My flight arrived at the Kolkata (Calcutta) airport about 20 minutes late. It was 4:15 a.m., but after a 10 hour flight to Paris, a 10 hour flight to Mumbai, and a 2.5 hour flight to Kolkata, I wasn’t sure what day it was 4:15 a.m. on! Shevanti Narayan, head of the USIEF office in Kolkata, had instructed me to exit the airport via the 3A/3B doors and to remain precisely there for my driver. “They are usually on time, but in case they are late, please do not move from this spot.” Did Shevanti have previous experience with arriving American scholars in mind when she gave me these instructions? My ride was not there, but nevertheless, I persisted, and steadfastly maintained my position.
After about 25 minutes, a car arrived, a tall wiry man jumped out and rushed over to me brandishing a paper sign that read, “MARRY HANNAMAN”. Close enough! My prince had come! He man-handled my overweight suitcase into the trunk of the small car and off we went into the dark, arriving some 45 minutes later at the Peerless Inn. Entering the lobby, I realized it was the same hotel Davy, Caroline and I had stayed in on a previous trip to Kolkata. Nice to be back!
By 6:00 a.m., I was safely ensconced in my room. I drew a hot bath in the deep, old-fashioned tub, and had a nice soak. Time for breakfast in the hotel restaurant — fresh pineapple, papaya, a piece of toast and then back to my room for sleep — glorious sleep — before my prince would return to whisk me to the USIEF office for a noon meeting with Shevanti.
The meeting done, Shevanti asked if I wanted the driver to drop me back at the hotel or if, since the hotel was just down the street, I wanted to walk. I opted to walk — it was only ¾ of a mile or so, and I wanted to re-acquaint myself with the area. Besides, I knew there was a bookstore somewhere nearby and I wanted to stop in.
I found the bookstore (and a couple of books) and feeling suddenly tired after my long journey, and loopy from jetlag, I started to make my way back to the hotel. Since I had come in a car, and expected to return in a car, I hadn’t made particular note of my surroundings. And anyway, the surroundings had changed dramatically between noon and three o’clock. The previous0
ly rather quiet sidewalks were now lined on both sides with vendors, leaving but a narrow passageway for the throng of pedestrians to push by. Vendors — hawkers as they are called here — were selling all manner of things including food: kathi rolls, chow mein, puchkas, gugni, mughlai parathas, samosa (called shingara in Bengal), and clothing: shirts, pants, “nighties” (loose ankle-length cotton dresses women wear around the house), jackets, sweaters, shoes, sandals, belts, and miscellaneous items: books, newspapers, magazines, toys, bags, purses, toiletries. The open-air stalls were mostly covered by tarps so it was impossible to see the skyline, and because they lined the sidewalk, it was difficult to see even the storefronts behind them. You see where I’m going with this: with no visual frame of reference as to where I was, I had no idea where the hotel was! I was lost.
I wasn’t super lost, just kind of lost. I knew I was on the street that intersected with the side street that would take me to the hotel — I just didn’t know if I had to go farther ahead, or turn back and retrace my steps. I thought I’d get my room key card with the hotel name and address and ask someone if they could point me in the right direction. But guess what? I had lost the key card, probably while fishing around in my purse to find a few rupees to give to a beggar woman with a small (very small) babe in arms (more on that some other time). Given my mental and physical fatigue, if I had never been to India before, I think at this point panic would have set in.
I have never experienced any place quite like India. The crazy kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and smells can be overwhelming. Advertisements, political placards, flags and banners, brightly painted trucks and buses, women in saris of all hues — all of this under the even-in-winter bright, bright sunshine makes your head spin. On top of this is the noise: shouts from hawkers, the rumble of diesel engines, chants of political protesters, devotional music blaring at top volume from who knows where, and the horns, oh the horns, oh the horns, horns, horns, horns! Mix in the smells of spicy foods bubbling from street stalls, aromatic chai, car exhaust, and North Bengal’s most ubiquitous smell, the pungent odor of paan, like a cross between cigarette smoke and Aqua Velva aftershave (suffice it to say, the smell of paan makes me sick).
On this particular day, at this particular time, all I wanted in life was to be back in my little cocoon of a hotel room. Finally I realized that if I looked across the street while at an intersection, I could see the skyline. I recognized some sights that I had seen from my hotel window earlier and was able to orient myself, but I asked a vendor to be sure — was the Peerless Inn in this direction? Yes, he nodded, and I turned to walk the ¼ mile back to the hotel.
Before leaving the US, I anticipated my time in India with quite a bit of trepidation and anxiety, nervous about the prospect of spending four months — four of my favorite Pacific Northwest months — on my own in India, afraid of feeling sad and lonely.
It was a relief to get back to my room! But having been “lost” and then “found” gave me the chance to reflect a little more positively on what the coming months may bring: signposts missed amid the cacophony of the sights, sounds and smells of daily life, feeling on the verge of collapse, taking notice of my surroundings, asking for directions — and finding my way.
And — I’ll post a pic soon so you can take a look at the cute purses I bought while I was wandering around!
A Northwesterner in North Bengal 