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The Calcutta Diary: A Volunteer’s Experience

The rat hole has been repaired in my room.

I feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment that due to my efforts it actually was patched up.

You see, here in India everything is falling apart. Everything is full of rat holes. Rats are a normal part of life, and some tourist complaining about a rat hole in her room rarely manages to get anything actually done about it.

Up until two days ago, the rat hole was just an excuse for the Indian men who work at my hotel to come into my room. Sometimes they would later knock on the door and offer to fix the rat hole in secret for a bribe.

The whole thing was irritating me. I just wanted it fixed.

I had begun sleeping with the light on because it seemed to keep the rat in the bathroom. Everytime I got up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom I had to make a lot of noise and stomp around alot to get it to go back into it’s hole.

It seemed to have no fear.

One morning I woke up so exhausted and grumpy that I resolved that I would have to complain and pester them until they actually fixed it that very day.

Luckily for me, when I walked downstairs to the front hall, I was met by a beautiful old frail woman and her Sikh husband in a huge turban.

“How are you liking your stay here?”, the turbaned man asked me.

” I’m not.”, I replied. ” I have a huge rat living in my room and they won’t fix the hole it’s using to come in and out of the room.”

He laughed, hands on his belly and translated for his frail wife who immediately whispered something at him in return.

“I used to own this hotel.”, he said. “I sold it last year, to another Sikh, a good Sikh.”

He then asked me if I wanted a ride to anywhere. and I told him I wanted to go just a few blocks…I hopped in their enormous SUV and sat in the back with his wife a a bunch of giggling matrons who marveled at the size of my feet and complemented me on my salwaar kameez outfit.

” I would not normally give a Westerner a ride, but my wife says you are a good woman, a respectable woman, as you are wearing modest convienent attire.”, he says from the front seat, as he ploughs th enormous SUV through the streets, almost running over people, dogs, and cart-pullers.

I think to myself that Indians have a very strange way of speaking the English language. Who uses the words, “modest convienent attire”? It reminds me of my friend’s hotel, who promised “homely comfort” on their welcome sign, and when she came home to find her bathroom full of overfloing sewage the manager told her, “But ma’am, we aim to fill you and promise you homely comfort.” !!

My driver continues, “You are new to India. You do not understand how things are done. You must take the problem to the top man. You cannot talk about the problem with the middle man or the lowest man. The lowest man will do nothing, as he cannot. The middle man ill pretend to do something but will never complete what he has started. Only the top man will fix your problem.”

“That’s a problem in itself. ” , I reply. ” The top man–the owner–never seems to be there.”

He tells me that now that he knows me, my problem is his problem. He now knows about my problem and he will help me to fix it. He makes a few phone calls from his cell phone trying to locate the new owner.

We sit in the middle of the road in the SUV, and we’ve stopped traffic. We’re taking up the entire road. People are honking and shouting buut the occupants of the car–or should I say tank?–are oblivious. This car seems to have some kind of insulation. You can see the people outside shouting and shaking their fists, but they can’t see in through the dark tinited windows.

We’re sitting there for about ten minutes while he’s talking on the phone. It’s hot and sticky outside but inside this car they have cranked up the airconditioning and a television is showing a Bollywood movie.

The women I am sharing the back seat with are still giggling at me.

I feel like an enormous ostrich who has been stuffed into a basket of sparrows.

The women are fluttering, moving like birds..their hands flutter, their noses are little beaks, their mouths little heart shaped holes, their eyes darting around me. They keep touching me, but so lightly it’s as if I’m not really being touched.

I’m suddenly interrupted from this new world of women when the Sikh in the front seat turns around and says,

” It is taken care of. It will be fixed tomarrow.”

They let me out of the SUV onto the steamy street and I barely avoid stepping into a pile of fresh feces. Nausea overtakes me and I swallow hard, trying to think about anything other than poop and urine and the dirty gutters.

The next day, I’m wandering around the city all morning and I don’t return to my hotel until the afternoon. I’m still not feeling well, but the antibiotics have taken hold and I’ve decided to make the best of haing taken an entire week off of work…I’m trying to spend some time getting to know this city I’m calling home for the next several months.

I’m quite tired, and ready for a long nap,walking up the stairs, when a man calls out, ” How are you, Memsahib?”

I turn around. I have to answer. It would be rude not to.

” I am tired. “, I say.

I keep walking up the stairs.

” Ah, Memsahib. There is something here for you.” ,  the man calls out.

“What is it ?”, I ask.

” Memsahib, it is a carpenter.”, he replies.

I turn to look at the carpenter, who turns out to be an incredibly old man, with a white bird, a mouth full of broken teeth, and blue eyes, which really stand out against his skin that is the color of coffee beans after they have been roasted. He also wearing a filthy, hot pink child’s tshirt that has a picture of the Care Bears on it and says ” Know It Is Because I Barely Love You”.

We go upstairs, the carpenter, the six or so male employees, and me, to look at the rat hole.

“It’s going to take a long time to fix this rat hole, Memsahib.”, they tell me “We may not be able to fix it today.”

” No.”, I say. ” You will fix it now. I have spoken to a friend who has spoken to the owner, and he is the one who sent the carpenter. You will fix it now and I will wait.”

Everyone looks at me glumly, and then smiles and laughter break out.

Everyone is laughing, including me.

” Memsahib is knowing India, now! We do it for you ma’am.” , they tell me happily grinning ear to ear.

“Yes, but I don’t want all of you in my room. Only the carpenter and one helper. That is all.”, I say.

I go into my room and quickly lock up anything I have left out. Things have a tendency to “walk out” if they are interesting. Books are alright to leave out, but sometimes the most common things–like shampoo–is of interest.

The carpenter and his helper go to work on the hole, while I wait in the double room next door with the door open, watching the comings and goings.

One of the first things I notice is that the carpenter has no tools to speak of. He has no wood. He has nothing.

Someone shows up with an old rusty hammer that is taped together. Someone else shows up with a handul of bent, rusted nails.

But they still have no wood to put over the hole, and it’s quite a large hole..measuring 4 feet long by 5 inches wide.

They come into the room I am sitting in, reading a book.

They look around the room, decide on a board, and literally tear it off the wall, leaving a gaping hole, about 4 feet long by 5 inches wide.

My mouth is open. Close mouth, I command myself.

They go into my bathroom and after much pounding and even more discussion in Bengali, the hole in my room has been patched.

I go and inspect their handiwork. They have done a decent job.

The carpenter looks at me, his hands outstretched for payment.

“No. “, I say, crossing my arms. I point to the owner out in the hallway. “He is the one to pay you.”

“Memsahib is knowing India.”, he says, smiling his broken-teeth smile at me.

After the carpenter leaves, the owner comes to the door of my room. “Memsahib is happy now?” , He says.

“No.”. I say. ” I would like a better chair in my room.” (I had noticed a very nice-and clean–plastic chair in the double room they had just made the big hole in. I wanted that chair.)

“Is Memsahib happy now?”, the owner asks, after giving me the new plastic chair.

” No. “, I say. ” I would like a better pillow. “( I had noticed the double room I was just in had better, newer pillows, and I wanted a nicer one.)

“Is Memsahib happy now?”, the owner asks me, after giving a new white pillow.

” No.”, I say. “I would like a bucket of boiling hot water to be brought to my room every evening.” ( I had asked about getting hot water before, but there ad always been an excuse  and I had been stuck with taking bucket showers in cold tap water. I decided to push my luck and see how far I could go.)

They bring me a bucket of hot, boiling water–it’s so hot I can’t even think of taking a bucket shower with it for at least an hour, waiting for it to cool down.

” I am happy, thank you very much.”, I tell the owner.

“Yes, yes, good, good. We give homely Memsahib homely comfort.”

I think I am figuring out what they mean by “homely comfort”!
And..I’m also figuring out how this place works, day by day, little by little….

gigi



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11 responses to “The Calcutta Diary: A Volunteer’s Experience”

  1. michele whitnack says:

    Oh Gigi,
    Your blog is the 1st thing I go to when I go online. Thanks for putting things into perspective, thanks for your humor and compassion.
    Do you think it means home like , but not pretty comfort?
    Take care,
    M-

  2. Jan Maltzan says:

    Great story Gigi! And how fortuitous, not to mention what a coincidence, that you just happened to meet the previous owner of your hotel. I’m sure his wife played a role in his assistance also. The SUV packed with Indian women watching a Bollywood movie is a classic all in itself! And such an education you are getting in “knowing India now” and understanding the importance of dressing appropriately for other cultures. Tearing out the wood from one to room to give to another is hilarious, I’m still laughing.
    I look forward to your entries. Jan

  3. jim says:

    Every hour of every day I’m learning more
    The more I learn, the less I know about before
    The less I know, the more I want to look around
    Digging deep for clues on higher ground

    UB40, “Higher Ground”

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