true life planet

October 2nd, 2008 /Journal Entry

I am writing this from what has to be the tiniest, cramped internet cafe in the entire world.

It’s small, cramped space is just a tinier version of the city itself. Although Calcutta is huge, it full of people, all crammed together. The street is full of people, walking , talking, selling, begging, bathing, sleeping, standing, squatting, praying, and eating.

Journal Entry:

Arriving here was no easy task. I hate airports all over the world. Arriving at an airport is like waking up blindfolded. You have no idea where to go, what to do, where your bags are, what the rules are, how to leave once you’re done…

I followed the advice of my travel guide and used the prepay taxi service, which means you prepay for the taxi . But once I walked out of the airport, I was literally accosted by twenty men all trying to grab my receipt for my prepaid taxi.

” Now look, you give it me! You must give it to me, ma’am!”

” Ma’am, ma’am ..Give the paper to me. I will take care of you!”

I don’t know what to do, so I just stand there for a minute. There does not seem to be a stand for prepaid taxis as I was told when I paid for my ride at the prepay office a few moments ago.

Additionally, I am drenched. In sweat. The humid air has hit me like a tidal wave, and sweat pours down my face and legs. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. This is the most humid and uncomfortable place I have ever been in my life. Even the buildings and pavement seem to sweat.
I finally end up walking over to a bunch of taxis, and the taxi drivers there grab at my bags and try to take them and put them in their cabs. I hold on tight and keep asking for the prepay taxis.

“There are no prepay taxis, ma’am. They lied to you inside. Our government is very corrupt. You only paid the TAX for the taxi ride inside. That tax goes to the government. Now you must pay us separately for the taxi ride.”

Is he lying? I am so tired and sweaty and hungry that I can’t think clearly. I decide to ask him one question to see if he is telling the truth.

“How much does a hotel room cost in Calcutta?”, I ask.

” 2000 rupees, ma’am. It is terrible, but that is how much it costs here. Now let me take your bags, I will take you to a very nice place.” (a room can cost as little as 200 rupees, so I know he is lying).

He and his friends now have a tight hold on my bags, but so do I.

I decide to leave and go to a group of taxis I can see in the distance. They’re hopefully the prepay taxis I need.

They don’t let go ogf my bags, and I’m trying to move away from them. I’m 6’3 and weigh more than all of them put together, but this doesn’t deter them. They want me to pay them for a taxi. Period,

” I need to go ask the advice of my military friend that I know in the airport.”, I say.

At the mention of the word “military” they let go of my bags and walk away.

I walk over the the other group of taxis, and it turns out these are the taxis that I want.

I have no idea where I’m going, because I didn’t reserve anything. The taxi driver doesn’t speak any English, but his boss does, and his boss gives him some instructions to take me to Sudder street (an area where all the gringo hostels are).

My taxi driver drives like a maniac. He butts in front of anyone of anyone and anything, including other taxis, rickshaw drivers, people, children, a herd of goats, bicycles…his hand never leaves the horn. We crawl along through the city streets, blaring the horn and causing near accidents every few minutes.

I don’t have time to notice that I am being driven by an insane person because I am looking out of the windows. What I see there is so visually arresting that I am entirely distracted from the man who holds my life in his hands and from the pool of sweat that is rapidly soaking me and my car seat.

Beggars constantly run up to the car windows, putting their hands inside, touching me, groping, asking for money, for food.

A woman shoves a tiny baby into the car window, and it looks at me calm, unruffled, as though it is used to this sort of thing.

A very filthy, old man, wearing only a cloth around his privates, touches my head and then bows and gives the “namaste” greeting.

A child runs up, soon joined by five other children, all calling out,” Auntie. Auntie. Auntie.”, and pointing to their mouths, gesturing that they are hungry.

I give no one anything, since I don’t believe that kind of giving to be effective. But what do I do? I don’t know how to handle it..I sink into my seat and close my eyes for a moment, and then remember that this is what I came here to see.

Still, after awhile, the beggars get so bad that my driver rolls all the windows up, but this doesn’t stop them. As we crawl along at a snail’s pace, they press their faces and hands against the glass.

From inside my glass prison I get a view of the streets: it’s pouring rain and it’s 9:30 at night, but everyone in the city seems to be outside. People pour out of every alleyway and crowd the road and sidewalks, some which seem to have turned into pure mud. People lay in the rain, sleeping under cardboard and fabric makeshift tents. Children stare out from their small piece of cardboard with a dazed, glazed over expression. People are pulling everything from rocks to chubby, well-dressed women loaded with purchases in bicycle rickshaws. The famous human powered rickshaw–a cart with a seat for the passenger, pulled by a man who carries it on his upper body and walks through the streets–are everywhere. The men who pull them are the thinnest people I have ever seen.

The city doesn’t seem to sleep. Everyone is out shopping, working…the entire city is lit up by electric lights, including the kind one lights up Christmas trees with. Work of all kinds is taking place, from loading up of cement (onto the platters which then get placed on woman’s heads) to trashpickers, squatting on the roadside, going through heaps of trash.

I am most surprised to see a barefoot man, wearing only a few rags, carrying a ladder through the city street. He stops at each stoplight, and taking out a dirty rag, he carefully wipes down the traffic light with a very dirty rag. As he stands precariously on his wooden ladder, cars and bikes and rickshaws zoom around him. He looks entirely unperturbed.

We arrive at a hotel I have randomly chosen out of my guidebook, and it’s on the famous Sudder street. I ask the driver to wait, and even though he doesn’t understand English, he knows what I’m asking him to do.

I go inside the hotel, a well advertised cheapie on the backpacker circuit, and it is filthy. It is the dirtiest place I have ever seen–cockroaches everywhere, flooding on the first floor, and the room is small, cramped and dank, with no window, all for 2500 rupees! (That’s about 5 usd.)

It’s late. I have no where to stay. I’m in a huge city and know no one. But I can’t stay there. I decide to try a different one, and get back into the taxi again.

The second hotel, called the Hotel Neelam, turns out to be much nicer. It’s two blocks or so away from the Sudder street area, so it’s close to things I need access to, like safe food to eat and internet–but it’s far enough a way to make it a little less touristy. The room is fine for the price, 330 rupees a night–but, it’s also filthy, and looks as though it has never been cleaned. Ever.

But it does have it’s own bathroom, with a bucket shower and cold water.

It’s got a nice view of the street below, a locking cabinet for my things,and a huge padlock for the door. It also has a tv, which seems to have 2 channels only, featuring Indian soap operas and Indian news.

And best of all, it seems pretty safe–there is a twenty four hour attendant at the office, which is right outside my door.

I pay for a few days’ stay and go into my room–the room that will be mine for the next 5 months. As I sit on the bed, I notice how disgusting the bedding and mattress are. There are insects on the pillow case. I realize that I was right to bring alot of lice shampoo to India…

I am so exhausted that I can hardly move. I want to just lie down and sleep.

But first things first. I begin to clean the room, stripping the bed, getting rid of the disgusting pillow, vputting my new sheets on it, hang my mosquito net, unpack…I check the room for rat holes(one), peepholes(none), and cockroaches(none).

By the time I am reasonably set up, I’m so tired I think I am going to faint. I rummage through my bag and come up with a bag of almonds and a jar of Marmite. Almonds dipped into Marmite turn out to not be all that bad…

I lay on my bed, lathered with mosquito repellent and eating my Marmite/almond concoction, thinking about the city I’m in. What I’ve seen so far doesn’t invite me to explore it much–in fact, it makes he want to get the hell out of here.

But I guess I was expecting that. It’s just natural culture shock. It will wear off, I reason with myself.

I try to imagine figuring out how to get around the city on my own and am at a loss. I can’t imagine it. But I have to figure out so many things tomorrow, like where to eat, where to buy clean water, how to get to the Motherhouse..

I get up and look out a window. An entire family is camping out on the sidewalk. It’s lightly raining, and they only have piece of cardboard for shelter. Another man is setting up his home for the night right next door to them, and his son is bathing in the street, wearing only a small piece of cloth.

I look around my room, feeling pretty grateful to have it.

I fall asleep, waking up through out the night by dogs barking, car horns , babies crying, Indian music, and people yelling. I’m so tired that none of it bothers me, and I just blissfully fall back asleep. I’m so grateful to just finally have a place to rest and be alone after this long journey here.

gigi

Tags: 1

This entry was posted on Friday, October 3rd, 2008 at 5:45 am and is filed under 1. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.