Kolkata in West Bengal, India, is possible one of the most exciting and challenging cities that I have ever visited; nothing quite prepares you for it. I remember when I first came here in the mid-1990s how I felt a combination of fear, excitement, and horror, all at the same time, each emotion competing for my attention. I am not sure I liked it at first, but later I learned that travel is not necessary about likes or dislikes, travel is inductive and about the love of learning, and India will exist whether I choose to learn about it or not. I want (if this is possible) to understand the most significant parts of the world, and this is perhaps the reason I have never been to (insert country here), but then again, I am Tasmanian and some lessons are hard learned!
Travel is about moments, about small discrete interactions between people in day to day contexts. Kolkata is unusual in this sense as there are just so many people doing so many weird and wonderful things. I enjoy walking; stopping for tea, having a chat about the cricket (and quickly getting out of my depth), eating chapatti and curry, sickly sweet lassi, and watching the TV through a shop window with all the other Bengalis. There is an old world charm and dignity to Kolkata, even though it is one of the world’s poorest cities. And there is room for the intellect, a reminder that wealth and intelligence aren’t always in harmony (I was going to say that there aren’t too many insipid utilitarian Modernists, but then I possibly would have lost you and maybe that’s my particular Australian struggle anyhow).
Today I walked to Howrah Bridge, through the flower market next to the Ganges (and it’s good to walk a lot because the hotel rooms are so dire). I remember seeing Howrah Bridge the first time I came here in the 1990s; the throng of humanity walking, driving, rushing to the other side of what is possibly the world’s busiest bridge. There are just so many people in this city; I could watch then for hours, get lost in it, and wonder what their individual stories are, although I’m a little afraid to ask. There are some big histories in this City, as big as they come, and it fills me with confidence that after 65 years India remains a vibrant democracy, there is hope for the world yet, and every other struggle seems to pale into insignificance.
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