By air, bus, car, train and ferry, my latest trip covered a solid 4,700-odd kms (alright now, yes, bulk of that distance is through air). What follows is a spotlight on that part of the journey where I travelled alone; these are a peek into those experiences in chronological order, covering two Ps - People and Places.
Pre-Travel
A simple enquiry to two men standing on the side of the road for directions. No fuss, no drama. They noted the struggle with the dialect to get the message across. On their own volition, without any prompting, the two complete strangers enthusiastically flagged down one auto after another, explaining to the driver in their dialect the directions I had asked them a minute ago. So much so, they even questioned the validity of the driver’s outrageous price quote and got me a fair price.
To my sound of "thank you" as the auto sped off, the animated hand wave and "bye" from one of them brought a smile to my lips. In a dog-eat-dog world, the encounter left me with a good aftertaste.
That was shortly followed by the fortuitous finding of a lake almost hidden behind a museum in Darbhanga, Bihar (a town I never imagined setting foot in). With a cool breeze under the shade of a pagoda-like structure, I watched people stroll by, children run helter-skelter and boats float from one shore to another - the perfect setting to while away the extra hours I had before a 13.5-hour train journey.
Travel
Not only did a friendly railway
official help me survive a last-minute platform scare as he directed me to
platform 5 (from platform 1), a quick shout-out from him also ensured I didn’t
end up on the diametrical opposite side of my coach. I was pleasantly surprised
to board my first ever 1AC train coach, as I looked at the enclosed cabins,
step ladders, and more. Just as I was making a mental protest of some trash on
the floor, an attendant swooshed in and not only whisked away the trash but
also sprayed a fragrant disinfectant (bar too low?)!
Boy, was I sleep deprived, with less than 3 hours of sleep in the last 24 hours
and voila, I slept through most of the train ride sprawled on my extra wide
berth until the train rolled into Sealdah, Kolkata. Time to deboard!
It was around 7am; a 20-min walk to the accommodation lay ahead of me. The city was coming alive to the duties of the day with the hustle and bustle of hawkers
and peddlers of all kinds setting shop as I passed through tiny, circuitous
lanes, hoping the jagged street surface doesn't undo my suitcase's wheels.
Through the Lanes of Tiretta Bazaar
On both sides of the entrance
were bright red Chinese inscriptions, over 6 feet high. The board read Chen's
Carpentry Works, 1920. I can't quite put my finger on why I walked in, but I
did. I doubtfully asked the person sitting right through the door for Mr. Chen
(fully aware that Mr. Chen is likely no more, judging by the age of the
signboard), as a parrot's loud screech pierced the air. He pointed me to the
right - a lanky, tall, thin spectacled man in a crisp light blue shirt sat
behind a desk shuffling paper. Meet Mr. V, a third-generation owner who runs
the interior design business now. He was busy but was kind enough to spend 10
minutes with me. He offered tea and educated me on the current Chinese presence
in the area and the heritage structures I could check out. After a firm
handshake, I headed out, armed with new info.
A 10-min walk down lanes, where not more than two motorbikes can squeeze
through side-by-side, led me to a dead end. But a slight half-turn later, a
bright red wooden door stood slightly ajar. It opened into a courtyard, very
similar to the courtyard where young Jaden Smith trains with Jackie Chan in The
Karate Kid (no kidding). Three Chinese deities sat at the end of a red and gold
adorned room beyond the courtyard. About two dozen 1990-2000ish photographs of
Chinese people in the temple were stuck to the outside wall. I couldn't help
but wonder how things were like back then.
Chatting with a middle-aged woman with a side
satchel and black sunglasses on her head, I learnt of the school almost sharing
a wall with the temple. She even volunteered to guide me to a live class where
about 10 children were studying math.
Trotting back along the streets, I chanced upon a Chinese agro-tech company
with the traditional bright red (yes, again) lanterns hung on both sides of the
passages leading to a small shop. Workers were labelling and packing bottles
and bottles of sauces on one end. I bought a bottle of Capsico red pepper sauce
and exited the shop, acknowledging the salesman who warned me that it was very
hot. But for the shop and activities within, which are rather mundane, the
whole Chinese theme seemed rather out of place in the area. I later learned
that it was a 65-year-old operation run by a Chinese Indian.
A Drink before Proceeding
A 70ish old man handed me a green coconut, asking if it was indeed sweet as he had promised a moment ago. He reiterated his promise of quality products, more to the world than to me, as I smiled and took another swig. Squatting on the side of the pavement in his stained white vest, with 20-odd coconuts, he exuded outsize cheeriness with his tone and demeanour than one would expect of him.
A Slice of Revolution: I
Next stop was Netaji Subash Chandra Bose's home. Notwithstanding the grumpy ticketing clerk who wouldn't scroll and see the ticket fee transfer message on his phone, I moved on, curious of what the two-storied bright yellow building held. It did not disappoint - the tales, photos and events portrayed were riveting, to say the least. I took an extra minute to imagine the great escape of Netaji, standing at the very staircase he hurried over and drove off in a Wanderer W24 car to escape the British. Oof, unfathomable.
I
recall brooding over how little I knew of the Indian freedom struggle as I
walked away.
A Slice of Revolution: II
I stood transfixed looking at
the century old building where the Anushilan Samiti was founded as the heritage
walk lead regaled us with the tale of how a gym acted as a front for this
independence revolution organization, focused on targeted assassinations as
opposed to conventional arms against the Imperialists.
At that moment, I was amused to learn that about 90% of the heritage walk
participants were Bengalis; although in hindsight, I suppose it isn't all that
abnormal. There were three to four know-it-all uncles chipping in with
tangential and unrelated titbits of fact, interlaced with opinion, masquerading
as all fact. The typical Indian uncle group, I suppose, egged on by one
another. On another note, I also had a first-hand experience of Bengali's
fierce sense of linguistic pride when one person in the group visibly expressed
his displeasure when told about Tagore's (don't hold me to it, but it was a
prominent Bengali visionary nevertheless) participation with event and symbols
associated with Marathi history. Interesting.
A Taxi Ride, unlike another
It was barely 1.5 kms away; on any other day I would’ve walked. But short on time and short on energy, I hailed a bike taxi. The driver attested to a similar sentiment – he questioned if I actually knew where my next destination, Alipore Jail Museum was. As we exchanged a few sentences, a comment intrigued me – he said the actual jail is very different from the tourist spot it has become today. Upon further dwelling, he revealed that he had spent 110 days in the general ward 13 years ago (when it was still a prison) for an alleged crime he was eventually acquitted of.
Imagine a ride to a jail museum chauffeured by a person who served in the jail!
Winding Down, no Doomscrolling though
After an exhausting couple of
days, walking a combined ~20km, I lay in my bed in the accommodation, scrolling
my Insta feed.
A fellow roommate walked in with a "hi". She had looked solemn,
minding her own business the last day. That day was different. I took the
"hi" as an opportunity to strike up a conversation (yes, the
introvert me did it).
Cue in C (let's call her that), a Brazilian visiting India for a friend's
marriage; sounded like the traditional 7-day Bengali wedding was a tad
overwhelming for her (unsurprisingly so). She's a lawyer doing her doctorate in
Gender Studies; I'll leave you engineers to figure out the career combinations
with that.
Back to the Present
As I am penning my thoughts here at 10,000 feet (rather productive, wouldn't
you agree?), heading back home, I think I enjoyed the fleeting conversations,
observations and moments with and around fellow passengers, tourists,
localites, strangers more than mere "sightseeing" 🙂. Are you with me?
No comments:
Post a Comment