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.
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
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!!
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!!
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