But at Sealdah train station there, finding a cab was exciting enough. There were separate lines for prepaid and metered taxis but some lines were supposedly closed and it was unclear who, if anyone, was actually in line. There was another area for tuk tuks and no matter where I stood, all sort of drivers turned up to offer me overpriced rides.
And then a older guy I had talked to on the train pulled up and asked if he could drop me off. I hesitated (Isn't getting into cars with strange men Solo Traveler No No Number One?) but he seemed genuine.
Far from being creepy, he was eager to dispense advice about my one day in Kolkata: "Tomorrow is going to be a strike, so there will be no public transit. And since your hotel is right by the red light district, I wouldn't recommend walking around too much." As I got out of the car, he said, "It was nice to meet you! Sorry you're not going to see Kolkata."
Well, I didn't see normal Kolkata, but I saw something: calm. The strike was apparent as soon a I stepped outside. Where were the horns? Where was the traffic? Most stores were closed the only vehicles running were human-powered rickshaws, men who literally run with carts behind them. (For the record, this was the main tourist district. It didn't feel creepy.).
I walked to the Victoria Memorial, an impressive building that would get more press if it didn't honor a British queen. At the door, the guard said they were going to open late because of the strike. I heard some yelling and, 20 minutes later, the doors opened. That little bout of tension was the only unrest I saw. After the chaos of finding a taxi, this felt more like a holiday than a strike.
The relaxed atmosphere continued in the yard of the Church of St. Teresa, where an old man shook my hand, kissed my cheek and said "Pray for me." Although this would have felt more spiritual if he hadn't smelled like whiskey (I'm tempted to make a joke about the difference between Catholic and Hindu grandpas, but since I don't adhere to either religion...), it certainly didn't make the strike seem more tense.
And nowhere was more peaceful than Mother Teresa's Motherhouse, an unassuming building that fits with the little I know of her lifestyle: despite her Nobel Peace Prize and the global scale of her charity, her tomb is plain and her lodgings simple. In fact, the sign outside is so small that I missed it the first time I went by.
Strike? It seemed more like a respite to me. Who would have thought that India's second largest city would be the one place where finding an open Internet cafe was hard but crossing the street was easy?
No comments:
Post a Comment