paul, and I) and Navjot piled out of the car. Around us engines began turning over and roaring to life, indicating a quick end to the strange tranquility of the automotive standstill. We quickly opened the doors to our new ride and hopped in.
Our final five minute ride felt so comfortable that I was very proud of my idea. Our little group continued our new-found rebellious ways by paying our driver and scampering out of the taxi (when the traffic briefly halted) across the street from our hotel, before he could make a tedious U-turn some distance ahead and drive us into the guest-receiving area 'properly.' It felt exciting to lose my meek, timid foreigner persona, even if it was only for a little while.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
First Day of Real Travel in Calcutta
I began the adventure with a search for India's largest museum. I walked alone, taking advantage of the sidewalks that I miss walking on in Jalandhar. With only people, animals, and street shops to navigate around, I noticed a few buildings along the street. Large, and well-maintained/preserved, the buildings' looks suggested European artistic and architectural influence. Each ground floor housed a bank, which deflated my enthusiasm for the buildings' beauty. They reminded me of how easily I am coerced to prefer things made by wealth. I felt disappointed that I did not naturally appreciate visions of the purer India which surrounded me: paper advertisements plastered on every inch of black-stained concrete buildings up to six feet high, food stalls which appear dark, dingy, unclean, and splashes of unusual color combinations from clothing and accessory shops, ladies' clothing and painted signs: hot-pink, red, and blue, or aquamarine, brown, chartreuse, plus every conceivable shade of these colors and all the other colors of the rainbow. This experience of the Indian streets parallels, in terms of my aesthetic response, my experiences with modern art museums. The dull, grimy colors of dirt, dust that infiltrate every sign and surface, and caked on layers of oiled food debris on old wares juxtaposed with the kaleidoscope of bright, clashing colors overwhelmed my visual senses, and, I often felt repelled from looking further, unable to extract salient, pleasing aesthetic qualities from these scenes. My visual mind cannot easily, if at all, make sense of it. A large, clean, maintained building appears then as a familiar visual friend.
Since I arrived in India, I have rarely went out by myself. So on this day, walking around like this for an hour seemed like an intriguing adventure to me. I felt useful too, performing a reconnaissance of the area, spotting places like Birla Planetarium, St. Paul's Cathedral, Nehru Children's Museum, and the Asiatic Society, all listed as 'places to see' in our guidebook. A phone call from Navjot reminded me that our tour bus leaves at 1, so I returned to the Hotel Hindustan International, still short of finding the Indian Museum, but knowing that the excursion was worthwhile.
The early afternoon heat and humidity greeted us briefly as we walked out of the hotel, into the parking area, and onto the AC tour bus. I was relieved to have the comfort: the seats had a plush texture, and thick curtains covered the windows, blocking out the intense sun.
Our tour guide spoke through a microphone, and the initial scene on the bus unfolded much as it would on a TV show or movie: an amplified voice barking a generic summary of Calcutta's history in heavily accented English, which most of the group tuned out, wearing a glazed look on their faces, or closing their eyes.
Over the next few hours, our tour group allowed some of the guide's grating narrative in, a phrase here, a location there, and gradually the harsh sounds softened through our growing understanding of his English. By the time our bus circled the Writer's Building, a complex of large, red buildings completed in 1780 and the current seat of the West Bengal government, many more of us had sat up and looked out of our windows, alert and attentive.
Our first stop was the Victoria Memorial, a marble-made structure built during the British Raj. The photo at the bottom of the blog shows the Memorial and its gardens. Indoors the Memorial is a museum, where I learned that one of India's most celebrated writers, Rabindranath Tagore, renounced the knighthood bestowed upon him by Britain, after they massacred Jalianwalabog, Punjab. The museum displayed the letter, addressed to a Lord Chelmsford, and in the letter Tagore very eloquently protested the massacre, and his words of loyalty and caring towards those in Jalianwalabog were quite moving.
On our way to our next stop, we witnessed the busy and densely populated street life. Usually, I prefer to explore a city on my own, but here I was relieved to have shelter from the throngs of people in the humid heat. A few of the photos of the streets on the slideshow were taken from inside the bus.
The next tour destination was the Tagore family residence, once home to Rabindranath Tagore, the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for literature, and the memorable personality I enjoyed reading about in the Victoria Memorial an hour earlier. Given the sheer enormity of this home, and from my readings of the Tagore biographies at the Victoria Memorial, I concluded that the Tagore family are/were to India as the Kennedys are to USA. Actually, Navjot, the Ellistons, and I read one of Tagore's books, "Gora" a few years ago; we really enjoyed the characters; they had depth and integrity, and the story conveyed a very positive regard for India, yet it also revealed the complexities of "sharing" India with the British and their culture. This day, then, we thought of Steve as we enjoyed this spacious, yet modest place where art and integrity were valued. I feel Steve would have been very happy and excited about our opportunity to learn much more about this great Indian artist.
Our tour ended at dusk with a drive-by of the Howrah Bridge. It is famous as the world's third largest cantilever bridge, which uses trusses built from structural steel, according to wikipedia, which gives the bridge a more chunky, blocky, lego-like look than the suspension bridge.
And, finally, 3 weeks after the fact, I conclude with my first real day of travel in Calcutta.
Since I arrived in India, I have rarely went out by myself. So on this day, walking around like this for an hour seemed like an intriguing adventure to me. I felt useful too, performing a reconnaissance of the area, spotting places like Birla Planetarium, St. Paul's Cathedral, Nehru Children's Museum, and the Asiatic Society, all listed as 'places to see' in our guidebook. A phone call from Navjot reminded me that our tour bus leaves at 1, so I returned to the Hotel Hindustan International, still short of finding the Indian Museum, but knowing that the excursion was worthwhile.
The early afternoon heat and humidity greeted us briefly as we walked out of the hotel, into the parking area, and onto the AC tour bus. I was relieved to have the comfort: the seats had a plush texture, and thick curtains covered the windows, blocking out the intense sun.
Our tour guide spoke through a microphone, and the initial scene on the bus unfolded much as it would on a TV show or movie: an amplified voice barking a generic summary of Calcutta's history in heavily accented English, which most of the group tuned out, wearing a glazed look on their faces, or closing their eyes.
Over the next few hours, our tour group allowed some of the guide's grating narrative in, a phrase here, a location there, and gradually the harsh sounds softened through our growing understanding of his English. By the time our bus circled the Writer's Building, a complex of large, red buildings completed in 1780 and the current seat of the West Bengal government, many more of us had sat up and looked out of our windows, alert and attentive.
Our first stop was the Victoria Memorial, a marble-made structure built during the British Raj. The photo at the bottom of the blog shows the Memorial and its gardens. Indoors the Memorial is a museum, where I learned that one of India's most celebrated writers, Rabindranath Tagore, renounced the knighthood bestowed upon him by Britain, after they massacred Jalianwalabog, Punjab. The museum displayed the letter, addressed to a Lord Chelmsford, and in the letter Tagore very eloquently protested the massacre, and his words of loyalty and caring towards those in Jalianwalabog were quite moving.
On our way to our next stop, we witnessed the busy and densely populated street life. Usually, I prefer to explore a city on my own, but here I was relieved to have shelter from the throngs of people in the humid heat. A few of the photos of the streets on the slideshow were taken from inside the bus.
The next tour destination was the Tagore family residence, once home to Rabindranath Tagore, the first Asian to win the Nobel Prize for literature, and the memorable personality I enjoyed reading about in the Victoria Memorial an hour earlier. Given the sheer enormity of this home, and from my readings of the Tagore biographies at the Victoria Memorial, I concluded that the Tagore family are/were to India as the Kennedys are to USA. Actually, Navjot, the Ellistons, and I read one of Tagore's books, "Gora" a few years ago; we really enjoyed the characters; they had depth and integrity, and the story conveyed a very positive regard for India, yet it also revealed the complexities of "sharing" India with the British and their culture. This day, then, we thought of Steve as we enjoyed this spacious, yet modest place where art and integrity were valued. I feel Steve would have been very happy and excited about our opportunity to learn much more about this great Indian artist.
Our tour ended at dusk with a drive-by of the Howrah Bridge. It is famous as the world's third largest cantilever bridge, which uses trusses built from structural steel, according to wikipedia, which gives the bridge a more chunky, blocky, lego-like look than the suspension bridge.
And, finally, 3 weeks after the fact, I conclude with my first real day of travel in Calcutta.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Hotel Hindustan Days in Calcutta
We arrived at the hotel around 8pm Sunday night, our room was on the 7th floor. Someone mentioned that it was a 5 star hotel. The room felt cool with AC air and our bed felt very comfortable. We also had a fridge and this neat water heater....it could boil water in 30 seconds. I placed a silent wager that I would still see a crawling bug sometime in this fancy place. After putting our luggage down we went down to one of the big rooms where the Fulbright people were eating a buffet dinner. I enjoyed reacquainting myself with the students and scholars I met last summer in Washington DC...but, honestly, that first evening, I did feel a little shy, and very tired, so I went up and slept very soundly while the rest of the scholars, including Nav, hehe, danced and partied till the wee hours of the morning in the hotel's all-nite club.
The next day and a half was relaxing....I could have almost pretended I was in a country more like USA than India. I listened to interesting presentations, I filmed Nav's performance/presentation, during which I felt happy/excited/anxious.....he spoke and played very well, and the audience responded with enthusiasm at the end; I felt very proud and happy for Navjot. The supervisor for the Asia Fulbrighters asked Navjot and other artists to create a performance for the following evening, which was quite a fusion event: North Indian drumming with South Indian rhythms and dances, with some hip-hop spanish rap/poetry thrown in! For real! Again, I enthusiastically took on the role of camera-lady. The free liquor certainly added a more festive element to the evening events!
My accomplishments were less performance oriented. I chose such brand-new experiences such as: watching 3/4 of the movie Species, getting a facial, and getting a pedicure! All brand new! All fun (except Species....that was just wierd).
I also took advantage of the exercise room, the elliptical was great for my runners knee!
So went the first 2 days in Calcutta...
The next day and a half was relaxing....I could have almost pretended I was in a country more like USA than India. I listened to interesting presentations, I filmed Nav's performance/presentation, during which I felt happy/excited/anxious.....he spoke and played very well, and the audience responded with enthusiasm at the end; I felt very proud and happy for Navjot. The supervisor for the Asia Fulbrighters asked Navjot and other artists to create a performance for the following evening, which was quite a fusion event: North Indian drumming with South Indian rhythms and dances, with some hip-hop spanish rap/poetry thrown in! For real! Again, I enthusiastically took on the role of camera-lady. The free liquor certainly added a more festive element to the evening events!
My accomplishments were less performance oriented. I chose such brand-new experiences such as: watching 3/4 of the movie Species, getting a facial, and getting a pedicure! All brand new! All fun (except Species....that was just wierd).
I also took advantage of the exercise room, the elliptical was great for my runners knee!
So went the first 2 days in Calcutta...
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
A Day of Traveling in India
The hero of the day ended up being our cook, Raju. He found us a rickshaw driver who would bring us to the train station at the early hour of 5AM. These arrangements were made, to my chagrin, at around 9PM the night before. At 5am, Jalandhar City felt more like a country town than a city, with deserted streets, insect noises, and few lights. I felt slightly cool in a sweater and jeans.
We rode the Shtabadi (I actually think I spelled this right!) train to New Delhi. The trip took 4-5 hours. I wore my large sunglasses, a must for me when I travel anywhere in India, so I can stare at people who stare at me, without my feeling awkward. (I highly suspect that if I stared openly back at the "starer", without sunglasses, that it would not affect the behavior.) One behavior I noticed was that newcomers to my compartment in the train would give my feet a long look...like 30 seconds! I guess white feet look equally fascinating as a white face!
This train ride passed peacefully, we were served tea twice, and a breakfast of some spicy potato and bread and with jam. I dozed, chatted with Navjot, but mostly dozed.
Arriving at the New Delhi train station jolted me to the realities of urban India that I am still adapting to: noisy, exhaust-belching vehicles, and a high density of people. Loud throat clearing and attention-getting yells and bellows joined the revving, honking vehicles to create, in my perception, a very chaotic soundscape. Navjot got in a long line to acquire a pre-paid taxi (autorickshaw) and I found six inches of concrete to sit on, and surrounded myself with our luggage. The sun felt too hot on my face; this train station seemed like a hell on earth. In front of me, 4 lanes of vehicles beeped and inched their way to an unseen exit. Unregistered taxi drivers hovered around me, hoping I would try to negotiate a quicker departure. Other patrons of the station were weaving around the bumper to bumper car lines, they were entering and exiting the wide station entrance in continuous swarms.
Being seated helped me to acclimate myself to the surroundings as well as I could. After about 20 min, Navjot and I squeezed our large suitcase into a tiny storage area behind our seats, and we sat in the back seat of one of India's "improved" autorickshaws, bright green with a bright yellow cover. Picture a smart car with the bright colors, except with 3 wheels and no doors (like a certain kind of jeep,) with steering handles more similar to a bicycle than a car and you have the image of an autorickshaw. But what makes these autorickshaws "improved" is not their fresh paint jobs, it is their fuel. They use CNG/natural gas for their fuel, which makes for easier breathing which I appreciated through my calm stomach and uncomplaining head as we rode to the airport. The traffic seemed normal by my standards, due to our wisdom (luck!) to travel on Sunday. :)
When we reached the airport, we had 4 hours to kill. We ate lunch in clean airport restaurant. It is the ONLY meal I have eaten in New Delhi that hasn't given me Delhi-belly. After lunch we crunched onto a transport bus. There was an flat area towards the front of the bus. I just sat on the large suitcase, which, over this trip, came to be called "Big Red." I was surrounded by more luggage, but two more people managed to cram themselves on each side of me.
We flew on Air India, and our plane was very comfortable: a TV for everyone, wide seats: I was fatigued from the travel, so I got caught up in a "chick flick," hahaha. It is amazing how tiring travel can be because most of the time I am sitting somewhere and being moved by something else. On the plane I attributed it to that practically invisible stress I feel when traveling in other countries: there is so much I don't know: I cannot anticipate or picture just how I will get from one place to the other, and what will it look like? So many things are unknown, but I don't really feel the strain of such anxiety; only a sleepy fatigue.
This is getting long-winded, so suffice to say, we landed safely, the evening of March 1st, we arrived at our new home for the next four days, The Hotel Hindustan International. Whoo!
We rode the Shtabadi (I actually think I spelled this right!) train to New Delhi. The trip took 4-5 hours. I wore my large sunglasses, a must for me when I travel anywhere in India, so I can stare at people who stare at me, without my feeling awkward. (I highly suspect that if I stared openly back at the "starer", without sunglasses, that it would not affect the behavior.) One behavior I noticed was that newcomers to my compartment in the train would give my feet a long look...like 30 seconds! I guess white feet look equally fascinating as a white face!
This train ride passed peacefully, we were served tea twice, and a breakfast of some spicy potato and bread and with jam. I dozed, chatted with Navjot, but mostly dozed.
Arriving at the New Delhi train station jolted me to the realities of urban India that I am still adapting to: noisy, exhaust-belching vehicles, and a high density of people. Loud throat clearing and attention-getting yells and bellows joined the revving, honking vehicles to create, in my perception, a very chaotic soundscape. Navjot got in a long line to acquire a pre-paid taxi (autorickshaw) and I found six inches of concrete to sit on, and surrounded myself with our luggage. The sun felt too hot on my face; this train station seemed like a hell on earth. In front of me, 4 lanes of vehicles beeped and inched their way to an unseen exit. Unregistered taxi drivers hovered around me, hoping I would try to negotiate a quicker departure. Other patrons of the station were weaving around the bumper to bumper car lines, they were entering and exiting the wide station entrance in continuous swarms.
Being seated helped me to acclimate myself to the surroundings as well as I could. After about 20 min, Navjot and I squeezed our large suitcase into a tiny storage area behind our seats, and we sat in the back seat of one of India's "improved" autorickshaws, bright green with a bright yellow cover. Picture a smart car with the bright colors, except with 3 wheels and no doors (like a certain kind of jeep,) with steering handles more similar to a bicycle than a car and you have the image of an autorickshaw. But what makes these autorickshaws "improved" is not their fresh paint jobs, it is their fuel. They use CNG/natural gas for their fuel, which makes for easier breathing which I appreciated through my calm stomach and uncomplaining head as we rode to the airport. The traffic seemed normal by my standards, due to our wisdom (luck!) to travel on Sunday. :)
When we reached the airport, we had 4 hours to kill. We ate lunch in clean airport restaurant. It is the ONLY meal I have eaten in New Delhi that hasn't given me Delhi-belly. After lunch we crunched onto a transport bus. There was an flat area towards the front of the bus. I just sat on the large suitcase, which, over this trip, came to be called "Big Red." I was surrounded by more luggage, but two more people managed to cram themselves on each side of me.
We flew on Air India, and our plane was very comfortable: a TV for everyone, wide seats: I was fatigued from the travel, so I got caught up in a "chick flick," hahaha. It is amazing how tiring travel can be because most of the time I am sitting somewhere and being moved by something else. On the plane I attributed it to that practically invisible stress I feel when traveling in other countries: there is so much I don't know: I cannot anticipate or picture just how I will get from one place to the other, and what will it look like? So many things are unknown, but I don't really feel the strain of such anxiety; only a sleepy fatigue.
This is getting long-winded, so suffice to say, we landed safely, the evening of March 1st, we arrived at our new home for the next four days, The Hotel Hindustan International. Whoo!
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