31 July: Part II
Went to Victoria Monument with Melinda and Wendy. Best part was probably taking the metro to get there, from Esplanade we paid 4 rupees each and rode two stops on a clean, crowded, air-conditioned car to the Maidan station. Maidan means "meadow" or "open space" in Hindi, but no one understood my pronunciation. Apparently, the Bengali phrasing is quite different. Seems the hotel concierge had prepared us to interact with Hindi speakers in asking for directions. Pretty funny that it was no help. But we got there eventually. It's a huge building and park. Entrance is 10 rupees for Indian nationals, 150 rupees for foreigners, about $2.50 at today's rate of exchange. Begging children held onto my arm as I walked from the ticket window toward the gate. I didn't look at them. It was an inescapable contrast from last night at New Light. I have not reconciled this inconsistency within me: why not give equally to all? (I won't.) What makes these kids less worthy (?) of a donation than the kids in a program, is it for the donor to judge? (Yes, in practical terms. And we do this all the time in every circumstance.) So I mused on this as I walked to the monument.
You enter through a black iron gate which swings in past two guard sheds/buildings. We were waved through without a glance. The approach to the monument is over a hundred meters, landscaped in the style of European palaces (tempered by English regularity in landscaping...it was neither Versailles nor the Winter Palace, but it was planned and lovely nonetheless.) The walkways are of peachy-brown rocks, kind of like river rocks, but less thin and smooth. Orange clad pilgrims--Shiva devotees (or Shiva divas, I inadvertently called them)--walked barefoot across the stones. I trod the paved sidewalks lining the gardens. Midway along the two-lane entrance/exit walk on the north side is a large statue of Queen Victoria. This monument was erected after her death, planned just weeks after (1901) and begun in 1906. The building weighs 80K tons, it's over 200 feet high, topped by a winged victory, in the Indo-Saracenic style. The architect (whose name I can't recall) didn't want this to be a solely European building, even though it's built in an H formation with domes, porticos and is made of Rajastani marble. Basically, it looks really European to me, with some Eastern touches. Walking through the museum inside (after the metal detectors, de rigeur throughout India) you find portraits, landscapes, weapons from the 17th century onward, statues of former governors of West Bengal, etc. Wendy's favorite parts were going to the second level--she and Melinda were brave enough to circumvent the "no admission" sign and join the other dozens of curious folks for a better view. I was cowed by a glance from a guard and never got up there. But Wendy also really liked the double paneled inscription under the main dome, one from 1857 when Victoria appropriated India from the East India Company to be a subject territory of the British Empire. The second panel quotation, this one from 1877, stated how all Britain's subjects benefited from the equality and justice inherent in the benevolent rule of law (yada yada) and how all subjects were able to meet their potential through application of their talents, merits and qualities, etc. Hard to stomach after the Gandhi museum's very different perspective on British "leadership" in the subcontinent.
We walked next through the gardens (past the geese!) and across streets--always a victory here--to St. Paul's Cathedral. My favorite part was talking to the woman running the small office (like my grandmother's tiny kitchen) of the social service arm of the church. We bought handkerchiefs, small glasses (NOT shot glasses, surely) and other keepsakes in part to help fund their work with 250 destitute children in the area. Speaking of their work, the woman said with a touch of despair, "you know, it's just a drop in the ocean." She paused for a beat, straightened a bit, and added, "but it is a drop." And that sentiment was probably the most important takeaway for me. In fact, it might be what I use at the title for my official reflection paper. St. Paul's is an Anglican Church, one of the oldest English churches in town, and is known for its stained glass windows. Anyone who has seen the great cathedrals of Europe won't do St. Paul's the injustice of comparing it to those Gothic masterpieces. That wouldn't be fair. But in a country that doesn't use much stained glass, St. Paul's is a standout. The white and brown walls (part marble, part wood) were chockablock with the dedications of folks buried there. It made me think of the legions of people who die far away from their homes and families. There were 1/2 dozen worshipers there, with the hymns for the evening's service posted on wooden placards hanging every 30 feet on the walls. Gene had pointed out that the representation of Jesus in this church had borrowed from the Hindu concept of a powerful Shiva. I couldn't find it at first, but when Melinda and Wendy pointed this version of Jesus out to me (just inside the entrance to the left), I had to agree. I would have missed it if not for his tip. And I think he's right. I was looking for a Jesus on the cross, but St. Paul's did not have a prominent crucifixion on display. Paintings, yes. Statues, no.
We had a hard time getting a taxi back, but we got to test our mettle against Kolkata traffic, crossing Nehru street like any other Bengali. I'm learning to stand mid-pack, not out at the edges like the easy targets in a wildebeest herd. We thanked Pavithra for her wonderful work on our behalf, had a great lunch (complete with a scoop of ice cream!) and the most delicious tandoor curd (strained yogurt, cooked with saffron) ever. Now off to spend a few hours with a joint Bengali family. I'm in the mood to listen. Hope my fellow groupmates are napping so they have energy to chat.
Tomorrow we have the morning free, then leave for Varanasi. Hard to believe we're finishing another city now.
Just back from visiting a joint Bengali family, one of the educational coordinators for USIEF, who specializes in academic advising for Fulbright. His family came to West Bengal (this state) from East Bengal (now Bangladesh) just before Partition. Lived in slum for 20 years. Then moved to rented home. Then bought the land on which they built this house, just one level, lived there for many years, built second level, then years later built third. The view from the roof is exquisite. As the light softens, the walk from the home down the muddy lane (next to stagnant water source) becomes suffused with the best light of the day. The family, anchored by the 80-year old matriarch, consists of 5 brothers, their wives and children (one per couple). The eldest sister lives with her husband's family elsewhere, but her son was there to greet us as well. The women, all clad in neatly pressed saris, cooked us a meal of luchis (deep fried Bengali versions of poori...slightly sweet puffed bread pockets, delicious!), channa dal, some kind of Bengali potato, and two types of Bengali sweets, sondesh and rasogulla (these are the Bengali pronunciations. Bengali is much rounder with its vowels than Hindi. Hindi's version is sandesh and rasgulla). I admired the women's jewelry, their bangles, the elegance of their whole demeanor. I asked where they had pinned their saris--just at the shoulder. I also followed up a question with Gene about regional varieties in saris. I need to ask a few ladies here--Melinda suggested the barstaff. What are the prominent and subtle variations in saris according to geography (and other factors, perhaps)? In terms of design, drape, etc.
Five water buffalo followed us down the lane as we left. Thank goodness they weren't in front.
Do you know if saffron is as pricey there as it is here?
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