So where to begin, after the past two weeks when I have not blogged, which included the departure of our beloved Jenny, and a trip to Konark, to the Indian Ocean? Where to begin explain how much is being filtered by my heart and mind right now? With the play-by-play, I can explain how we took an overnight train to Bhubaniswar (we called it boobie, and also bibidibobidiboo, since none of us could pronounce it) and the 2 hour car ride to the coast to Konark, where we caught our first dazzling view of the olive green bay of Bengal, the white caps, the palm trees. I can tell how I got a sunburn at the sun temple, even though it was raining and I was barefoot under the shelter of a brightly striped umbrella. I can tell you there were monkeys on the roof of the hotel, and I can even try to explain the masterful paintings (painted with brushes made from mouse tail hair. imagine the details of these works!) we saw and bought at a artists colony somewhere in the palm forest 1.5 hours from Konark. We swam in the Bay, only going into to our knees because of the ankle-wrenching rip tides, emerging to run the frothy surf like children or wild horses. I painted a picture using seawater to moisten my watercolors. We were titillated and tantalized by the reliefs of Kama Sutra on the Sun Temple built around 1100 C.E. And we went to a Buddhist Stupa on a small mountain. There are herds of cows striped with ribs with years of grazing in the streets roaming the avenues and beach and rice paddies with colorful saris crouched in their depths, and palm-thatched huts made out of waves of aluminum and child-made bricks. We learned that the rolling blackouts that strike Kolkata are an even more frequent occurrence in the rural Orissa, where the lights, TV, and AC will go out at a moment's notice two or three times a day. This makes the stray dogs outside our room howl like werewolves, much to my dismay. We discovered puri, little things like sopapillas, only one eats them savory, though we requested jam.
What I can only describe but not really communicate is the way everyone stared and pointed at us. There's a strange feeling I have not yet learned to explain that comes from gazing out the window of a van, knowing that glass is not the only thing separating me from the barefoot people stopping their work to watch us pass, mouths open. I have never been so tragically aware of my gender and race than I am in India. For example, last night some of us went with 2 friends to a disco. Or we thought it would just be one. We ended up out until 4:00am because Manesh knows people in high places and we were paraded around to Kolkata's five most exclusive clubs, walking in with a breeze (except for at Roxy, where they would not let Ishani and Ahana, the two ethnic Indians in the group in. if their Indianness is why they were kept out I do not know, but I can look for patterns as well as anyone), and allowed to climb out of our Tata car (all 9 of us, from a big hatchback!) before the slick white Mercedes could unload their leggy passengers. And then there are the cameras. The flashes and snaps of shutters capturing Ashley's fair skin, Rhi's dance moves, my mane of blond hair, the Indian men lurking in the background. The free shots of vodka. Sometimes I feel like my presence at All Bengal does more harm than good. It makes me so sad when the gorgeous 16-year-old girls (like Pooja, who was left on a train when she was 5 by a father who had killed her mother by pouring acid on her,) spend all of their minimal English telling Hannah and Kseniya and I how beautiful we are. How our white skin is so beautiful and their "black" skin is not. Their self-esteem is crippled and it kills me. There are ads everywhere for skin-whitening creams and soaps. Queen Victoria, what have you done to these people? In the U.S. women spend money to be tan. In India men and women spend money to make them selves fairer. Does that seem right to you?
On the funny end of things, though, there was last night at 3:30 when Menesh finally felt we had seen enough of NightLifeKolkata and we made out way home. And got a flat tire. So we now have a new joke. "How many American girls does it take to change a tire?" In the end, Manesh found a taxi driver who did it for Rs. 60 (about $1.25) because he didn't want us standing in the road. Instead he turned up the techno remixes of Lady Gaga and Flo Rida and the like so we could have a soundtrack while he stood over the narrow-shouldered cab driver.
I now have plans for travel during the 2-week long break at Durga Puja (a big festival with the goddess Durga, the consort of Shiva involving massive temporary bamboo structures throughout the city and an eventual submersion of the deities in the Ganges.) As a group (which I’m less than enthused about, only because a group of 11 is much harder to organize than a group of 4 or 5) we're taking an overnight train to Varanasi, where Lord Buddha gave his first sermon, and after two days on to Agra to see the Taj Mahal, and then after another 2 days to Jaipur (nick-named the "pink city" because of the color the city walls turn at dusk), in the state of Rajasthan, which is famous for the fierce warlord-tribesmen of old. So, that should be awesome, assuming I don't kill anyone. Not mentioning any names, of course..... dang it.
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