Kali Kali Kali Ghat to Darjeeling

Kolkata: My last day in Kolkata I went to visit Kali Temple at Kali Ghat. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with tourist places. I took the subway from Park St, near Sudder St. The subway worked easily enough... go to a ticket window to get the ticket, then board the train. I intently peered out the windows at every stop looking for the English signs denoting the name of the station. I got out at the right stop, and didn't have a decent map of Kolkata, so I remembered the general direction to the Kali Temple and started walking. I found myself in a delightful local neighborhood on a small market street lined with stalls selling vegetables and fruits and meats. Not many people and very few cars. Definitely not a tourist area as no one approached me. So refreshing. I wandered onwards and discovered some crematoriums along the river. I checked one of the them out, not sure if it was the temple or not. Onwards I strolled through the quiet neighborhood until a man sitting at a tea stall called and waved me over. I decided to ignore my initial response to keep walking in a land full of touts. My action proved good as I was treated to some chai by some local business men. Only one spoke much English. The others asked questions through him. It was nice and sincere. Plus we were able to communicate some more complicated thoughts beyond the usual: what is your name? where are you from? first time india? are you married? why not? We talked of exchange rates and prices in the US... so many times people think that US money is as big in the states as it is in India. After a good 30 minutes, I left with a fond memory of some nice folks. As I walked onwards, I passed a group of young men playing caroom. They motioned me over and bought me chai. I felt a bit uncomfortable as they seemed to make fun of me. Soon a friend of theirs showed up who spoke better English. We enjoyed some nice talk as well. My suspicions were confirmed when he berated one of his friends for joking about me in Hindi. He showed me his motorcycle... a prized possession. He was the only son in a family of six and enjoyed monetary benefits for the fact. He explained how he was a bit wreckless with the money buying motorbikes. After 30 minutes or so, I parted... on parting he told how he'd be happy to play tour guide for me and my friends at 500 rs / day.



I was ready for some down time as I left... the strain of communication, and the unsurety of where one stands with a group can be draining. I found my way to Kali Temple and was led in by a self appointed guide. It was a mob scene of Hindis. I'm not sure if I saw any other tourists. I warily, and hesitantly stepped in to the mayhem. My guide said I needed to wash my hands with flowers and as I stood a bit spellbound by the massive crowd and commotion, he got some flowers and incense for me. I smelled a rip off, but wasn't bold enough to leave. He said the goods were 10rs, and that I could pay later. He took me to the front of the long line and into a crowded anteroom and led me through the crowd to a viewing point of the Kali statue which was hidden behind crowds. There was fighting and pushing in the room where the statue was. Luckily I wasn't Hindu so I wasn't able to go there. After several minutes of me thinking I ought leave, the crowd parted for a moment and I saw Kali. Then my guide led me out and around to another anteroom where a "priest" stood by a decorated tree. He led me through praying for my family and hanging my flowers on the tree. Then came the "money shot". He showed me a book where visitors signed and put how much they donated. On the page were Japanese visitors who allegedly gave 2500rs or more each... like $75 USD. He asked me to write down what I wanted to donate. He wanted me to write down the amount before I looked in my wallet, which I ought to have done as my thought was to give 20 rs, or maybe 40rs. My guide had slyly pointed to an area which he said was a kitchen out of which they fed the poor. I doubted it. The priest suggested 500rs and indicated that I would be honoring my country as I signed in the guestbook. I looked in my wallet and unfortunately only had a 100rs note and a 5 rs note. I wasn't bold enough to only give 5rs. So I gave the 100rs. The guide and priest suggested I ought to give more, but backed off when I shaked out my wallet and showed them there was nothing more. They quickly dismissed me and somehow waved my payment for the flowers and incense and also for the shoe stand where you leave your shoes for the mandatory barefoot approach to the sacred space.



I quickly left. Angry at the ripoff scheme and at myself for falling into it. The temple didn't feel at all powerful to me and my prayers didn't feel answered. I spent my last 5 rs on some fresh pressed cane juice, and proudly showed my empty wallet when beggars approached me. I spied a lot of red thread in the nearby street stalls, and realized I ought to have bought some and wrapped my wrist before I went in. The priest had wrapped my wrist as a blessing with the same colored yarn. I realized that a good practice when visiting such temples would be to first buy the yarn outside, the wrap yourself so that the touts would think you had already been ripped off. I stewed a bit angry at the perversed spirituality of stripping tourists of ridiculous sums for blessings that didn't feel real. I thought how much futher my 100rs would have gone at Mother Teresa's. Then I tried to let go of my anger. I walked down a side alley to a river and watched a couple of guys sift through river sludge for things of value. Some kids swam. About 8 m upstream a little boy shit in the river and a young man peed. An older man came with his offerings for the river (flowers and such for the gods). He threw them in along with the plastic bags he they came in from the vendor. No sense of pollution here. I tried not to let it stretch my mind. You just have to watch sometimes as an outsider in a foreign culture and try not to judge.

Later that night, Martina and I boarded the train to NJP... the nearest train station to Darjeeling. It was a typical train ride in India. We road 2nd class sleeper which is fan as opposed to air conditioned. The seats are long benches that serve as cots. Three people sit on a bench. When it is time to sleep, two benches folded against the wall above the lowest one are dropped down and everyone goes to bed. It is reasonably comfortable, more so than reclining seats used in the U.S. on buses and trains. The vinyl was sticky and grimy... if I'd been smart I'd have packed a sheet or something. I awoke early and watched the villages of the plains pass by. Mud thatch houses and water buffalo. We pulled into NJP station early in the morning and found four other westerners in our car. We decided to travel together to Darjeeling.

First we had breakfast at a local place near the restaurant. There was no menu and we ordered what the locals were eating. Puri sabji. Puri are fried chapati. Sabji is stewed potatoes, sometimes with chickpeas. Me and another fellow ordered some curd. When we paid the bill, we found out the error of making assumptions. They tried to charge us 40 rs each for the puri sabji, which usually runs 10-15rs in such places; and 20 rs for each curd, which is normally 5-10rs. We balked and argued the prices and ended up just leaving what we felt was appropriate. It was then that one of our travel mates said that in the train station restaurant prices are regulated and cheap! I had steered away from the train station vendors because in the U.S. such places are usually more expensive.

We took at share taxi to Shiliguri where we got a jeep for Darjeeling. It was a long 4 hour ride on winding roads. The first thing different was the driving habits. In the mountains, they actually back up. And horn honking is used to signal approaches on blind curves. The roads are often single lane or one and a half. So sometimes one vehicle backs up to a wider spot so oncoming vehicles can pass. Mountain drivers in India, I feel are some of the best drivers in the world. Often passing each other with only an inch or two of clearance!

The mountain villages provided quite different scenery from the hubbub of Kolkata. Steep hillsides. Steep switchbacks on the roads. We passed a baby defecating on a piece of newspaper in the road. We arrived in Darjeeling to find most of the hotels full of Bengali tourists. It took a couple hours to find a place that had rooms for us all and was reasonably priced. We settled in to the hill station of Darjeeling.