Ruminations

The dreary weather continued for the next day, which in turn caused me to wonder whether I have some unwanted affinity towards unnatural weather conditions (my previous trip was characterized by a lack of precipitation during what is normally the rainy season). That afternoon, my siesta subsequently turned into a full-fledged sleep, which coincided with night time in the States. Still, I happily returned to bed, under a cotton-filled down comforter, and found myself asleep in no time. The following day, I forayed into the city with my grandmother, and it is from this experience that I noted the following:

I miss:
.controlled traffic
.proper (dry) bathrooms
.driving
.my family
.my puppy
.television
.the Internet

Memorable experiences of the day:
.Mosquitoes: It seems these extremely annoying insects whose place in the food chain of living creatures I'll never quite understand are prevalent at all times here. On my second day, I awoke to find evidence of their annoyances on the only exposed areas of my body: my face and hands, a lovely discovery, as these are perhaps the first two places that people place their eyes upon.

.Traffic: My immediate thought upon boarding a bus dealt with discerning how the vehicles are able to cooperate amongst all the chaos. With no clear lane demarcation, the roads are a melee of cars, buses, auto-rickshaws, rickshaws, bicyclists, and pedestrians. Blinkers are carelessly abandoned and adopted instead are the cacophonous horns that blare from every vehicle, regardless of whether there are any obstacles present in their way. Brakes are employed at, what seems to me, the very last moment, forcing the gaps between vehicles to be a mere inches. At several points during my daily outings, I am sure I could have shaken the hands of passengers in neighboring vehicles. Coupled with pedestrians who stroll into the middle of traffic (which seems to be the norm, as well as something I have been guilty of), this erratic, uncontrolled system should, under all laws of logic, fail; but somehow, it succeeds. I hardly doubt that even congested, bustling cities like New York could hold a candle to the frenzy I've witnessed on a daily basis. Let alone that were I even able to, I doubt very much that I'd drive here.

.Cell phones: A very amazing phenomenon presented itself to me in my daily outings: the prevalency of cell phones throughout the city, across all economic levels. It seems the latter are no obstacle in owning this rather convenient device, as I have seen so many individuals with one attached to their ears (even a rickshaw driver, who likely makes the equivalent of a meager $5 daily). Even half-way around the world, some things truly never change!

.Poverty: Riding through the streets of the city provide for a view of the everyday lives of its people. The stark reality of the extreme levels of poverty becomes very apparent through every part of the city; even outside one of the poshest new city malls, beggars sit, hoping for spare change, while food vendors serve their creations to the city's wealthier citizens. Tattered clothes, homes in shambles, barely a shoe on every foot, these individuals are on the streets each day, attempting to earn a living. Whether it's selling food in baskets atop their heads or in street stalls, cleaning and polishing shoes of the passersby on the sidewalks, or working in the homes of the more fortunate, I've found these individuals in possession of an amazing resilience and desire to live their lives as best as they can.
Of course the truly destitute exist, and these individuals rely on others' mercy, begging for just a few rupees. Walking through the streets of one of Kolkata's oldest markets, I came upon a woman who, dressed in a tattered and stained white sari, one end of which she draped over her head, walked around with her arm outstretched. Most everyone ignored her silent please, though a few did meet her appeals. They were rewarded perhaps with personal satisfaction and a gracious nod from the silent woman. Her plight is a common one, not only in Kolkata, but throughout the country of India. I often find myself wondering what deep sin each committed to warrant such a meager existence.

.Stray animals: The neighborhoods of Kolkata are littered with litters of cats and dogs at every turn. To an animal lover, it is especially disheartening to see them in their squalid existences, roaming the streets, in search of scraps of food and companionship, no doubt. On several occasions, I was amazed to see dogs spread across sidewalks, with the bustling world around them, their oblivious nature apparent in their unflinching slumber. Cats roam the streets in equal numbers, though they seem to be more elusive to the eye. Their tales provide a similarly different perspective of the lives of the poor in this country - they cannot find good homes, when their potential owners are forced to live in single-story, one-to-two bedroom brick and mud bungalows, with sheets and tarps for windows. Though sympathetic to their plight, I found myself torn in dividing my sympathies, as it became quite difficult to feel pity for these creatures when men with appendages for limbs sat on the sidewalks of markets asking for spare change, when children tugged on our clothes and pointed to food at a nearby stall, and when women roamed with arms outstretched, all hoping to sustain their lives for one more day.

My journey

My trek here was uneventful, with perhaps the only highlight being a brief and unexpected sighting of George Abbey (former Center Director of the Johnson Space Center) at the Houston airport. A few of you will be excited to hear that the extrovert in me blossomed enough to befriend two strangers throughout my journey, which provided a brief rupture from the usual monotony that accompanies solo-traveling. I should note here that I was duly surprised at the number of foreigners traveling to the City of Joy; though I suspect with its rich culture and historical significance, the city does have a lot to offer its tourists.

Having arrived in Kolkata, I waited for my baggage and wondered, with some apprehension I must confess, about the impending duration of my travels in my motherland. My previous trip was plagued with jet-lag fueled slumber, unimaginable heat, and unwanted boredom, and so I did not know quite what to expect at present. Thankfully, all fears concerning the weather were allayed as I stepped outside and was greeted by a breeze I interpreted as pleasant.

En route to my temporary home at a quarter to two in the morning, I noted the absolute stillness present in the night. The bustling city was at rest, its lights and sounds at a bare minimum, presenting a contrast undoubtedly unseen by even many of its inhabitants. The cool breeze snuck in through the partially open driver's window, and I welcomed it in the midst of the stuffiness that comes with five people in a car with no internal cooling system.

The familiar signs of impending slumber signaled to me that perhaps I would not be plagued with the same jet-lag I experienced during my previous visit. We arrived soon at the home I've known for the better portion of my 23 years. The three-story abode, with its pale yellow exterior and pistachio green metal bars, welcomed me still after so many years. The speckled red marble felt cool to the touch, even through socks, as I parted ways with my shoes on the veranda. Tiny drops of precipitation caused the short walk from the taxi to the door to be colder than I'd expected, though in hindsight I believe the majority of the chill could have been attributed to the nearby open bodies of water. As I stepped through the doorstep, the memories of years past came vividly back: memories of reading on the veranda on hot summer days, memories of my brother's childhood fall on the steps, memories of what I later knew to be the last time I would see my grandfather in this house. Being on the move for a fair portion of my life, I doubt I've ever known the value of memories in a home as I do here. Even now, as I sit here with my pen furiously scribbling on paper, years after his death, I faintly catch the aroma of my grandfather's snuff, a wisp of a sentiment that causes me to pause and smile. The air I breathe here has no distinct aroma to anyone else, but to me, its fragrance brings with it all the reflections of my childhood. With this in mind, I happily unpacked my belongings that night and prepared for bed.

A traveler's prelude

The sun shines on the windowsill, as I gaze out the open door into the tiny field of weeds and wildflowers that inhabit my grandparents' back doorstep, as I reflect on the last 72 hours of my life. My emotions regarding this trip have truthfully been scattered; but sitting in the room I've slept in numerous times in years past, with books strewn and a blanket covering my cold, sock-covered feet, I feel a familiar tug in my heart of the strings that perhaps figuratively control its beats. Last night, as I waited outside to be let in the locked front door, I stole a glance upward towards the clearest sky I've seen in days. There was Mars, staring straight back at me, its orange hue easily discernible amongst the white-colored stars. Even half-way around the world, I stood in awe of the crisp beauty of the night sky. Even here, in a place so vastly different from the haunts I frequent at home, it yields a magnificent view of our planetary neighbor.

After a stolen yet lingered look, I came inside and immediately prepared for a long-awaited, much-needed rest, but not before jotting down a few notes about my day, gallivanting around the streets of Kolkata. It's from these and all subsequent notes that I'll attempt to recount my time here in the city of my birth. I hope that my words are able to create a tapestry of images that reflect my experiences, views, and perspectives here in the next few weeks. You will, however, have to forgive any omissions in this process, as I've come to find my short-term memory failing me these days (a discovery I blame on engineering).