Outbound

Our outbound train journey from Kolkata to Hyderabad took us thirty hours. Neck cricking bouts of sleep were intermingled with a kilo of Bombay mix, the telegraph crossword and it's nonsensical clues and a staggered run of clapping, hip shaking transvestites. I sat for hours staring out the window, transfixed by the passing scenery; my mind transgressed with the ever changing landscape. I lamented on my time so far in India, my initial trepidations of teaching and my rather irrational fear of children for that matter. I had been desperate to cling on to something of purpose, anxious I hadn't brought anything of value and there was an unremitting feeling that I was out of my depth. I would describe myself as an individual who relies on structure, who likes to plan, I may even go as far as to say I suffer a little from OCD (I blame my mother!!)I soon realised, upon arrival that all the planning had been completely pointless; things worked differently here. My first reaction to the archaic way of doing things was frustration (in retrospect my fervour was most likely partly caused and spurred on by the relentless heat of Kolkata) However, much to my surprise, after a continuous run of being yanked out of my comfort zone, I realised that I had overcome all my previous fears and I let go of my silly pretenses and hang ups. To hear that kids were actually enjoying my art classes was extremely encouraging, enthusiasm replaced dread and my confidence with the children improved tenfold.

Throughout my time teaching art, one girl in particular caught my eye - Baby Roy, a fourteen year old girl, originally from Assam, now living at the PBK girls home. Her drawings and paintings were remarkable and pretty much surpassed anything I'd ever seen from a fourteen year old. I was very keen to incorporate some of her work into 'A Brush with Monsoon' - Hope's debut exhibition held at the newly developed Gallery Cafe. To see her art hung alongside the likes of Wasim Kapoor and Babita Das, two revered and internationally acclaimed artists from Kolkata was wonderful, what's more, to have people buying her paintings was fantastic. 'Mother and Daughter' by Baby Roy Baby's story - like most of her counterparts living in the home - is an unhappy one and I hope that her painting can perhaps offer her more than just a remedial pastime. When I was fourteen, I would have had no hesitation in saying I wanted to become an artist, it was my dream and that was that; it was and still is a liberty which, while working for Hope, I realised did not always transcend cultures and up till now I had taken completely for granted. I don't know if Baby even considers it a possibility, whether she's already dismissed it as a complete fantasy or doesn't even realise it's an option. Now, apparently the Indian constitution has outlawed caste discrimination but from my experience the social restrictions of the caste system still reside even in the most cosmopolitan of cities like Kolkata. Another privilege we take completely for granted, bar the social prejudices, is the financial harness of loans and grants provided by our government (one could argue the case that loans and bursaries are in all honesty the bain of our western existence but at least there is a system in place that allows one to attempt to live their dreams whatever their background, sex or religion) Baby is bright and a very conscientious student. She has been faced with the brutality and crudeness of life from an early age, which would sober the most enthusiastic of souls. I fear she will forever look at painting and drawing as just a hobby. I would like to think that she at least has a platform or leverage where the Gallery Cafe is concerned and that she may be encouraged to submit and showcase more of her superb talent.

Gallery Cafe received it's official inauguration on Saturday 25th of July. The lead up to it was a lot more work than I originally expected and was thrilled to see it all go to plan on the day. With an array of artwork on the walls, lit and hung by the new hanging system and nifty light fittings, custom made mishti, pakorra and chocolate shortbread, as well as a number of glamorous celebrities, journalists and Wasim Kapoor painting live in front of an audience, the overall event was a success!! There had been moments when I didn't think it would ever materialise, moments when I had been racked with guilt as to all the money I was wasting. But it did materialise, and as I sat on the train to Hyderabad I realised how much I loved every bit of my experience. My Nana says you may not necessarily like everything and everyone but you should love everything and everyone - to be fair, I really had no idea what that meant, till at that point. I love Kolkata, I love its people, I love what I've done in Kolkata and I love what I have gotten.

So as we chugged towards Hyderabad with great anticipation and symptoms of DVT, I could not help feeling a certain sense of fulfillment and although I was looking forward to my travels, I knew I would miss Kolkata. It is an experience I will never forget and this may sound extraordinarily cheesy but it has changed me..........and I'm more than certain it's for the better.

Puri

Our weekend in Puri - a coastal town situated in the neighbouring region of Orissa - was the perfect antidote to a rather stressful couple of weeks. We spent a considerable time doing much to nothing - which was nice! Our accommodation, the former home of a maharajah with its high white washed archways and heavy rosewood doors,bequeathed a quintessential relic of the British Raj. Mornings were adjourned over the Times of India with a fresh pot of coffee and a rack of toast, while sat on the veranda overlooking Bay Bengal. Civilised strolls along the stretch of beach were central to most afternoons; exploring the enclaves of the local fishing community. One day, the illusory tide caught us unaware, - too busy eyeing the catch of the day and observing the sheer artistry of the fishermen weaving their boats to shore. Not till the advancing sea grabbed at our heels did we realise the beach upon which we'd casually walked was now a simple slither of sand. With sodden trouser hems we entered a vast commune of thatched beach huts that resided untouched along the tides periphery. The villagers went about their business, unperturbed by the skirting sea; the men continued to weave their nets and plain their boats. Feeling a little misplaced and unsure of our way, we were thankful to be commandeered by a self appointed usher, an 8 year old village boy named Mo, who led us through the cozy intersections of the village. As it began to rain children recoiled home to their mothers preparing dinner under the thatched alcoves, the symphony of home life resonated from every corner, the smell of wood burn and fried fish laced the numerous passageways, I felt incredibly at ease in this strange place, it felt homely. We arrived home soaked but entirely exhilarated by our day's adventure.


Our evenings were spent sampling some of the local culinary delights - tuna steak, mackerel, exquisite tomato chutney (an Orissa speciality). Meals in Puri were never boring. In addition to the delicious array of seafood, our eating environments were often equally as impressive – from dining in a tree house to having monkeys scamper across the restaurant terrace; to sitting in gas lit beach shacks with our toes in the sand, listening to the waves break just a mere stones throw away.


Alas, the end was nigh! Monday evening arrived like a slap in the face. We begrudgingly clambered on to the sleeper train bound for Kolkata and braced ourselves for the eight hour journey back to the hustle and bustle. Sleep was fractured by 'chai wallers' and disgruntled babies. As the train rattled into Howrah station, the patchwork of slums, rubbish dumps and dilapidated buildings was as unnerving as my first ever encounter to the streets of Kolkata.

Later on that day, while I made my way to my evening class with the girls at the PBK home I couldn't help but hum En Vogue's "..back to life, back to reality, back to life, back to reality.........."

Gotchka a Putchka

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Originally uploaded by kimsoep

Only recently have I realised how much I truly appreciate Kolkata. I’ve spent the last week or so exploring the city’s cultural nooks and crannies; visiting the Centre of International Modern Art (CIMA), the Academy of Fine Arts, the Birla Academy of Art and Culture and several independent galleries scattered across Kolkata. In discovering some exceptional Kolkatan based artists, I very much understand why India heralds this city as its cultural capital. The art scene is reported to be superior to that of Delhi, and even Mumbai; demographically speaking however this shouldn't be the case! With it's strong industrial origins, vibrant art community and friendly people, Kolkata kind of reminds me of Glasgow a little; it's generally snubbed by tourists and commonly misunderstood for lacking sophistication. However they both exude a certain charm that is quite beguiling.


On Friday, I visited the Birla accompanied by my fellow art enthusiast, Nyasha. It's pretty difficult to get to; nowhere near a metro station and I'm still not entirely familiar with the bus routes, so we jumped in a taxi. Taxi journey's feature a large part of getting from A to B in Kolkata, so I've experienced my fair share of bolshy drivers and 'pimped out' cabs. However without a doubt, I believe that our experience on Friday takes the biscuit! Wehauled ourselves into the back of the cab; hindi trance blared from the 'subwoofer' speakers; a miniture shrine to Shiva was superglued to the dashboard, draped with banana flower garlands and psychedilically lit with neon shades of green and pink ; insense burned from the drivers open ashtray, filling the whole car with a fragrant smoke - "No wonder he needs a fire extinguisher" Nyasha laughed as she pointed to the shiny red canister. In tempo with the quick paced music we sped across Rashbehari Avenue. The driver sat hunched over the wheel, bobbing his head and mouthing the song's words with a cigarette stuck to the inside of his top lip, while careening through side streets, hitting 60. It was pretty exhillerating - I'm not sure whether my judgement was impaired by the heavy bass, however my witts were about me when he inevitably (like every other Bengali taxi driver) tried to rip us off.


The highlight of the evening was without a doubt, our stroll through Salt Lake Gardens sampling food from some of the dimly lit street stalls. I was introduced to the cullinary delight which is Putchka. A combo of potato, coriander, chick peas and spices, stuffed into a pastry puff dipped in masala water is a pretty lame description and to be frank does not do it justice. I wonder if you can get it back in the UK? If not, then I may have to take the liberty of pioneering my own Putchka food stall at home. What a perfect fast food that tantalises the taste buds in every level. It's friggin ingenious, in fact a pat on the back to it's founder.

A whole new world

This is my account of the Cyclone that hit Kolkata on Monday the 25th of May. Like every other Monday morning, I accompanied Nyasha to the HIV hospice in Arunima. Our brollies and anoraks kept us moderately dry as the rain began to fall in sheets.

According to Nyasha, co-ordinating the Arunima class of 15 children (ages 4-12) has not been the easiest of pursuits. Two months ago, none of the children at the hospice received any formal education. Since Nyasha's arrival, she has founded a classroom, - a previously derelict shack at the edge of the hospice's grounds, that she gutted with help from some of the hospice staff - and provided morning classes every weekday for 3 months. Although the childrens ' attendance is a little haphazard, she seems to have made an extremely positive impact and I can only see it progressing further.

We began the lesson with the habitual reading of a story - today's narrative was Jack and the Beanstalk - and swiftly moved on to the English alphabet. Meanwhile the weather was rapidly changing. The winds became more and more abusive, hammering the small shack from every direction; tree debris was being tossed around from right, left, centre; mangoes ripped from the overhanging canopy battered on the tin roof. The rain began to fall in torrents from every direction. Staff became concerned, insisting we come back to the main building. We made a run for it, braving the violent bursts of rain, while sheltering the children from flying twigs and fauna. There was a power cut by the time we huddled, drenched into the unlit, clammy hospice ward. We sat in the dark with the wind wrapping the shutters, waiting. Neither Nyasha and I knew how we were going to get home. In the midst of a frenzy of fretful calls from Volunteer coordinators, directors and friends urging us to stay in doors, the Arunima director organised a driver to escort us back to the apartment.

We darted through the battle field and clambered into the back of the jeep. Driving through the chaotic streets was terrifying - we instantly realised that this was no mere storm. Felled trees and telegraph poles were strewn lackadaisically over cars and side street shops. The driver accelerated through an electrical fire sparked by a bunch of loose pylon wires. We weaved through abandoned traffic and uprooted shrubs.We could only look on as pedestrians fought profusely against the elements; some had wrapped themselves in polythene bags, others ran to safety.

Not till that evening did we discover Cyclone Aila had simply brushed past the outskirts of Kolkata, hitting neighbouring Howrah. The death count was unconfirmed (one suspected hundreds), and several hundred residents in the low-lying areas were rendered homeless as their houses and hutments collapsed..........and we arrived home unscathed!!

Monsoon

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Originally uploaded by kimsoep

Time moves incomprehensibly fast in India. Days ‘morph’ into the next and before you know it, you’re sat wracking your brains in an attempt to update this week’s blog.
It’s 8.50pm on Sunday the 24th of May. The day has been wet and clammy, resulting in a mêlée of mosquitoes - I have countless bites in inconceivable areas; the one on my pinkie toe is driving me friggin’ insane!!

We spent the evening at the cinema watching ‘Monsters vs. Aliens’ (the new DreamWorks animation). On our way home we grabbed some food from one of the street stalls and I sampled goat meat (Indian mutton) for the first time – I can’t really see it catching on as one of my culinary staples.

This week has been relatively productive. Bex, Nyasha and I are collaborating as a group to devise an arts/drama piece at the PBK girls’ home in J.D Park. The basis of our work is centred on the annual monsoon. A range of materials have been used – scarves, D.I.Y rainmakers, pots and pans. Bex has caught some lovely images on camera of the girls utilizing the scarves to imitate the storm. On Thursday, the kids and I made wind mobiles, symbolic of the ‘brishtie’ (rain). I was also interested to discover the Indian’s version of ‘pitter patter’ is ‘rim jim’ (or something of that sort!)

I had my official meeting with Geeta, the director of Hope India, on Monday regarding the development of the Life Skills Restaurant in Panditya. All my ideas were well received, however it's unclear as to when they'll be implemented - the budget is being used elsewhere and funding may be hard pushed at the moment. I've been asked to redesign the menu thus the past couple of days have involved running off some prototype designs on photoshop. Lets hope they come into use!!

Most of the week was spent sourcing materials for various projects. Card designs have been paramount. As Bex and I are on a mission to improve the marketability of the work produced by the girls at the Life Skills Building, sold back in the UK and Ireland, we have re-evaluated certain areas, namely the greeting cards. In an attempt to incorporate more of an Indian flavour, we have introduced window cards, featuring some of the beautiful textiles already being created by the girls themselves. I am no expert but I reckon they'll sell like hot cakes!

Week of Elections

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Originally uploaded by kimsoep

The end is nigh - today the Indian general election results are announced! It has been a rather tumultuous couple of weeks. "Never before has an Indian election left so many people so confused about the final verdict," wrote political commentator Rajdeep Sardesai in an article headlined "Your guess is as good as mine". An uncertainty has taken hold and the nation seems uneasy. The skies have ruptured with thunder and lightening, much like an epic drum roll. I still have trouble grasping the dynamics of Indian politics. With so many political parties at hand, it's proven confusing. I understand however, that the race could ultimately lead to many different parties winning seats thus creating a coalition that lacks cohesion and unity. Let us hope and pray that whatever the outcome, India continues to work towards eradicating poverty.

Meanwhile, after numerous drafts our schedules are set and we look forward to beginning the forthcoming week. Tomorrow the greatly anticipated 'Wizard of Oz' play directed by Liam (from Cork) will premier at the boy's home. I am currently adding the final touches to the Lion headdress - as I haven't taken any measurements, I'm praying it fits!!

Nyasha (a fellow volunteer) and I had a rather impromtu evening last night. Reports of a gay Bengali hang out had led us to Olly's Bar on Park Street. As homosexuality seems to be buried under a mass of cultural taboos, we were intrigued to experience a part of the city's underground scene. The tatty tables and dated carpet did not emanate the city sleeker venue I'd envisaged. In fact the bar conveyed more of an old man's digs, full of overweight middle-aged Indians hunched over vodka and scotch. Upon arrival we were met with a mass of hostile stares and I think we instantly regretted our decision. Thankfully, a young Indian gentleman named Sam, who was sat with his girlfriend from London took pity on [us] two awkward white girls. It turned out Sam- a computer technician from Bangalore - and his girlfriend - a lingerie designer from London - were spending the night in Kolkata as part of their months travel across India. They had come to Olly's Bar with the predetermined belief that it would be open till the early hours (a novelty amongst pubs in Kolkata as they generally close at 11pm). However, as a result of the following day's election all late night bars were shutting early. In an attempt to salvage the night, Sam had organised to meet old friends he knew from Kolkata. Subsequently one of his friends had strong ties to Hope - he was an art dealer and had donated several paintings of the artist Wasim Kapoor, a renowned Indian contemporary painter, to auction at Hope's annual ball on the 31st of March. We eagerly accepted their invite back to Sam's art dealer friend's apartment (who's name I can't remember for the life of me). The flat, a 19th century colonial build with tall ceilings and spacious rooms, evoked a Rudyard Kippling type setting. Stacks of art canvasses were strewn throughout the apartment, interspersed with lavish Deccan antiques. A balcony of banana and guava shrubs enticed you to step outside and take in the Kolkata's night scape - stunning!! This only proves the most memorable nights are almost always unplanned.

First Week

Verging on the annual monsoon, it was 43 degrees when we arrived in Kolkata on Monday 27th April 2009. We quickly realised that such unforgiving heat was not to be reckoned with. Suddenly gluing a 2ltr bottle of water to your hand becomes essential, all daily beauty rituals subside (when make up melts off yer face as rapid as it takes to apply -why bother!) and are replaced with a rather potent coating of DEET and sun block. At first I found Kolkata to be an outwardly dirty, ugly city. Travel guides had depicted Kolkata as a bedlam of squalor and 'fume-belching' traffic jams and at first glance this seemed rather accurate. You're confronted with a mass of honking horns reverberating across the city, the streets are continually congested with jostling traffic; organised chaos seems to be a term most fitting!! Traffic lights are optional and 'right of way' is determined by oneself - no rules apply!!. You're harangued by beggars, stall merchants, bus conductors; you're barged and knocked; gawked at; you're bombarded with a multitude of smells (some bearable, some fowl). However, as a weeks past I have grown fond of Kolkata. The people are friendly and the city exudes a certain character that I find homely. Dispersed across the city among the dilapidated, dirty buildings you'll find trees ordained with fruit - likened with the romanticised images you'll have envisaged from books and Henri Rousseau tableaus. Strolling through some of the residential side streets will lead you into the depths of the Bengali soul - a hotchpotch of sitar music, incense infused Hindi shrines shrouded in freshly picked flowers and vibrant artwork ordaining door ways and corner stalls.
Our first week as Hope volunteers was spent travelling from many of the centres scattered across Kolkata. This initiation plan is to give each of us an idea of how best we can fit in and determine where our skills would be most beneficial. It has been very informative and at times deeply distressing. Our trip to Howrah's drop in centre on Monday was, I feel, our most harrowing experience. Howrah train station is a focal point for destitute children. There daily objective is to gather the left over newspapers, water bottles from the passengers disembarking from the long haul trains. A common pastime among most of the children involves jumping onto the passing trains and as many of the youths are hooked on solvents their impaired judgements heighten the risk of fatalities. Vishnu the house father of the Crisis Centre for Boys (the rehabilitation clinic set up primarily for the kids from Howrah who have seeked help) showed us the drop in centre, a refuge point available for those children who through choice, wish to continue living in poverty reluctant to succumb to a life of routine and rules. We were ushered into a small cramped hut of no less than 20 children who sat cross legged, anticipating our arrival. At 11 am some sat already intoxicated. However the overall attitude was extremely receptive - they gave us their names, then we gave them ours, they sang, then we sang. It was our most raw encounter yet. Our previous experiences had only entailed happy, healthy children with pristine smiles and neatly made beds – the kids who were living happily ever after. In contrast, we were confronted with the uncomfortable learning that these extremely vulnerable, deprived children did not necessarily want our help -they simply yearned a temporary sanctuary (or distraction)! Once a week I will be joining Bex to work with the children at Howrah. We will be offering a range of arts/drama games that we hope we can build on. I think our most daunting hurdle is to overcome their sheer distrust in people.
I will also be facilitating art work generated by children in the ‘homes’ and coaching centres. My goal is to provide children with a range of interactive art pieces that we can create as a group. I intend to exhibit some of the artwork at the Vocational Centre restaurant in Panditya (I have subsequently been asked to revamp the currently sterile interior and jumped at the chance to use it as an exhibition space) and ultimately, wish to incorporate work as part of our expo at the Central School of Speech and Drama in London in December. I’m looking forward to sourcing more art materials. Bex and I, spent the morning wading through Market Square. Our rather persistent, self appointed guide led us through the market humdrum. I practised some bartering and got myself some pigment powder, which I’ve been coveting ever since reading of the light festival. I’m off to buy some fabric tomorrow with one of the girls from the vocational centre – I do hope to find me some bargains!!!