KOLKATA: CONFUSED!

We arrive in Kolkata. We get a taxi from the train station. The driver knows where he is going and doesn't ask for more money: I'm confused! We check into our hotel: Its clean: I'm confused. We walk down the street. There is no one hassling us for money; to buy something crap; or to go on a tour: I'm confused! There are no taxi drivers asking us if "We want taxi?" every two seconds. We actually have to flag one down: I'm very confused! Kolkata is just well? Confusing!

Kolkata was nothing like I thought it was going to be. I had images of starving children in the streets being tended to by Mother Theresa type nuns; beggars everywhere pulling at my feet and an environment of complete chaos. Instead we find a tranquil, chilled city. Don't get me wrong there is poverty and beggars here, but no more, maybe even less than what I have seen in other great hubs in India. You see for decades now Kolkata or Calcutta as it was formally know has been edged in people's brains across this world, as a city of horror and human suffering, due to Mother Theresa and books such as City of Joy. What I see now is a city that doesn't quite know what it is suppose to be.

India was ruled by the British for 250 years. Over that time we left our mark: the railways; public schools; cricket and the scattering of the English language, but travelling around India you can hardly tell we were ever here. This is not the case in Kolkata. It was the former capital of the Raj and a city more less built from scratch by the British. This can be seen with its orderly planning from wide tree lined avenues to the grid street plan. There a monuments and statues everywhere, the grandest of which is the Victoria memorial, that looks just as impressive as any grandiose building we have in London. There seems to be a organisation to this city that so far I haven't seen anywhere else. Even the cars stick to their lanes (Well sort of)? Even with its British heritage though, it's confused. The old street names of the British were changed to Indian ones by the government, many years ago, along with the change of the name of the city from Calcutta to Kolkata. The only problem is everyone still uses the British ones, which gets very? Well you guessed it! Confusing.

It is not only the relative calm of this place but there are glimpses of the modern world too, which seemed exciting after being in a time warp of places like Varanasi and Rajasthan. Coffee shops; music shops and book stores (Kolkata is the art and literature capital of India). But the best thing of all was there were bars! I'd been teetotal for my time in India up till now. Im not a alcoholic, but I like a drink. I'm the first to admit I drink too much. For a person like me giving up alcohol for a month was not the easiest task. I'd always intended to have a little break from alcohol after the excesses of the Christmas period, but with the E.coli it hadn't even been a choice. After our medication had finished, I realised I wasn't missing alcohol at all. It was nice to wake up feeling fresh everyday, and so I continued not to drink. Now in Kolkata I was surrounded by all the trappings of modern life and the thought of an ice cold beer seemed very tempting indeed. We found a bar that looked like the set from "Cheers" and sat down. As we sat drinking our beers, the bar started to fill with young Indians. The guys all looked modern, but the thing I noticed the most was the women. Most wore heels, short dresses and low cut tops. It was like any other bar you would see back in the west! Well that was until the band started playing; 80s power ballads; which were all out of tune and sang with a thick Indian accent! Another beer was needed.

Even though Kolkata was not the Hell hole I was expecting; it can certainly be said, that this was not the case in the past. When India gained her independence from the British in 1947, the country was also separated. The new Muslim territories of Pakistan and East Pakistan (Now Bangladesh) were created. The partition saw one of the biggest human migrations in history, with 10 million people losing their homes and moving to their allotted country. Kolkata was badly effected during this time, receiving all the Hindu refugees fleeing East Pakistan. Four million people flooded into the already over crowded city. As well as the over crowding the city suffered badly economically with the departure of the British and the partition. With all these factors combined, Kolkata became a city of extreme poverty and horror, where people were actually starving to death on the streets.
It was during this time that a little nun from Albania, who was stationed in Kolkata in a covent, educating the children of rich Indian's, heard the voice of God, telling her to go and help the poor. So she left her convent, and set out on her own to the slums, dressed in only a simple white cotton sari with a blue trim. Her name was Mother Theresa.
I am not a religious person and no matter what you think of religion yourself, there is no way you can look at Mother Theresa and her charity and say what she did was of no good. Before she came a long there was no help for the poor on the streets and she unselfishly devoted her life to this cause.
Me and Lauren went a long to her house and to see her tomb which was right next to our hotel. We were guided my a nun in the now traditional cotton sari uniform of the Mother Theresa nuns to her tomb, which resides in the "Mother House." It was a sober room, where silence was required while nuns and priests prayed in the back ground. Me and Lauren sat there quietly looking at the tomb, when a school party of Indian children came in. The teacher walks straight up to us and stands blocking our view.
"Where are you from?"
"England" I reply very embarrassed.
"Oh very good. Good cricket. We excited to see you." Photo?"
Before we can say yes or no. We are surrounded by a mass of school children smiling and shouting, while a queue has formed in front us for the next photo. We are completely trapped, and not only that we can't see the tomb anymore because the children have all turned their backs on it and are facing us! Mother Theresa the image of human sacrifice; saviour of thousands; who many see as a saint, is being over shadowed by Carly and Lauren; two costumes girls from London; who do silly things; and feel that real hardship is when you don't have hot showers and toilet paper! I turn and look at Lauren who looks frozen with it all, as the non stop photos continued and said "I'm modified! We are definitely going to Hell now!"

When it came the time for us to leave Kolkata, we found a taxi to take us to the airport. Our taxi driver was a scrawny looking man with thin features but a big smile, which showed he didn't have a full set of teeth. He was extremely chatty.
"I am Laba Hadu. I from Nepal. Where are you from?"
"England."
"You married?"
"No."
"How old are you?"
"25 & 33."
He turns to me and laughs, "Ha. You older than me. I 32."
"What! What the Hell! I'm older than him. You have to be taking the piss! He looks about 55!" I think. Of course I don't say this, I just go "Oh really?" and smile.
As we drive along he turns to us and says,
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"No I mean smoke!" And pulls out a massive bag of hash!
"You want some?" he asks.
"Oh!" I say shocked "We will give it a miss. We are just about to get on a plane" I reply politely.
"You know it's good to smoke pot" he starts "The God Shiva, he smoke lots of hash. Shiva like hash. This is good. Pot is good."
Me and Lauren just nod a long.
"You have papers?" He looks towards us with a big smile. "I want paper to roll big spliff."
Luckily we didn't have any paper, as his driving was bad enough, without him being stoned! Don't worry everyone, I got his mobile number. So if anyone needs a pothead Nepalese taxi driver in Kolkata, Laba Hadu is your man!

I liked Kolkata very much, though even now after I have left, it is a city that I can still not figure out. On one hand Kolkata represents the India of today in trying to move forward, with it's modern shops and more liberal thinking. On the other hand it is a city very much living in the past, still stuck in its old ways. It is a city with a identity crisis, not sure of what it should be.
One evening I was in Kolkata in a music store trying to purchase some India music like the Hit man had played, when I noticed an old India man. I say he was India, but he dressed like a typical old English gentleman from the 1930s with his tweed blazer, walking stick and silk cravat. He spoke loudly to the shop assistant in his best queens English with only a slight hint of an Indian accent. He was oddly out of place in this modern music shop. I suddenly felt very sad looking at him. He had been left behind. This man was from another time, another era but that era had left nearly 80 years ago, and with it they took their afternoon teas; posh ways; and their strange clothes. All that was left now were their crumbling mansions, hidden behind their also crumbling high walls. They left India alone and gave them back their freedom. Had no one told this man? Or maybe they had and he just hadn't wanted to believe it. Maybe it was all too confusing?
Next stop Tamil Nadu!