It didn't take long for me to go to sleep as it was nearly 4AM by the time my head hit the pillow and I was exhausted. However, I wasn't able to sleep much because the train bunks are not terribly comfortable and it got light out pretty quickly. In the morning there were countless vendors that came by offering chai, omelets, bread with potatoes and more in their typically nasal call. I bought a bread and potato snack because I was famished. It was only okay, but I figured it would be a while before I could eat. For the next few hours I nodded off here and there until we got pretty close to Kolkata.
We arrived at nearly noon almost 5 hours late, cutting into my already limited amount of time in this city. As I was about to exit the train, a porter cambe by and insisted on taking my bag. After initially resisting, I relented and let him take my bag. It was fortunate I so because it was a really long walk to the taxi stand.
Howrah Station was much larger than any other station I had been to. The porter dropped my bag off at the taxi stand and I got in line to pay for my taxi, a mere 120 INR. The first taxi driver I was given didn't seem to speak any English and refused to take me. The second one was also speaking only in Hindi, but he seemed to understand where I wanted to go after I repeated it several times. The trip from Howrah Station took us over the famed Howrah Bridge and was a fairly short distance. But the large amount of traffic made it take about 20 minutes.
We arrived at the hotel and I had to walk through a cafe to get to the lobby which made me even hungrier. I walked up to the counter and checked in to my room. The lobby was quite small, but very modern looking, and the staff were nice, but not in a very genuine way. A porter followed me up to my room, struggling with my heavy bag. The room was nice, certainly nicer than any other room I'd stayed in so far, but gave me the impression that it was only superficially nice. In any case, I felt comfortable there, and that was the reason I splurged on a nicer hotel in the first place.
After getting situated, showered and freshened up, I went down to the cafe I had first entered to get a quick bite. To my delight they had waffles on the menu, something I had been craving since I left the ashram. The waffles came with apple compote, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and real maple syrup, and I had a mango, pineapple and lime smoothie with it. I was in absolute heaven!
After eating lunch I headed out into the streets towards the New Market, a shopping complex just a few blocks away. Along the way a man started walking with me and telling me how much he loves America, that he was from Gaya, and that he wanted to sell me something to smoke, though I'm a little unsure what exactly. He also tried to get me to come to his store which was in a different market, but I was on a mission and managed to escape. But then a friend of his walked up and began to follow and talk to me. I explained that I was looking for Nahoum's Bakery, a famous Jewish bakery in the market, which he knew of. He took me right to it, which was very helpful because it would have taken me much longer to find on my own.</p>fter getting situated, showered and freshened up, I went down to the cafe I had first entered to get a quick bite. To my delight they had waffles on the menu, something I had been craving since I left the ashram. The waffles came with apple compote, a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and real maple syrup, and I had a mango, pineapple and lime smoothie with it. I was in absolute heaven!
I entered the bakery and spoke to one of the Indians behind the counter explaining that I was looking to visit the synagogues. There are two synagogues in Kolkata that are no longer in use because almost all of the Jews left Kolkata for Israel, but they were preserved by the Nahoum family and available to visit with permission. The Indian man directed me to come behind the counter and speak with an older white man who looked clearly Jewish. I went up to him and told him the same request. He appeared a little surprised, looking at the time and suggested I come back the next day. I realized that it was getting close to sundown on Friday and Shabbat would be beginning soon. I told him that I was leaving early in the morning so he pulled out a sheet of paper with a form printed on it. He filled out the form and signed it and then handed it to me, showing me the address to go to, and I left to get there as quickly as I could.
The guy that had directed me to the bakery was still outside waiting for me and offered to come with, but the sheet of paper gave permission for only one entry. Still he walked me out of the market and a couple blocks away to Sudder Street, a well-known street for tourists, looking for a taxi. We managed to find a driver that understood where I was trying to go, or close to it at least. We agreed on a fare and we were off. He dropped me off on Canning Street in Barabazaar, a mostly Muslim area known for it's wholesale shopping. The narrow streets were filled with people and line on either side with outdoor vendors and shops. I walked to where Google said the temple would be through alleys that I'm sure white Jewish men rarely visit. Still I never felt uncomfortable and I got many smiles from people along the way. As it turned out Google was off by a couple of blocks, but I located the first synagogue, Maghen David.
I showed the note to a man at the gate who led me into the compound. The synagogue was undistinctive from the outside except for a small sign out front. We entered through a large wooden door into a small room with a staircase going up. The man handed me a kippah which I placed on my head as he turned on all of the lights. Looking around I was amazed at how clean and well preserved it was, considering that it had been unused for decades. The temple was beautiful, not too ornate, but there were interesting details everywhere. Most fascinating to me was the ark area. The torah was no longer there, but I could imagine a busy Friday night Shabbat service where dozens of eyes watch reverently as the Torah emerges from it's home. It was Iraqi and Persian Jews that worshipped here for many years until nearly the entire community emigrated to Israel. I turned to my host and asked if he was Jewish, surprised to learn that a Muslim was the caretaker of a Jewish house of God. It seemed interesting and ironic to me, but he showed great respect to this house, and expected that from me. I walked out to the room with the stairs and headed up to the gallery to get a full view of the temple.
After viewing the whole synagogue, I left the building and my host directed me to a sister synagogue located just a few blocks away called Beth-El Synagogue. With his directions, I found it easily enough and noticed how much more distinctive this synagogue looked from the outside. It seemed odd to see the Jewish symbols and Hebrew writing in this mostly Muslim area, but I never felt unsafe or even anxious, as there was a peaceful energy in the air. At the gate I didn't see anyone, but I was able to push the gate open and enter the courtyard. I saw two old men, one dressed in a clearly Islamic style, while the other simply wore a dhoti and kurta. Showing them the form, the second one went and fetched the key to the building and unlocked the front door, and lit up the room for me. I asked if he was Muslim which he confirmed as he handed me a taqiyah (the Muslim equivalent of a kippah). I respectfully placed it on my head even though it was apparently pretty dirty and worn out. Seeing the way these Muslim men showed respect for a synagogue, and seeing some similarities in the customs of these two religions really helped me see a side of Islam that I haven't known since college.
This synagogue looked very similar to Maghen David, though perhaps a bit more ornate. The ark area was decorated a little more lavishly than the rest of the temple. I was particularly struck by some beautiful stained glass, much more extravagant than the first one. After thoroughly documenting the synagogue in photos and in my head I decided to move on in my whirlwind half-day tour of Kolkata. As I left the two old men looked as if they were expecting some money, so I handed one of the 30 INR and noticed a very sour look on his face. I quickly left in case I had accidentally insulted him, not really wanting to wait and find out.
I walked down the street looking for an empty taxi but couldn't find one. I was heading to the Victoria Memorial which didn't really look too far in Google Maps (note to self - Google Maps can be quite deceptive).
It took me over an hour to get to the memorial after passing by the Governor's mansion (which was closed) and Shaheed Minar, a monument to a British commander from the early 19th century.
By the time I got to the Victoria Memorial it was dark out and the memorial was closed. But I met Deev, my Punjabi friend from the train to Rikhiapeeth. Deev had previously offered to show me around Kolkata, an offer I took him up on. After snapping some pictures, we began walking while figuring out a plan for the evening. While we were walking Deev pulled out a small round metal object and handed it to me. It was a Kara, a traditional Sikh bracelet, one of five Articles of Faith that are supposed to be always worn by the devout. He had told me in a text that he had a uniquely Punjabi gift for me, but I was moved by the thoughtfulness of this particular gift.
Our first stop was at a very small restaurant to grab some momos as a snack. We walked all the way and after my afternoon hike, my legs and feet were really tired. Sitting down to eat felt really good. The momos were not bad, especially with the spicy sauce they had at the table, but still fell short of the momos I had in Bodhgaya. After our snack, we hopped on to the metro, India's first, known as the bloodline of Kolkata. We went three stops on our way to Kalighat Temple, a very famous temple dedicated to the fierce goddess Kali. Kolkata is well-known for it's Hindu community's affinity for the Divine Mother in all her forms. It is home to the largest Durga Puja in India during Navratri. Thousands of idols, called Pandals, are created and displayed each on their own street. At the end of the celebration the Pandals are brought into the river as an offering.
When we left the metro, Deev arranged for a rickshaw to the temple, human drawn. Deev told me that only a couple of states still allow human-drawn rickshaws, and he thought I would enjoy the experience. He was right, though I was slightly nervous about being dropped on my head by our driver who was no spring chicken. But we made it in one piece, and it was quite the experience. Having reached the temple, I first noticed how unassuming it seemed from the outside, except for the very top which was lit up in different colors. Deev warned me that I would be asked for money and that I shouldn't feel obligated to give them anything. We stopped at a small shop to remove our shoes and be escorted in by a pandit (a Brahmin priest). Inside was equally unassuming, especially in contrast to some other temples I had seen. The pandit led us around with some commentary, most of which Deev had to translate. The prasad we brought in was used with both of us in a couple of places within the temple, including where the main Kali pandal sat which was being actively worshipped by several men inside an alcove. A priest in the alcove pulled me closer, clearly looking for a pay out which I resisted. A second priest used our remaining prasad to bless us and our families, and then asked for some money. I gave a very modest amount which displeased him as he asked, "Is that all?" and then complained to Deev after I walked away. The experience reminded me of something that Jai Uttal said in his workshop which was that if they want something from you then they're not the real deal. But Deev pointed out that it is also the only way for the priests to make a living. Still, the dishonesty involved tarnishes the feeling of the spiritual intent.
After we left the temple, Deev asked if I would be interested in seeing a Gurdwara, a Sikh temple, which of course I was. It wasn't far from Kalighat so we walked there. Inside we had to remove our shoes, wash our hands, and put on a head covering. I remembered I still had a red splotch on my forehead from Kalighat, but continued as I was told. We walked upstairs and entered the prayer room which was very pink and sparsely furnished. We placed a little money in a donation box and bowed down to the floor. To our right there were three men sitting on a platform, chanting. Two of them were playing harmoniums and the third was playing tabla drums. To our left there was a man handing out Karah Prasad, a sweet flour and ghee mixture. It was quite oily feeling and mushed in my hands, but we sat down and began to eat it. A couple of pieces dropped into my lap and I was told that I should eat them, as the prasad is holy and cannot be wasted. We sat there for a while listening to the chanting. I got really into the music and started swaying and moving my head around. Deev stopped me and told me that I shouldn't move, but instead be still. I found it difficult because I was really into the music, but did as I was asked.
After leaving the Gurdwara, it was about 7PM and I was beginning to get tired having walked so much and running on only 4 hours of sleep. We decided to head to the New Market, taking the metro there. It took only 15 minutes, but there was a large crowd at the market. Deev explained that Christmas is a busy shopping season. We walked toward the market and stopped for some tea. Deev suggested I try a chinese samosa which is filled with noodles instead of potato. It was really interesting, but paled in comparison to a regular samosa. The tea was very tasty and felt really good on my throat which was sore from all the dust in Bodhgaya. Deev and I continued to walk around for a bit and saw a boy shooting a lit up toy into the sky. Thinking the toy was really cool, I bought a few for my nephews.
At this point I felt ready to head back to the hotel, as I still had to pack up and get ready for my flight in the morning. As we headed back, we first stopped at a street stand selling Puchka, a very common street food which is known by many names throughout India (Panipuri, Gup Chup and more). It is made primarily with a puffed out spherical puri bread and filled with spiced water (pani in Hindi). Due to the water, most tourists avoid these snacks, but Deev insisted I try both a sweet and savory one. While they were both interesting, I think they're an acquired taste. Deev was beaming while I ate them, which actually made me a little nervous, like he was hiding something. But he was just excited to see me experience his culture, and I was curious about them ever since I first saw them in Varanasi.
Our last stop was at Deev's request, at Baskin Robbins. Deev bought me a combination of Black Currant and Almond ice cream, which was a delicious combination. We sat down a looked at some special coins that he brought for me, each with an important figure in Indian history. I devoured my ice cream while we were looking through the coins, which Deev noticed and remarked about. But he had one last surprise up his sleeve. He presented me with a beautiful ball-point pen, knowing how I had been writing in my journal. I was overwhelmed with his generosity and selflessness and thanked him repeatedly which he scolded me for. He told me he was grateful for the opportunity to share his home and culture with me in the spirit of selfless giving. Unknowingly, my thank you's were undermining the selfless nature of his gifts, which was not my intent. Still, he knew that I was sincerely grateful and appreciative of everything, so I abided and refrained from thanking him more.
We got back to the hotel close to 9PM and I was absolutely exhausted, but buzzed from such a great evening. We said our goodbyes, hugged, and walked in opposite directions. I wasn't hungry and ended up skipping dinner since I had snacked along the way, so I went straight up to pack and get to bed.
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