Shantiniketan and the 750, not 300 rupees bag....

We took a taxi to Howrah Station (one of biggest and oldest in India), on the bank of the River Ganges, and took the train to Bolpur where we spent a night in Shantiniketan; it took some doing just to get to our train because there were crowds, and it wasn't clear to me that my beloved hosts knew where to go to get the train.  As I waited for them to figure it out, I saw these children playing on the floor, playing like any other children, except that he was playing with an old tin pot, and she was actually sewing his shirt.  They were beggar children who had spent the night in the station and were just waiting to go begging, but everybody needs a little down time.

 One of the difficulties with getting onto the right train is finding your NAME on the list!  Here is my name, but we had to KNOW which train we were on first, and then we had to read the fine print to make certain we weren't going the wrong place.  As I walked to our train car, I noticed one car marked "Disabled" which I supposed was just for disabled people!

 Once on the train, I was crazy for all the hustle; this man was carrying a stack of books that he was selling, and I couldn't help but think of the children's story "Caps for Sale."  Poor man.  I wanted to buy some books just to lighten his load!  Then came along the cha man, selling cha, and that fellow was joined by an army of other sellers, some for cha, some for Noori (popped rice mixed with spices, peas, onions, coconut and oil), some for chips, and some simply playing instruments and singing - this was NOT the place to get a great deal of reading done!

 When we got to Shantiniketan and checked into our funny hotel, we took two rickshaws out to see where the people made leather goods, and this man was cutting brilliant shiny red pieces for something or other; I was utterly excited having just seen Kinky Boots in New York, and I wondered if he was about to make something equally exotic.  Turns out they were making mostly purses and wallets and things of a more practical nature.

 I had suggested that I take them all out for dinner, but we stumbled on a hotel that had a yummy lunch, so we stopped.  Afroja and her husband had told me that they like to drink beer, but their son doesn't want them to drink.  I ordered a Kingfisher (a hefty 8% alcohol beer that came in about a 32 ounce bottle), but nobody would join me.  I am either alone as a beer drinker here or I shall wait until I get to Delhi for another beer...

 Just as we were finishing up lunch, the sky was taken over by an ominous grumbler and the rains came down like Noah wouldn't believe!

 We walked through all the sights of Tagore's schools, both the Assam and the University, but this was the scene when we went out this morning - women sweeping the road.  SOMEBODY's got to do it, and it certainly wasn't going to the be the men.  Or me.

 As we walked along the road, this little girl saw me with my camera and came rushing out from behind the bushes, grining gleefully.  I could tell she wanted me to take her photo, and this was all I could get from her!  She was really beautiful and full of smiles, but not for this photo.

When you get up in the morning, you always go to the roadside stand for a little nip of cha, and this was my first experience.  The man at the back table was pouring the delicious sweet milky tea, and his toothless grin was welcoming and inviting.  The cha in little clay pots was something beyond my experience, and the first time I saw these teeny pots, I tried to pick one up out of gutter; Afroja practically slapped my hand and told me to throw it away.  Turns out that these are their disposable little cuppies for little sips of cha!  I am dragging several of them home for show and tell.

 We stopped for another little nip and got some heavenly Roti and dal.  YUM.

This woman is going to be the center of my writing for awhile because I have a great deal to say about her, but for now let's just say that she invited us to her house, gave us tea, and really showed me the terrors of hoarding.  This is her kitchen, but throughout the entire house, every surface was covered with layer and layer of stuff, as she called her "treasures."  Even the cabinets were a jumble of junk, and even I felt a yearning to help her clean OUT!  This is just her kitchen; I hope you can imagine the rest!

Tbe true meaning of "butting heads" is magnificently manifested here with two baby goats - in the road, of course.

Finally we made it home after 7:00 PM tonight, and this is just a glimpse of the Sealdah train station where we came in.  We all got into one line, thinking that it was the taxi line, but it turned out to be a ticket line, so we bounced around asking taxi driver after taxi driver until we found the bloody line and made it home by 8:00.  I can give more details about the history and the significance of Shantiniketan, but I am sure those of you who are interested in Indian men of letters will know Rabindranath Tagore and can look it up yourselves - all fascinating, but photos of where he slept, where he worked, where he went to hospital, invited my imagination to conjure up other possibilities of historical sites related to the man!

In the fashion of the day, once we got home, we began discussing our purchases, and there was some discussion about how much one of my bags cost; I had already bought it and just said some number off the top of my head, but there was a disagreement, calling for a review of my bill, after which PROOF of my mistake on the cost was shown to me.  Who the hell cared?  It was over and done, and frankly, 300 or 750 rupees make no difference in the long OR short run...