“What the hell are we thinking coming here again” was the thought going through both of my and Soma’s heads as we started our descent into Calcutta airport. We’d been married in this hellhole of a city six years ago and both swore never to return. As far as I remembered, the people here were great to be sure but this was the filthiest, smelliest city on the planet. Anyway, like it or not, here we were, at the start of two weeks in India- experiencing perhaps the best and worst of this wonderful country.
This posting is going to cover the time spent in and around Calcutta. I could refer to it by its official name, but Soma would probably ban me from going near my blog again. In common with a number of cities, Calcutta changed its name a few years ago- Calcutta, Bombay and Madras became Kolkata, Mumbai and Chennai. In at least two cases this was to reflect the proper pronunciation. Soma is not a fan of these new names- in her view we may as well change UK city names to Lahndan and Burmingum by the same logic. As a proud Bombayite, she has no truck with a BJP party political gimmick and insists on the original spelling- it is Bollywood, not Mullywood after all and I’ve not yet heard of a dish called Chicken Chennai! Anyway, given the choice between annoying the BJP or my wife, I’ve made my decision and in this blog at least, it’s Calcutta we went to!
Our time spent in Calcutta came at the beginning and end of our holiday, either side of a week in the Andaman Islands, and actually was not as bad as we’d feared. My main motivation for coming back was heritage. For a child brought up as an expatriate or to parents of differing cultures, understanding where you come from takes on additional significance. If, like me, you were born and brought up in the Midlands, then there is not much issue- sure, the North East and South West of Britain have claims on me but I have a pretty good idea of where I come from- why else would I go through the emotional agony of supporting Wolves? For the boys however, the question of where they come from is far more complex. Both were born in the UK but Kieran has lived there little more than a year and Rohan has never officially lived there at all. Their Dad is English but their Mum is Indian. Their lives have been split so far between Egypt and Tanzania. The fact that at the ages of five and three respectively, both boys need to get new passports shows just how nomadic an existence they lead. This kind of life has its rewards for sure but one challenge facing us is to make sure they know where they come from- to provide them with the sense of identity that I took for granted as a kid.
This posting is going to cover the time spent in and around Calcutta. I could refer to it by its official name, but Soma would probably ban me from going near my blog again. In common with a number of cities, Calcutta changed its name a few years ago- Calcutta, Bombay and Madras became Kolkata, Mumbai and Chennai. In at least two cases this was to reflect the proper pronunciation. Soma is not a fan of these new names- in her view we may as well change UK city names to Lahndan and Burmingum by the same logic. As a proud Bombayite, she has no truck with a BJP party political gimmick and insists on the original spelling- it is Bollywood, not Mullywood after all and I’ve not yet heard of a dish called Chicken Chennai! Anyway, given the choice between annoying the BJP or my wife, I’ve made my decision and in this blog at least, it’s Calcutta we went to!
Our time spent in Calcutta came at the beginning and end of our holiday, either side of a week in the Andaman Islands, and actually was not as bad as we’d feared. My main motivation for coming back was heritage. For a child brought up as an expatriate or to parents of differing cultures, understanding where you come from takes on additional significance. If, like me, you were born and brought up in the Midlands, then there is not much issue- sure, the North East and South West of Britain have claims on me but I have a pretty good idea of where I come from- why else would I go through the emotional agony of supporting Wolves? For the boys however, the question of where they come from is far more complex. Both were born in the UK but Kieran has lived there little more than a year and Rohan has never officially lived there at all. Their Dad is English but their Mum is Indian. Their lives have been split so far between Egypt and Tanzania. The fact that at the ages of five and three respectively, both boys need to get new passports shows just how nomadic an existence they lead. This kind of life has its rewards for sure but one challenge facing us is to make sure they know where they come from- to provide them with the sense of identity that I took for granted as a kid.
Kieran getting a haircut on the roof, care of the local barber
We come back to the UK quite often but try also to visit India as much as we can. However, half of the boys’ background is not really just Indian but Bengali. This side of their family history is rooted firmly in and around Calcutta. To make sure they understand this, and to get the boys to meet a large part of their extended family, a visit to Calcutta was needed- thus we went.
Getting used to Calcutta was tough. We spent our time at Soma’s parents’ flat- they spend a few months each year in the city so have a small but usefully located place to stay in. Admittedly it was a little too small for six of us, but we just made sure to spend time out and about to avoid any sense of claustrophobia. A sense of the challenges that living here would bring up came on our first night. We were warned in advance that it would be a little noisy. Apparently the lady living on the ground floor has a habit of starting very loud domestic arguments first thing in the morning. She’d been warned off by our rather assertive and scary maid Jharna. Apparently she’d told the lady that she should remember she was living in a nice area, not the slums and should act accordingly. If she acted up while we were there, Jharna was going to beat her up!
Sensibly (you’ve not seen Jharna in a mood!), this lady was as good as gold our entire stay. However, in the middle of our first night, I was awoken by a series of whistles. I’m not talking about someone whistling on the way home from the pub but a long series of loud “football referee” type whistles- enough to wake the dead, and me (though not the kids or Soma).
I mentioned it the next morning, assuming that some drunken reveller had been a bit naughty. Apparently this was not the case. Each locality has a security guard assigned to it. His job is to make night patrols to ensure everyone is safe. The people have insisted apparently that he whistle to prove he is not sleeping but is really patrolling. I pointed out the failings in this plan- while proving he wasn’t asleep he was ensuring nobody else was either. He was also very brilliantly giving constant giveaways as to his locations for the benefit of anyone planning a mugging or a break in. The people living here seem to have great intentions but joined up thinking appears to have done a runner, along with all the burglars. I spent most of my nights thinking of painful things to do to the security guard with his whistle.
How to describe Calcutta? In terms of architecture I guess it is little different to other Indian cities. There is huge traffic congestion- a mixture of cars, buses, auto- rickshaws and cycle- rickshaws all competing for space. This is a landscape I enjoy a lot- very vibrant, full of life and of possibilities. However, despite all this, the one overwhelmingly bad thing that just dominates the city is its pollution
I have travelled to many different places, in many of the poorest and least developed areas of the world. However, I have never in all my years encountered a filthier city than this. The smell hits you the second you leave the airport and doesn’t leave until you’re back on the plane. Imagine putting your nose up against a running car exhaust and that’s pretty much the standard air quality you get. In the time we spent in Calcutta I don’t think I ever saw blue sky- in fact the only sky was the grim, grey haze that permeates the place.
View of Calcutta on a clear day!
We come back to the UK quite often but try also to visit India as much as we can. However, half of the boys’ background is not really just Indian but Bengali. This side of their family history is rooted firmly in and around Calcutta. To make sure they understand this, and to get the boys to meet a large part of their extended family, a visit to Calcutta was needed- thus we went.
Getting used to Calcutta was tough. We spent our time at Soma’s parents’ flat- they spend a few months each year in the city so have a small but usefully located place to stay in. Admittedly it was a little too small for six of us, but we just made sure to spend time out and about to avoid any sense of claustrophobia. A sense of the challenges that living here would bring up came on our first night. We were warned in advance that it would be a little noisy. Apparently the lady living on the ground floor has a habit of starting very loud domestic arguments first thing in the morning. She’d been warned off by our rather assertive and scary maid Jharna. Apparently she’d told the lady that she should remember she was living in a nice area, not the slums and should act accordingly. If she acted up while we were there, Jharna was going to beat her up!
Sensibly (you’ve not seen Jharna in a mood!), this lady was as good as gold our entire stay. However, in the middle of our first night, I was awoken by a series of whistles. I’m not talking about someone whistling on the way home from the pub but a long series of loud “football referee” type whistles- enough to wake the dead, and me (though not the kids or Soma).
I mentioned it the next morning, assuming that some drunken reveller had been a bit naughty. Apparently this was not the case. Each locality has a security guard assigned to it. His job is to make night patrols to ensure everyone is safe. The people have insisted apparently that he whistle to prove he is not sleeping but is really patrolling. I pointed out the failings in this plan- while proving he wasn’t asleep he was ensuring nobody else was either. He was also very brilliantly giving constant giveaways as to his locations for the benefit of anyone planning a mugging or a break in. The people living here seem to have great intentions but joined up thinking appears to have done a runner, along with all the burglars. I spent most of my nights thinking of painful things to do to the security guard with his whistle.
How to describe Calcutta? In terms of architecture I guess it is little different to other Indian cities. There is huge traffic congestion- a mixture of cars, buses, auto- rickshaws and cycle- rickshaws all competing for space. This is a landscape I enjoy a lot- very vibrant, full of life and of possibilities. However, despite all this, the one overwhelmingly bad thing that just dominates the city is its pollution
I have travelled to many different places, in many of the poorest and least developed areas of the world. However, I have never in all my years encountered a filthier city than this. The smell hits you the second you leave the airport and doesn’t leave until you’re back on the plane. Imagine putting your nose up against a running car exhaust and that’s pretty much the standard air quality you get. In the time we spent in Calcutta I don’t think I ever saw blue sky- in fact the only sky was the grim, grey haze that permeates the place.
View of Calcutta on a clear day!
I remember feeling like this last time we were here. However, for some reason things seemed worse this time. Was it because we were coming from a country of clean fresh air and zero pollution? Was it just the general deterioration over the past six years? I don’t know but to be blunt, the city is one carcinogenic health hazard and, for the sake of the people who live there, it has to clean up its act.
Anyway, enough about the dirt. In terms of the people we met and the stuff we did, we had a great time. Christmas Day was spent in a manner that would shock traditionalists. We headed off to the South City Mall- a huge shopping complex that would put its British contemporaries to shame. In a welcome indulgence of sheer commercialisation, we walked around familiar shops such as Next, Marks and Spencer and Body Shop listening to piped Christmas music- brilliant. Okay, some might disagree but when you spend your time shopping at roadside stalls most days a big shopping mall is a welcome treat. To hammer home the point we had Christmas lunch at the mall’s food court- my parents would be so proud!
Soma and Rohan waiting for Christmas lunch at the South City Mall
Anyway, enough about the dirt. In terms of the people we met and the stuff we did, we had a great time. Christmas Day was spent in a manner that would shock traditionalists. We headed off to the South City Mall- a huge shopping complex that would put its British contemporaries to shame. In a welcome indulgence of sheer commercialisation, we walked around familiar shops such as Next, Marks and Spencer and Body Shop listening to piped Christmas music- brilliant. Okay, some might disagree but when you spend your time shopping at roadside stalls most days a big shopping mall is a welcome treat. To hammer home the point we had Christmas lunch at the mall’s food court- my parents would be so proud!
Soma and Rohan waiting for Christmas lunch at the South City Mall
Actually, we were both taken aback slightly by just how developed India has become- the malls were exceptionally well run and, unlike the odd mall found in Egypt and Tanzania, they are well populated. They are not simply a haven for the expatriate and local elites, the Indian middle class is well and truly mobilised and is spending serious cash- the West be warned!
We did our best to even the balance with regards spending however. Taking advantage of the shopping, we splashed out on lots of books, DVDs and music- Soma was on a mission to buy more or less every film released in living memory and I was happier than a pig in pooh browsing the book shops.
So apart from shopping, what else did we do in Calcutta? For the most part we visited people or got visited by people. Before heading to the Andamans we paid a visit to Soma’s cousin Raka, returning to the house I spent my last night before marrying Soma. Although I have very strong feelings about Calcutta, I have to say that the balcony room they have in that house is one of the most profoundly peaceful places I’ve seen anywhere- a haven of peace in a mad city! The next day we were visited in turn by family. The “compact and bijou” nature of the apartment made for a tight squeeze but somehow the barely contained chaos of ten adults and five kids all trying to coexist was quite fun!
Perhaps the highlight of our time there was the one trip we made out of the city. This came a few days before we left but, for me, made our time in Calcutta really worthwhile. The car came to pick us up just after nine, for the planned “nine sharp” departure. In true Bengali style, we departed “on time” just before ten. In addition to the four of us, we packed into the car Soma’s two parents, a cousin, his wife, his mother and his daughter- squished in like sardines.
After a couple of hours of driving, first of all through the smog of Calcutta then through increasingly clearer air as we headed out of the city, we arrived in the small village of Sheoraphuli. This is the village that Soma’s father comes from. Born the fifth of eleven children, he started out from this modest village. While you’d respect anyone getting a Phd from a British university, the achievement in this case is all the more when you see where the journey began.
Lunch on the roof at Sheoraphuli
We did our best to even the balance with regards spending however. Taking advantage of the shopping, we splashed out on lots of books, DVDs and music- Soma was on a mission to buy more or less every film released in living memory and I was happier than a pig in pooh browsing the book shops.
So apart from shopping, what else did we do in Calcutta? For the most part we visited people or got visited by people. Before heading to the Andamans we paid a visit to Soma’s cousin Raka, returning to the house I spent my last night before marrying Soma. Although I have very strong feelings about Calcutta, I have to say that the balcony room they have in that house is one of the most profoundly peaceful places I’ve seen anywhere- a haven of peace in a mad city! The next day we were visited in turn by family. The “compact and bijou” nature of the apartment made for a tight squeeze but somehow the barely contained chaos of ten adults and five kids all trying to coexist was quite fun!
Perhaps the highlight of our time there was the one trip we made out of the city. This came a few days before we left but, for me, made our time in Calcutta really worthwhile. The car came to pick us up just after nine, for the planned “nine sharp” departure. In true Bengali style, we departed “on time” just before ten. In addition to the four of us, we packed into the car Soma’s two parents, a cousin, his wife, his mother and his daughter- squished in like sardines.
After a couple of hours of driving, first of all through the smog of Calcutta then through increasingly clearer air as we headed out of the city, we arrived in the small village of Sheoraphuli. This is the village that Soma’s father comes from. Born the fifth of eleven children, he started out from this modest village. While you’d respect anyone getting a Phd from a British university, the achievement in this case is all the more when you see where the journey began.
Lunch on the roof at Sheoraphuli
We arrived to a very warm welcome from a number of family members. The reunion was apparently for close family members only- the surviving brothers and sisters and their descendents only. The final attendance was a very modest 47. We had lots of fun sitting in a small bedroom trying to talk with a myriad of family members. They had all heard of me and the boys but we knew nobody. However, despite the language barrier, we all became firm friends by the end of the afternoon. By all accounts their view on me was that I was “jamai khub bhalo”- a very good son in law! I have to say that although these people were clearly much poorer than us, their generosity was humbling. Almost everyone brought a gift for the boys- it was another Christmas in all but name for them. Our meagre offerings of some Tanzanian novelty pencils looked pretty lame by comparison! After a large slap up meal on the roof terrace, it was soon time to head back- a short stay that simply flew by. If we’d wanted to show the boys where they were from, then the home of the Mitras was a pretty good place to bring them. A quarter of their blood comes from Geordieland, a quarter from Cornwall. They are well acquainted with the middle class Ghosh part of their background from Calcutta. These kind, warm people from this small village form a very welcome part of their background too. I’m glad we all finally got to meet them.
Kieran with some of his newly acquired cousins
Kieran with some of his newly acquired cousins
Calcutta is an odd place for me. On the one hand it is squalid and dirty. There is nothing so calculated as to make your heart sink than to make a pre dawn drive to the airport when smog brings visibility to a few metres. At times like this, Calcutta looks like a city designed by Dante as an additional circle of hell. However, on an emotional level it is a lovely place. Apart from anything, we got married here six years ago. During the week or so we were here my own family and friends were, without exception, treated like royalty by their Bengali counterparts. As with all family they can frustrate at times, but the people who live here, from the Kars, Maliks and Ghoshes in Calcutta to the Mitras in Sheoraphuli, are some of the warmest people I’ve known. Kieran and Rohan should be proud to call them family- I know I am.
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