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The flight to Hyderabad left a couple of hours late, and that from Hyderabad to Calcutta was early (a surprise to us!) but fortunately there was just enough time, and we moved from one plane to the next just as it was boarding. Air Deccan is new, and we had gotten the impression our decision to fly with them was dubious, but it was a pleasurable trip, and cost about a quarter or a third of Indian Airlines. More expensive than the train, but even with the extra waiting and security checks, much more comfortable than an overnight. And seeing India from the air in daylight was interesting. We flew almost straight west from Vizag across the Eastern Ghats and then back over the mountains in a northeasterly direction to Calcutta. Much of the area seemed sparsely settled, even the flats between the mountains, but there are many small villages and an occasional city. Toward evening we crossed the coastline and were shortly landing in Calcutta.
We picked up our baggage and started looking for Sanat, Kunal's father, who met us there with his driver to take us to his home. Long drive, but to our surprise Calcutta looked like a bustling metropolis with lots of new construction, not like the terrible slums we had heard might await us there. It is growing, like all of India, and there are huge areas that are very densely crowded and more than a little dirty, but lots of money is flowing and some of it is flowing toward the poor and homeless. Apparently the communist party in government for the past 20 years or so want to remain, and they are working to mollify the restive voters.
Sanat is 83, but full of vigor despite physical ailments. We had a
wonderful conversation, touching on many things but most interestingly
on his career in the communist party in West Bengal. As a young man he
did organization, and later research in the history of the labor
movement and the party. He gave us a copy of one of his books, a
collection of articles done in the middle of last century. Nice stuff,
and illuminating beyond the insight into our friend's life. This was
serious work, and Bengal is one of two or three Indian states that has a
communist government today. Another is Kerala, and both are relatively
prosperous -- in India the balancing of opposites and the tolerance of multiplicity seem to have engendered a healthier compromise of social responsibility and entrepreneurial ardor. Sanat, though nominally retired, still goes to his office a couple of days each week.
Next morning we boarded the Santiniketan express. Though it is called a
village, and is only some tens of thousands, the home of Rabindranath
Tagore and the university he founded are widely known. This is where our
friends Sari and Kunal grew up, and we were bound for a three day stay
with Sari's parents, Shubra and Supriyo Tagore. We had been looking
forward to this part of our journey, expecting a relaxing time, perhaps
emulating the style Rabindanath preferred for education, sitting under
the trees and thinking more deeply about things. The time was like that
in a way, though we hardly stopped moving. Walking the village, the
school, the university; seeing the homes and the way of life, the many
small shops (Shubra said there were only three or four when they were
growing up. Santiniketan really is nice, and though bustling and even
crowded at times, still retains the village atmosphere. Maybe it was the
company -- the Tagores know everyone, and we met many of their past students, now with their own new generation of pupils, and saw the love and respect these lovely, elegant people have inspired. An image of this was clear one evening when we looked at a dozen or more invitations they had received for weddings just this week. They said the number was high because a month long ban was just over, but I suspect this is not so unusual.
Supriyo is retired, but is called upon for many functions, opening
ceremonies, community planning meetings, and more. He is an impressive man,
and generous with his time and talents. He's also addicted, he says, to
cricket, and took time when he could to watch the 5-day match between
India and Pakistan, and to teach me a little about this complex and
subtle game. While he was at his investitures and boards, Shubra and
Lefty and I went to the school and the university. Though the students
were off, we could see the traditional style, and take in the
atmosphere. Among other things, we walked through the arts department,
which has many pieces from famous artists, like ?? Beij, who had been
faculty at Santiniketan. We took a bicycle-rickshaw to an adjoining
village (maybe still part of Santiniketan -- hard to keep track). That
mode of transport is an interesting experience. Hard work for the man, but a living. Shubra's driver had just a fringe of white hair, and when I asked, she said,
yes, he has been doing this all his life. We went to a crafts fair, with
beautiful things. We looked at an embroidered quilt or throw that was so
pretty I would have liked it -- reminiscent of American quilts, but finer. But our suitcases are so full. Lefty saw some small metal figures she likes, but we have yet to actually find time to buy anything. Maybe today!
We met Supriyo after the fair, for a musical evening in a new, beautiful
community hall and theater. First there was classical singing, actually
Tagore songs, by a man who is renowned, and also teaches at the
university. His son sang, and then the father. Though we could not
understand the Bengali, his voice carried the content into our beings;
both Lefty and I were deeply affected. The last song almost brought tears, and later Supriyo said that probably was sung in memorium to the wife and mother who had died suddenly just two months ago.
The program continued with drumming accompaniment, the long horizontal
drum and tabla, an esragh and a harmonium. Then we were treated to
dancing, much the same style as in Chennai, at the Kalakshetra, but in
this case not a classical story but many vignettes. The time at
Santiniketan was a delight, with touches of elegance and beauty.
And a new understanding of background and history of people we know,
as well as insight into a specially bright spot of Indian culture
created by the man called simply "The Poet". Rabindranath Tagore.
One of the many things Shubra and Supriyo have given to
make their community healthy is an
orphanage not far from Santiniketan. We visited there one
day, to be charmed by the children they have rescued from a
sad and dangerous fate in the streets of big cities. Here they have
shelter and love, and learn to sing and paint, and they will
become citizens and make their own contributions, based on
an education is a school the Tagores helped to build for
them and the neighboring small communities. It is a
beautiful thing.
Close to the orphanage is a very primitive small village,
where the people continue to live as in ages past. Supriyo
especially wanted us to visit there, and we walked with
Shubra to see and be seen by the villagers. They speak a
different language from the Bengali or Hindi of the wider
culture, and probably have no knowledge of English, which
otherwise is widespread in India. The children
were very curious about us, our white skin and our strange
clothing. But they were very friendly, and were delighted to
be in my pictures, some serious, some smiling, but all
focused in the moment.
There was a chat vendor on the train from Santiniketan to Kolkata, one
of what seemed to be dozens of purveyors of Chai/Coffee, lemon tea,
sandwiches, shoeshines, newspapers, crafts and trinkets, who come aboard while the train is moving slowly. His rig was splendid, and I was so fascinated that I forgot to get my camera. I first noticed what looked like bells hanging on cords, and there was a sort of musical clatter that he made with a spoon in his mixing can. The bells were lids for about eight stainless containers with chickpeas, potatoes, onions, and other ingredients I couldn't identify. With practiced speed he scooped a bit of each into his can, shook some spices or salt, spooned some oil, and after stirring, poured the chat into a neat small bag of precisely folded newspaper. I could almost taste it, but my adventurousness was tempered by experience, so I contented myself with the vision of practical and yet beautiful choreography. Nowhere else have I seen so many varieties of small business and service offerings as in India. This man, like all his comrades, profits very little from his restaurant on a shoulder strap, but it keeps body and soul together. I wish him well.
Back in Kolkata, we were met at the train station by Sanat's driver and the young man who helps at his house, and we piled into the official government Ambassador to be whisked off to the airport. Again, Air Deccan served us well, and we were in Delhi after a couple hours flight.
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