Kolkata: An Indian Mosaic

At a glance she seemed to be 5 or 6 years old. Wearing a brightly patterned dress and sleeping peacefully on the makeshift, cloth bed in a corner of the airport car park, her small legs were casually crossed at the ankles, showing the pinkish soles of her bare feet. She was completely relaxed and oblivious to the surrounding 3am noises and passing traffic, confirming that this was a common rather than an exceptional occurrence for her. I wondered if her parents worked at the airport. Surely she was not there on her own in the small hours of the morning through choice ?

This then was my first image of India, beyond the crowded and busy but sterile bureaucratic spaces of the international airport ... an image which drew from me a gasp and quick, shocked intake of breath. And yet as l attempted to come to terms with it l wondered if there was perhaps a fundamental trust in fellow humans behind this scene? Or was it more simply an acceptance of the harsh cheapness of life here, no matter the age? l realised that my naive and simplistic western preconceptions were about to be constantly challenged by this country of contradictions and extremes.

The car was expensive and modern, a far cry from what I'd been expecting in an airport taxi pickup. We gratefully bundled ourselves into its plush seats, longing for an end to our exhausting 30 hours of travel. Within moments we thought "the end" may be sooner and more permanent than we'd anticipated! We sped through the lightly trafficked 3 a.m. streets of Kolkata with a velocity akin to the jet planes on which we'd so recently travelled. The drivers skills were, nonetheless, remarkable. With one hand rhythmically pumping the horn and a foot constantly flooring the accelerator he negotiated the streets with confidence ... a feeling not shared by his three anxious passengers. Red lights were merely a challenge to be run, simultaneously swerving to avoid the oncoming cars who'd unwisely followed their green traffic signals. Aural mayhem followed in the form of a cacophony of horns, each one attempting to out blast the other. Indian cars, it seems, come with highly functional horns but without brakes! As for lane markings it was soon obvious that they were only there to decorate the road, serving no purpose with regard to car positioning or safety.

As we headed towards the city proper, the traffic increased. Not cars so much as night vehicles: large, decorated, heavily laden trucks; big wheeled wagons bearing massive loads of precariously balanced arching bamboo poles, hand drawn by a solitary slender figure; pedal rickshaws carrying awkward stacks of cut timber; cyclists meandering to some nocturnal haven ... all making the most of the relative calm of night to seek their destinations. 

Having murmured in subdued tones throughout the night the voice suddenly increases in volume at 7 a.m., urgently building towards a crescendo by 9 a.m. and continuing to rise and fall until long after dark. It is the pulse of the city ... the raucous, almost deafening noise of the streets of Kolkata. It's an irreverent blend of bird calls, raised voices and high pitched bicycle bells, over which the explosive blasts of the car horn dominate with irritating and unrelenting ease.

First impressions of India: first impressions of India: quirky, disturbing, hospitable, engaging and totally absorbing

These are my first impressions of India: quirky, disturbing, hospitable, engaging and totally absorbing. If you like I'll continue to take you on my journey as l both geographically and emotionally explore this fascinating country. 

With love

xxxx