Oct. 24th, 2011
The day after I got back was a big day in Kolkata. Not only
was it Diwali, the “Festival of Lights” celebrated throughout India, but also
Kali Puja, the festival honoring Hinduism’s most morbid god, which is most
prominently celebrated in Kolkata. My friend Jasma invited me over for a party
at her loft in the suburbs (indoor India). I was hesitant because I needed to
go to the airport that same night to pick up my mom. Jasma insisted that I
would be able to do both, so I agreed. Part of me wanted to stay close to the
streets and experience the neighborhood I was familiar with during all the
celebratory fervor. I had already promised Jasma, though, that not only would I
come, but also that I would cook Moroccan food for the party. So it was settled.
I met Jasma at the mall and we proceeded to do the shopping
for the party. She bought a big candle decoration for the entrance way to her
apartment. Then we went to the grocery store where we bought all the
ingredients for the dishes we would be making. I also got some candies as gifts
for her children, Adu and Tara. There was a very important errand we needed to
run that could not be fulfilled at the mall. Fireworks. If there is one Indian
holiday that requires fireworks, it is Diwali. For this we had to go into a
normal, middle class neighborhood with outdoor markets and storefronts that
opened to the streets. A little closer to the India that I was more familiar
with where bartering to the last rupee was required for even the most
insignificant of items. Jasma made me feel like a kid in a candy store, which
is basically like a Joey in a firework store. We didn’t get anything too
explosive or high-flying, but I was definitely excited. I was most intrigued by
the home-made-looking fireworks. They looked like some sort clay bombs, but the
kind of bomb that you would see in cartoons or clipart.
I spent a couple hours in the kitchen before the party got
started getting my Moroccan dish ready. I was making a tagine, but without the
traditional tagine pot. I still had a jar of Ras-el-hanout, the spice blend
used for tagines, that I had brought from France. Jasma asked if I wanted to
use a pressure cooker, which to me just looked like a big heavy pot. Seemed
fine to me. The maids helped me chop all the vegetables and meat, while also
teaching me some words in both Bengali and Hindi. They were also cooking a
couple dishes and Jasma was working on desserts and pastries. Her sweets were
more of the western, cookie and cake variety, than the syrupy confections
typically found in Kolkata. Before the party, I helped Jasma and her kids light
the candles and decorate the entrance way to her apartment.
One of the most interesting aspects of the night was the
diversity of the guests. The first couple to show up was a German/Malay couple.
Next was a Brazilian couple. Even the Indians were a diverse mix of Sikhs,
Hindus and people from various parts of the country. Seeing as this was a Hindu
holiday, though, with free-flowing alcohol, I didn’t notice any Muslims.
Me and Edmar, from Brazil.
The Moroccan dish, which I learned cooked much faster than I
was used to because of the pressure cooker (never used one before or knew what
it was for), was a big hit. I was nervous about it, but people commented at how
many of the flavors and ingredients resembled Indian cuisine. I also made sure
not to hold back on the spice, which worked well for everyone.
After dark, I started to hear the explosions. If I had been
unaware of this holiday and in Mumbai or Delhi, I would certainly have thought
that we were in the midst of terrorist attacks. They came from all around us. I
stepped out onto their 8th floor deck and watched the fireworks rise
from the neighborhoods and explode in the distance. Within an hour of sunset,
the whole city had a thick haze over it. We eventually went onto the roof of
the building to watch. From 18 stories up we were actually at eye level with
most of the fireworks exploding around us. We could see flashes coming from
ground level from the neighborhoods in the distances. It was awesomely loud. I
had one of the best views in the city, but at the same town, I had the longing
to experience the rowdiness from ground level in the center of the city. I
guess you can’t have it all, and it’s a good reason to make sure I go back.
After getting inspired, we went back down to the parking lot
with our own fireworks. While most of them were pretty tame, there was the
added thrill that some of them would go off prematurely and you would become a
victim of the firework’s shrieking, flaming wrath.
***
Back to the part about my mom visiting. The original plan
was for me to leave the party around 10:30 to pick her up from her 11:00
flight. Late in the afternoon, I got an email from my sister that her flight
from San Francisco to Frankfurt had been delayed because of President Obama
flying in unexpectedly (one of his worst moves as president IMHO). Therefore,
she was going to miss her connecting flight from Frankfurt to Kolkata. This was
her first time leaving the North American continent, and as far as I know, her
first time leaving the country alone, so I was really worried. Big airports can
be intimidating enough, but finding yourself alone for the first time in a
foreign country after a cancelled flight would be downright scary. Since I
couldn’t get in touch with her directly, I called Lufthansa (her airline) and
asked what was going to happen. They said that she was rerouted to Bombay, and
would then change planes and fly to Kolkata. As much as I saw this as a good
cultural experience and a chance for her to deal with all the unpredictable
problems of world travel, I really just wanted her to get there as quickly and
simply as possible. So I put in a polite request with the travel gods to see my
mom safely into Kolkata and hoped for the best.
Since my last time in India, my mom had wanted to come with
me on my next trip to volunteer with Missionaries of Charity. The problem was
that I was never really sure when I would possibly be coming back to India. I
had been planning on it for after graduation from college, but things kept
changing. And now that I had the opportunity to come back, my mom had to act
fast to arrange for a visit. She got her visa, her vaccinations, travel
essentials, a plane ticket and cleared her schedule for late October and early
November. Somehow she got all this done on about six weeks notice. That was an
impressive feat in itself.
So the morning after Diwali, I took a cab with Andi to his
work, and then continued by cab to the airport. I had heard that sometimes
flights from Bombay arrive at the international terminal, so I went there
first. I was running a little late, so after I realized that her plane had
arrived down the street at the domestic terminal, I hustled back that way. By
the time I got there, she was already outside, wandering amongst all the people
going in and out of the airport. It was actually fortunate that she was at this
terminal, since there are not nearly as many hustlers giving you problems and
harassing you as at the international terminal. It was so exciting, yet weird,
to see her. It was the first time I had seen her in over a year and I knew she
was in for the adventure of a lifetime.
She knew that I was not going to molly coddle her when it
came to the difficult aspects of India, and all of its unpredictability. At the
same time, I didn’t want to give her too much shock right off the bat. I had
considered taking the bus into town as I had gotten used to, but really felt
that even though it would be cheaper (and far easier and more comfortable than it
used to be), taking a taxi into town is an incredible experience in itself. On
the way to town, I could tell her excitement about everything around her was
overriding some of the general nervousness that can come with the wild roller
coaster ride of an Indian taxi. One of the exciting things about her visit was
that it gave me a chance to see this city again through fresh eyes. I was
curious about what she would notice about the city that I had either gotten
used to or had missed somehow. Mama is incredibly observant and I knew that she
would have just as much to point out to me as I would have to show her.
Out of respect for my mom, I decided to check out of the
Modern Lodge (which is the furthest thing from modern that I could think of) to
Hotel Galaxy across the street. Galaxy is still basic and fairly cheap, but
much cleaner and more comfortable than the Modern Lodge. It would be a much
more enjoyable place for her to spend her time in Kolkata. I had already
reserved a big room for us. It was old and basic, but still clean. It almost
seemed that it was somebody’s room that we were staying in since there were
random things on the shelves and a couple random cardboard boxes on the floor.
I was worried that my mom would not be into it, but it turned out that she
found it comfy and charming. Best of all, though, were the Sikh guys that ran
the place. They were so incredibly sweet and accommodating. There is something
about Sikhs. As much racial and religious tension as there is in India, it
seems that everyone loves the Sikhs. I really hate to generalize, but they seem
to be some of the most consistently friendly and hospitable people in India.
Their religion is something of a mishmash of Hinduism of Islam, but taking all
the best parts. So there is no prohibition of beef, pork or alcohol. And they
get swords. Yes, mostly they get swords.
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