Doing Business in Kolcata...My Way

First, it is imperative that you know that the BEST lassi is right here in the neighborhood of God only knows where, but it is sort of South Kolcata, a bus ride from the last stop on the Metro.  This fellow made the most magnificent lassi and topped it with nuts and dried fruit, just as I remembered my favorite lassi place did in Kathmandu - and I thought I'd NEVER match that lassi!

If you need to buy eggs late at night, you can just go to the stall across the street, and this lovely woman will gently place a dozen eggs - one at a time - into a plastic bag, which you then lug home with tenderness of step and no swing of arm.

 This morning before I set off to the city to find the camera place that I was promised had the battery recharger that I needed, I met this poet from Dhaka, just leaving from a visit to his friend, a novelist who lives in this building.  His name is Mohammad Nurul Huda, and he was very jolly indeed; we discussed the cracks in society and the cracks in politicians' heads.

 I went to the Rabindra Sadan stop of the metro and walked to the camera shop, which turned out not to be a shop at all but the executive offices for Nikon.  Great. They told me that I had to take the metro to Esplanade (pronounced EsPLANade) to find a particular camera shop.  I decided to walk, and as I rambled along the long road that goes past the Queen Victoria Monument, I saw this lovely woman boiling a big pot of cha, so I stopped and got one of her delicious little cups.  I forgot if I told you that cha is served in miniscule clay pots that people then throw into the streets.  I, on the other hand, have collected mine, and I will probably open a tea shop with them when I return.

I met Afroja at Calcutta University where she teaches Bengali and is the head examiner.  They were meeting in Dharbhanga Hall, which I am told is a very, very important room in the university, and so I took a photo.  Along the walls hang portraits of VIPs of other times and other costumes.

 In case you are interested in furthering your education, this is the Ph.D. Section, complete with swinging doors a la Old Western movies and a bedragled curtain partially dangling from a rod.  Gives on pause, eh?

 I took Afroja out for lunch at THE Indian Coffee Shop where she assured me the pundits come to puff and pontificate.  The noise level was rather high, as were to hats on the waiters.  We both had cold coffees without cream and vegetable sandwiches; really what we got were two creamed and sugared coffees and four  white bread slabs with teeny tomatoes inside one and little cucumber slices inside another.  It wasn't, as my mother used to say, enough to keep a wrenny bird alive, let along ME!

Afroja then had to go to her publisher where I took this rather lovely photo of her.  I gather one does not require an agent for Calcutta publishing.

 After I lustily downed two fresh, cold mango juices, we wandered through North Calcutta to catch the metro at GM Road, which I didn't realize until I saw the station was short for Mehatma Ghandi Road.  Duh.

Along the way, these "gentlemen" were crammed into a dark room and expressed an interest in having their picture taken - hard to believe, I know.  But they did, and they were rather please with the results, cocking their heads nonchalantly to one side to indicate their Bengali approval, no facial muscles required.

 As we trudged through the little, quirky alleys, I madly snapped my camera, new battery recharger equipment in tow, and some children came at me with gleeful requests for a photo - and then money, of course.  THEY, too, thought they looked mighty grand and roared with approval and laughter when I showed it to them.

 It was the end of the school day, so some mothers were stopping to get their children a sidewalk snack, and who could resist towel-head here?

Finally, this fellow asked to pose for a photo, if you can believe it, and his nod of approval at his portrait was genuine.  I think he thought the towel on his head was rather sporting, and so do I.

Tonight we are going to see a Bengali move, the name of which does not come trippingly off the tongue - at least not this tongue, but I am excited to see a movie with no subtitles, knowing that despite no subtitles, I will probably weep my foolish eyes out and humiliate myself in front of all my new friends.  So be it.