Christmas in Kolkata

December 31, 2015

Christmas started simply. The Theatre group I am traveling with performed on christmas eve.  Between packing up, getting to the hotel, a late dinner and meeting, Christmas arrived quietly during the meeting.  Arjun, one of the actors, turned to me and said happy Christmas. Twenty-four plus hours later, I have to say this was the most unexpected of winter holidays.

A small group of us woke early to catch the train to Kolkata. Others in the company were taking various side trips of their own.  The 2.5 hour local train trip kept me on my toes, and a few other people on my toes as well. Despite the holiday, or possibly because of it, a massive amount of people flowed on and off that train.  To my growing fascination, more flowed on than off;a morning commute of some type.  Increasingly I was squeezed, each time more than I thought possible.  Imagine your hips pressed against another, a belly flattened against your back, a balding man tucked under your arm as you hold desperately to the handle overhead.  An old woman is leaning into your side and another arm crosses your face as some man also holds desperate to a handle overhead. And then more people board.  Oddest of all, though, is the one man standing in front of you indicating with intense animation to move out of his way so he can find a seat.  Really? Me? Move?

As we neared Sealdah (our station), a family behind me asked if I was stopping at Dum – Dum.  No.  So they had to finagle themselves through the smooshed mass to depart. Goodness.  Babies overhead and bags underneath.

In Kolkata, we met with a friend from one of the previous Theatre festivals and immediately took a walk through the tunnel like labyrinth of the street market, looking for breakfast. With only a couple of hours to visit, we hurried along to get to Mother Teresa’s home, our main objective.

Mother Teresa’s Charity Home was a brief stop, where many of the local poor were being served a meal. We continued on to Mother Teresa’s actual residence, which is also where her body rests. I knew only token information about this soon to be saint.  Reading of her work and seeing her simple room, with a rough hewn table and tiny bed, truly moved me.  The intense dedication to an unencumbered life of servitude to the most disenfranchised seemed a fitting experience for Christmas day. How can you not be reminded of the essence of this holiday when faced with the inspirational story of an Albanian woman turned Indian who was as comfortable in the gutter as she was in the world stage and wished for nothing more than  to see to the comfort of others?

We stopped just briefly for a bite to eat (not as you might imagine), and back to the station for the return trip to shantipur, from whence we had come.  Once arrived, we dived back into the Theatre festival, watching some music and art lectures.  That night featured a highly respected production of a reculturized Midsummer’s Night Dream.  The local host (and my friends) invited me to present the traditional after production gift to the director.

A little sufi music ended the increasingly cold night.  We returned to the hotel, where the group I was traveling with staged a simple Christmas party, and a time for me to bid farewell to the company. Cake and a little chocolate and a promise to be ready to travel by 8 am to catch our train.

I intended to run the following morning, but shantipur weather had turned quite chilly, so I engulfed myself in a little extra sleep… Only to be shocked out of bed by a tapping at my door at 6:40 am.  ‘We must leave at 7!’ thankful I did not run, I grabbed as quick a shower as I could and was the last one out on the street.  We rushed to catch a local eco rickshaw, hoping to make the train station in time.  We did.  Barely.  Scrambling aboard the surging morning crowd headed to Kolkata for work. Another 2.5 hour journey of crushing bodies and wooden benches.