Holi in Shantiniketan

What a blast this holiday was! We dressed in lovely yellow spring saris. I was excited to participate in the procession with the other students from Visva-Bharati University. Unfortunately, we arrived late so that the procession had already started and I couldn’t find my partner. I had my sticks, but just watched. Then, a friend came by with his sticks, and he needed a partner. So, we joined in. The song (translated) goes like this:

Oh people! Break open the doors!
There is a spring stir!
On the soil, in the water, in the forest, there is a mad, spring stir!
A ruddy, wild laughter in abundance everywhere
Amongst the ashok and paulash flowers.
An intoxication amidst the clouds of the morning sky
With new leaves leaving a bright splendor,
Break open the doors, open the doors!

The flute murmurs over the south wind in the forest
The butterflies dance gleefully in the grass
The honeybees return to their flowers
While their wings play a rare tune of the bina
The madhobi flower sings to the melody of the breeze An invigorating aroma envelops all around
Break open the doors, open the doors!

Radha and Krishna are linked with this tradition of colors during Holi. Young Krishna, who had a dark complexion was jealous of his beloved Radha's fair skin. In a mischievous mood, he applied color on Radha's face. Following this ancient legend, lovers long to color their beloved as an expression of love.

Basant Utsav
In Shantiniketan, 'Basant Utsav' is celebrated. The tradition was reintroduced by poet and Nobel laureate Rabindranath Tagore. Students joyfully welcome Spring, the season of hope not just with colours but with songs, dance, chanting of hymns in the serene ambiance of Shantiniketan.

Dol Purnima
On the Dol Purnima day in the early morning, the students dress up in saffron-coloured clothes and wear garlands of fragrant flowers. They sing and dance to the accompaniment of musical instruments presenting an enchanting view to the onlookers and a memory to cherish for years.


After the procession, everyone gathered in an open field to watch dancers on stage. My neighbor was performing, although I could not tell which one she was. After the dancing, groups began to open their pouches of powder and throw the color into the air or rub them on people’s faces, saying Happy Holi! Most of the people were very respectful, but there were rowdy groups of boys. The social work department students were great at protecting us from the troublemakers and keeping us safe and having fun. They all gathered in a group to sing and dance together. Then, the group dispersed and joined other groups. We joined a tribal group with drums and danced with them. The powder continued to flow, and by the end it was in my ears, trapped in the folds of my sari, in my eyes, and hair. It was an awesome day!

Orissa

Tabby and I sat in the waiting room until daybreak. The sign said Ladies Waiting Room, but everyone was there. People were sleeping on the floor or on chairs. We whiled away a few hours and then hired a rickshaw to take us to our accommodations, which ended up being quite nice.

We spent the day exploring temples in the city, and then visited the Global Fund for AIDS office. We were having a lovely time, and the woman who worked there arranged for us to have a driver the next day who would take us to all the places that we wanted to see. Then, we got the call, saying that we would no longer be able to stay there after tonight. There was an issue with our visas, and we didn’t have the right kind.

We made a few phone calls, and a new plan was devised. However, the plan was now a lot more complicated and involved losing some time, so we had to adjust accordingly. I found myself frustrated that the plan was revised without input from us about what was most important. Someone else was in charge of arranging the hotel and driver, and I did not know if that person would choose what we wanted. I ended up seeing most of what I wanted, yet, we hardly had any time at the beach, and I wasn’t able to see the artist villages that the area is known for.
 

 

In Puri, we went to see the Jagannath Temple. As non-Hindus, we weren’t allowed in, so my guide book suggested going across the street to the library for a good view. I saw the library sign but not the entrance. A man approached us, saying he would led the way to the library, but he was pointing to another building. We looked to see where he indicated and he wanted to take us through a maze-like path through buildings. He said the library was closed already. I wasn’t liking the looks of things and got out my book, which mentions a scam by the nearby hotel where they charged a large sum for entrance. Sure enough, he was suggesting we donate to him. So, we ditched the guy, but he was annoyingly persistent. We wandered around, trying to find the doorway to the library, but there was a lot of chaos, so we doubled back. Our friendly helper appeared again and because now we were standing right near the doorway to the library, about to discover it, he opened it up, saying he helped us find it and pestering us. I was so annoyed I gave him 20 rupees to leave us alone for good.

Upstairs, a man sitting at a desk was saying that he was the official librarian and we had to be  aware of all the scammers outside. He whipped out a photo album with pictures of the group leader of the scamming gang and sure enough, it was our helpful friend! The librarian also requested a donation and I couldn’t help but think he was also in league with the scammer downstairs. He had a long spiel urging us to donate large amounts. He had not one but two registry books. Perhaps one was official and the other, his own sly method of scamming visitors. I imagined that once we (or other tourists) appear in town, a network of calls go out to keep track of our whereabouts and alert interested parties to be on the lookout for us. Or, maybe I am just getting paranoid. Could it be the malaria drugs?

Konark Sun Temple was dazzling. Unfortunately, my camera lens has gouges scratched out of it so many of my pictures have glares in non-artistic and distracting places. We also visited rock cut caves and a Peace Pagoda, as well as a grove of statuary artisans along the side of the road.

The last night in Bhubaneswar creeped me out. We had an early morning train so we stayed close to the station after our lovely day of sightseeing. Again, this hotel was not chosen by us. Someone had recommended it, but it was not a happy experience. Our room had roaches, lots of roaches, even in the daytime.

We went downstairs to eat dinner in the restaurant connected to the hotel. I didn’t even want to think about the roaches. Our waiter inquired as to where we were staying and what room number. I thought he would charge the bill to our room. Later, when we asked about it. the answer was no, of course not, the hotel is separate from the restaurant. Then why did he want to know our room number? Great, now someone knows where we are staying! Tabby and I were both thinking the same thing, that the waiter was informing his friends that we had left the room. The waiter ran out for a minute. The bill was taking a while. A plan to stall us? Tabby decided to go back to the room to make sure everything was okay, picturing slashed backpacks. I heard Tabby in the hallway frantically asking how to get out of there and into the hotel. Had they locked the door? I wasn’t just worried about theft, but also a midnight knock on the door or window.

Back at the room, everything was fine. No intruders. Nothing but cockroaches. We were laughing at ourselves, but we slept with a chair barricaded against the door, just in case.

Back to Kolkata!

Kolkata is dynamic and fascinating but also on the sketchy side. It’s all in your face and no way to escape. Disembarking at Howrah station with a teeming mass of humanity can be an intimidating experience. T, who had accompanied us from Shantiniketan, warned us to hold on to our bags as we tried to sift through the throng of passengers to reach the exit. We waited out of sight as T arranged a taxi and we started toward Sudder St. Somehow, the places we mentioned (recommended from our guide books) were all booked. (T called so I trust it was true). The cab driver stopped at a rundown hotel down a dark alley. Yes, that sounds promising, doesn’t it? I didn’t like the dilapidated exterior, but thought I would take a look inside to see what they had to offer, even though I knew he would be getting a commission for taking us there. Needless to say, the place was not to my liking. The taxi driver was annoyed. He offered a plan that he would go check out rooms at some other hotels and then come back and get us. What? I insisted we needed to see the rooms, not him. We went to two other hotels in similar states of disrepair and I rejected those as well. The driver said he would take us to one more place and that was it. He was done. The fourth room was tolerable, even though more expensive, so that is where we ended up. T warned us to be extremely modest, since we were in a Muslim neighborhood. I was dressed in a loose salwaar kameez with dupatti scarf, so I thought I was being modest? Anyway, he just wanted to reinforce the issue.
All was well, save a few times when we lost electricity, which meant no fan or AC, and the air became stifling in the room. In the bathroom, the ubiquitous dripping of the faucet lulled us into a stupor. Just when we thought it was becoming unbearable, the electricity revived. T had left us shortly after getting to the hotel, so we were on our own for two days. If Tabby hadn’t gotten sick, we would have been in Kolkata a day earlier. Frankly, I was relieved to have a shorter stay.

In the morning, we found a rickshaw. We told the driver where we were going and he said it would be 50 rupees. Well, he tried to take us somewhere else. He didn’t know what we were saying so he had to ask others for directions. Turns out rickshaws aren’t allowed on Park Street. I don’t know if I believe him. Now, with a new destination, I asked how much it would be. He hesitated and started pedaling faster, saying 500 rupees. What?? I ordered him to stop and let us off. He didn’t listen. When he didn’t slow down, I was getting ready to jump out. I only hoped Tabby was thinking the same thing. He finally did slow. I don’t think he was strong enough to keep up the pace. We got down and I paid him the 50 rupees. He got this insulted look on his face and said “50...EACH!” I don’t think so. “no, we agreed on 50.” We left him scowling, as we wandered down the streets in a strange city that had no street signs. At least none that we could read. We were determined to find the cemetery on our own, and asked a few passers by for directions.
After getting our bearings, and consulting the map, we managed to find it without much trouble. It was only a mile and a half away. 500 rupees. Yeah, right. The Park Street Cemetery contained obelisks, pyramids, and mausolea in memory of the British, many with distinguished careers, who died while living in Kolkata. Many died young from tropical diseases or at sea, and the inscriptions provided a glimpse into the challenging lives they led.

From there we found St. Paul’s Cathedral, and went to the New Market for some souvenir shopping. All that haggling and the persistent touts grew exhausting pretty fast, but we walked all the way back to the hotel.

We had been warned for days that there was going to be a strike, and it happened on Tuesday. Most shops, banks and restaurants were closed. The city was eerie in this state of desertion, such a contrast to its natural state. We went to the Victoria Memorial, where we were at first denied entrance. Someone came over and had a talk with the security guard, and then we were allowed into the gardens. Another person warned us to be aware of any miscreants roaming the premises. Afterwards, we went to the Indian Museum. At this point, we wee starving and opted to eat a very Indian meal at Pizza Hut! Seriously, everything else was closed. We weren’t even sure it would be open. Our waiter told us that Pizza Hut never closes, much to his dismay. During the middle of lunch, all of the waiters lined up and treated us to a synchronized dance routine, Bollywood style. 

That evening, we were scheduled to be on the night train to Bhubaneswar in Orissa. We had reserved an AC3 compartment, so I had high hopes that I would have a better experience this time compared to Darjeeling. When I was here two years ago, I had a similar compartment, which was all good. This time, Howrah station was empty. I guess everyone got scared off by the strike. In fact, our train car only had four other people, in the entire car! I was ecstatic to have the compartment to ourselves! Someone was concerned for our safety and suggested that we move to another nearby car, which had plenty of room as well. Besides a minor smell of garbage combined with rat poison, everything was great. (Did I mention I saw a mouse scurry across the floor near my feet on the train from Shantiniketan to Kolkata? Mom, I’m putting this in for you!) We got a bedroll, and attendants were on hand nearby. They also made sure that we were awake for our intended stop and got off at the right place in the wee hours of the morning. If you can spare the cost, I do recommend the AC car on your next night train ride through India.

Social Events, Bengali style

Dr. Ghosh wanted to take us to a Rotary Club meeting, so I decided that it was the perfect opportunity to wear my sari for the first time. Mrs. Ghosh helped us with the wrapping and the pleating. the worst thing is being so short half the material ends up bunched underneath the petticoat which makes for a bulky fit. I guess there is so much cloth that it doesn’t really show. Also, it’s hard to breath with the drawstring pulled tightly around my waist. Well, higher, because otherwise the underskirt would be dragging on the ground.

We were welcomed at the meeting and given a rose. I was very inspired by all the projects going on that the Rotarians were discussing. And to think that I thought it was a bunch of old rich white guys socializing about boring business and promoting their own interests. I was pleasantly surprised by the spirit of giving back to the communities in need that permeated the projects. One member was a doctor from Germany who had set up a free clinic in a village and had been running it for fifteen years. Someone else organized a camp for children in need of heart surgery where some were able to receive free services because of sponsors that were found by Rotary members.

Another social event that we attended recently was a marriage party of two former students that Dr. Ghosh taught.The parents of the bride were happy to have us come to the wedding, making it an international event. I had attended a ceremony at the LeMont Temple near Chicago, so part of the proceedings I had seen before. However, I was not prepared for the mechanical neon chicken playing drums or the three men wearing masks and dressed as characters. One looked like an elderly Quasimoto, one a portly constable, and the other a clown in ruffly pants.

Beautiful bride on red chair.

Neon chicken playing drums

I have no idea if there is any significance or the costumes were based on availability. The usual marriage trappings were there such as garlands of marigolds adorning the colorful arch at the gate, colorful lights strung over all the buildings, lots and lots of food options. Great desserts. The bride looked gorgeous with her gold jewelry and red sari as she sat receiving gifts and greeting guests. The groom arrived later in a car covered with roses and streamers wearing a head crown that looked like a white layer cake or Sikh temple. Loud fireworks ensued, erupting in the middle of the street. We didn’t stay for the actual ceremony part because that was going to take place in the wee hours as was found to be the most auspicious time by the astrologer. My camera battery was dying so I regret to say that I have few pictures that turned out. Imagine if you will the dazzling feast of color, sound and scents. Hopefully, we are able to go to another wedding so that I can document everything better and stay for the ceremony.

Strangers on Trains: Too Close for Comfort?

Tabby and I went to Darjeeling the first week of February (okay, I know I am behind in writing!) for a weekend jaunt. A very sporting social work student was returning home for a few days and was gracious  and kind enough to let us tag along with her. I cannot thank her and her enough for all that she and her lovely family did to make our stay memorable. They welcomed us with Darjeeling meals, provided escorts so we wouldn’t get lost or charged outrageous prices for being born foreign, and delivered much needed hot water bottles dressed in colorful knitted cozies so that we wouldn’t freeze to death.

Let me start where our adventure begins...on a train. Due to our late purchase of tickets, which was due to a last minute solidification of plans, no air conditioned compartments were available. The weather being colder up north, I didn’t think we would need it anyway. Little did I know what delights awaited me on the rails. It was an eight-ish hour overnight train. We purchased sleeper car tickets. When our student guide (P) told us that there were several other students going as well, it sounded like a lot of fun. Another student brought chicken in that he made drenched in a spicy sauce. We also celebrated a girl’s birthday with cake and singing. Very sweet. Then things turned a bit sour. In order to stay with the students, the group had to persuade two other passengers that they didn’t know to switch tickets because our seats were originally in a different car. No big deal, they said, and the first guy was fine with moving since he was traveling alone. The second guy would have none of it though. He got angry and he also demanded that we lower the middle berth immediately so that he could go to sleep, which meant we all had to go to sleep since with the middle berth down there is not enough room to sit. I smelled alcohol on his breath and thought it more likely that he was near passing out. So, Tabby and I crawled up to the top berths where the train bumped, creaked, and jostled. I felt like a bobble head on top of a rusty spring as I sat staring face to face with a very dusty fan that was attached to the ceiling. Well, to my surprise and delight, to my right, the person in the next upper berth was already asleep...er...passed out. The delightful part is that he reeked of excessive stale alcohol and was snoring loudly. To make matters even more trying, the metal divider separating us was only solid part way up, then the rest was a metal grid designed to ensure air and in this case odor circulation. Above the grid, there was a good four inches of open space. Although I appreciate the attempt to transition from solid to space with an intermediary phase, the design was not working for me because I kept thinking it was enough room for a groper to put his hand through should he arise from his drunken stupor in an amorous mood. His whiskey aroma and deep sonorous serenade of snores prevented the likelihood, yet I still felt uncomfortable about it and remained visibly stiffened.

I thought that my nose would become accustomed to the smell in due time but alas I could not escape the olfactory assault. Meanwhile, as more people fell asleep, the stentorian snores amplified and resonated from one end of the train to another, and the men who argued throughout the night were inspired to compete to be heard. Their voices harangued with the thundering train as we blasted through the black night.

My repugnant berth mate continued his oozing of fumes, and who was it that now was producing an abundance of flatulence? I think the guy below me. But where was the smell of urine wafting from in the distance? So many layers going on. I opened up a Wet One cloth and draped it over the roll bar near my nose in an attempt to try to sleep. (Note to self: bring emergency air freshener next time!) I kept my body curled as far away from Stale Stoli as possible, which meant that I had to stay on one side permanently, which isn’t my natural sleep pattern. I am like a Libra cat and need to keep changing positions so that all sides are evenly balanced. But, sleeper car mattresses are rock hard and I was getting a cramp in my hip. My next plan of attack was to residually get drunk because of my proximity to the besotted one and maybe that would coax me to lose consciousness. Nothing doing. I tried to find my happy place or at least astral travel to a land of neutrality, but I was aware of breathing alcohol in its gaseous and vaporous form all night. I woke up, and I am using that term very loosely, feeling hung over and extremely grumpy. Ah, had we arrived at Darjeeling with its Himalayan tea plantations? No, we had a three hour shared jeep ride yet to go. P sat in front and Tabby and I got into the second row where two other people already sat. Tabby and I are tiny, yet when I shut the door I couldn’t straighten my shoulders because there wasn’t enough room. Tabby and I had less than half the space because the other two people took up more room. So, with my hip feeling out of joint, now my back began to hurt from staying twisted in one direction, which was the same direction that I had been sleeping all night. If only I was on the other side and could unwind the spine from the night.  

And then the mountains began. These were not roads for non-professionals. Corkscrew hairpins at steep inclines and only one lane at the edge of the mountain without guard rails for two way traffic made it a hair raising experience. Good thing I am not prone to motion sickness. I had put on my magic wrist bands just in case. We were technically only in the foothills of the Himalayas, but it's much hillier than Chicago's midwestern flatlands.

In Darjeeling, we went to Tiger Hill to watch the sunrise, getting up at 4 a.m. It was gorgeous but too cloudy to see the Himalayan ridge. We also hiked to the Tibetan Refugee center and rode the narrow gauge toy train which is powered by coal and snakes in and out of traffic. I thought I had had enough of trains, but this ride I thoroughly enjoyed. I will try to post a short video for you gypsies, hobos, and train aficionados to vicariously ride the rails with me.

The temperature difference in Darjeeling was anticipated, yet still jarring. It didn’t help that our hotel did not have heat or space heaters. And, a mysterious puddle seemed to be creeping underneath my bed, staining the carpet dark and making everything feel damp. Did I mention that the toilet wasn’t flushing? Yes, it was Western, so there is that. The hotel staff said that we needed to put water in it to make it flush. It didn’t help. When we explained it to P’s mom, she said no, you don’t put the water in the bowl like we were doing, but in the tank. Oops. It still only worked one out of four times. We did not have a geyser, which the Indians pronounce geezer, so no hot water. I always picture a wrinkled old man in the bathroom when I hear it said. I had been wearing about five layers of clothing and thought the extra layer of dirt (mixed with coal from the train that passed by our window) could only help retain warmth. So, no showers for about four days total because of the night trains. It happens. All the rules change in a new context. (More on that in a post where I have no adventures to report!) Luckily, P’s mom helped us out by bringing hot water bottles for us to sleep with, which, along with out newly purchases Tibetan shawls, helped immensely to  take the edge off.

Now, I have gotten to the way back. We were on our own this time. I requested lower berths because of such an impactful upper berth journey which I was loathe to repeat. All the other compartment mates were male. I did the math and counted one extra person sitting there.  Hmmm. Was he just hanging out visiting his buddies for a while? Later, as people began to climb to recline in their berths, one man started talking to me in Bengali. When I didn’t understand he said a word in English. I thought he wanted to know if he could turn off the light. I said yes. He started to spread out his burlap bag and sheet on the floor between Tabby and me. Huh? Oh, I get it, he had said “lie.” I looked at him in disbelief. Hell, no. I was not going to be sleeping with another strange guy only inches away from me, within groping distance! Tell me, friends,did I overreact? If we were Indian women that he did not know, would he have asked to sleep there? I think not. So, I went into bad ass urban girl mode and said no way. I guess I made a scene because people were looking at me from all around. I went up and down the car and no other extra dudes were sleeping on the floor. So, I gestured, because no one spoke English, that he should move to someone else’s floor. One guy thought it was hilarious that I was angry and confused so I gave him a few words. Not sure he understood but I felt better doing it! The floor interloper did move but only to join one of his friends on his berth where they spent a cozy night, I am sure. When I told the conductor about the incident he didn’t care or understand, and shrugged me off.  So, again I was revved up and uncomfortable with so many strange men around me. It is probable that he meant no harm and just didn’t have his own ticket, but I didn’t want the possibility of anything happening. As during the up journey, I didn’t sleep going back down. Next train, we are getting the AC car, which is a more expensive, comfortable, supplies a bedroll at a small cost, and is attended by train staff. Is it too good to be true? We will see on our way to Bhubaneswar!

As I was triggered by these experiences of strangers in close proximity, it brings up some otherwise unknown fears that  I will explore further in my reflections. Is it because of the invasion of my personal space or because they were men, or both? What other fears are lurking that I will discover? Whatever is asking for attention, I hope to resolve and heal.

My Internship, My Cottage: Amar Kutir

Background

Amar Kutir was founded as a place of refuge for political prisoners who were recently released from jail. Susen Mukhopadhyay, a young revolutionary freedom fighter, was inspired by Rabindranath Tagore’s newly initiated rural reconstruction plan that was being carried out in Santiniketan. He was also influenced by Gandhi, and combined the ideas of these two legendary figures to build a commune that pursued such activities as block printing, hand loom weaving, and leather work.

Rabindranath Tagore promoted self-sustainability and rural development. He envisioned a cooperative society steeped in sustainable agriculture, horticulture, and animal husbandry along with rural artisan handicrafts. Amar Kutir seeks to promote and expand this vision.

Currently, Amar Kutir’s primary objectives are to promote self-help groups develop thrift savings and link microfinance to handicraft development , and to enhance self-employment opportunities in order to alleviate poverty. Self-help groups were created in India in order to combat poverty by making credit accessible to people struggling with poverty. Based on the principles of community, empowerment, and democracy, this scheme puts the rural person’s quality of life into his/her hands. A minimum of 6 people, predominantly rural women, comprise the self-help group, where each member contributes monthly dues, which are accumulated and can be used for loans to an individual in the group or to provide insurance.

Rabindranath Tagore integrated art and craft into a respectable form. At one time, society exalted fine artists yet held a condescending attitude towards craftspeople. Tagore tried to break down this barrier, and educated people on the importance of folk arts by stressing that even popular folk expressions could reach a higher level. He believed in combining form and function. Because of Tagore’s inflluence, caste barriers were also broken. Brahmins took up leatherwork, which was previously unheard of. As crafts were freed from their traditional shackles, Tagore also carried his message beyond India to the outside world. He, in turn, brought back ideas from the rest of the world and “Indianized” their forms. Throughout Tagore’s teachings, balance and harmony are stressed, and he advocated keeping in tune with nature.

Marketing and the Future

Design development and marketing are stressed to increase the economic capacity of its members. The society markets its own products as well as acts as a means of dissemination and commercial display of quality objects brought in by freelance/individual craftspeople throughout the region. Thus, indirectly, the organization accommodates more than 1000 craftspeople besides regularly employing a crew of permanent workers.

In addition, Amar Kutir Society for Rural Development funds from its own profits programs in health, education, and the environment in order to strengthen society in a holistic way. Two areas of interest for expansion include forestation and establishing medical clinics.

Kolkata, the town formerly known as Calcutta

After the airport parking lot, my first experience in Kolkata was a hectic, honk-filled midnight drive that subsided into clearer roads as our two hour drive to the other side of town progressed. Time being transported became adventures in themselves, instead of moments where I typically zone out. I will try to upload a video here in the future but today my connection is too slow.

We stayed at guest rooms down the street from CINI, Child in Need Institute. The CINI complex houses women and children temporarily so that they can teach mothers about nutrition, HIV/AIDS, family planning, and child development. Malnutrition is a big problem in India, and is not simply a matter of food quality and quantity. Equally important are two other prongs, hygiene and emotional support. Giving nutritious food does no good if diarrhea and dehydration are present. CINI has a mini clinic where women come from miles away to access health services for themselves and their children.

The next agency we visited was Antara, a family residential complex for people with mental illnesses. Mother Teresa was one of the founding members of this organization. Services are offered free of charge to those diagnosed with bipolar or schizophrenia who are below the poverty line. Drug additions are also treated. Some counseling sessions were going on in what were called “social work cubicles” with only a curtain for a door. This makes sense in a country where activities take place publicly because of the sheer number of people in a given density, although in the United States, the social worker would be violating confidentiality.

Lunch was an interesting experience in community. Staff, residents, volunteers, guests, and families dine together, mingling amongst each other, eating in a large room with long tables. Afterwards, each person washes their own dishes at a trough-like sink with ten or twelve spigots.

Kalighat
It was my idea to go and I think I traumatized Tabby. Kali is the main Hindu goddess of West Bengal. She is quite powerful and depicted with her red tongue sticking out and a garlande with gruesome dangling skulls around her. She also has matching skull earrings to coordinate her outfit. Her aspect represents destruction of outdated patterns that lack authenticity, in order to bring forth the new truth of the moment. Her fierceness is like a mother's love. Her swift sword cuts through the illusion of time into transcendence. I wanted to experience a visit to a Kali temple so I suggested to Abhishek that we visit Kalighat. He warned us that it wouldn’t smell too pleasant and would be very crowded, since it was the day of prayer.

We stuck close to Abhishek, as he wended his way through the market maze. He had warned us to watch our purses and not bring any money with us. Throngs of people were queued up in concentric circles around the temple, the women dressed in colorful saris. Then we approached the smelly part, although the visuals were what struck me more. Considering animal sacrifice was happening before our eyes, it didn’t smell that bad.

Kali devotees were surrounding lambs and goats that were prayed over and the animal’s foreheads were smeared with orange paste as they awaited their turns. In another area, the throats of the animals were cut. Black blood left a residue against the wall. The fur was stripped to reveal entrails as the carcasses hung. The animal sacrifice is an attempt to cleanse the self of the parts within the human that are like the animal, so said the local guide who began to follow us.

Barefooted men carried the slaughtered animals, stepping through trails of fresh blood droplets that we tried to step around. After the slaughtering spectacle, the local guide who we were now following showed us the bathing pool filled with water from the Ganges where people bathed before approaching their goddess. The guide led us to a small shrine where he was taking donations. Abhishek swooped in at this point to rescue us, as we were clearly marked because we were Westerners and therefore rich. Thank you, Abhishek! I think babysitting us gave him his first gray hair.

I did know a bit about what I was getting into by going to Kalighat, although it surpassed my expectations in unexpected ways. Just so you know, most Hindus do not participate in animal slaughter, and wish not to harm living things. I myself didn’t quite expect to see it up close and personal. I am pretty sure Tabby did not either. I hope she can forgive me!