The Road East to India

by Devika A. Rosamund

  I would have liked to talk to the monks as I have read much about the Buddhist religion especially when studying comparative religions at college, and it seems very beautiful and peace-loving to me, but I was not sure whether the monks could speak English or not, and perhaps they would not have spoken to me as a woman, so I did not get the chance.

  However, later I visited The Tibetan Refugee Self-Help Centre – the little village a few kilometres away from the town in the mountains. It is a little communal settlement. The people there all work together making handicrafts to sell – there are carpentry shops where carpenters make carved, grotesque painted masks and furniture; work rooms for spinning and weaving carpets; rooms with cloth to make bags, shawls and belts – with gorgeous embroidery; and a painting workshop with beautiful watercolour paintings of Tibetan gods. There is a little shop from which tourists can buy, and the village has its own hospital, school and a little Buddhist temple. The people there look very happy. I saw the women dying rough wool with vegetable dyes – everything is done by hand and the children run around everywhere. There is a spectacular view from the village as it is at the top of the mountain, like Darjeeling. I like the Tibetan people so much. Some people there were able to speak a little English.

  I also went to see the tea estate called Happy Valley in Darjeeling. It was pleasant walking along the tiny mountain paths through the estate – tea bushes everywhere as far as the eye can see. It is quite beautiful, and I saw women picking the tea in their colourful saris with great woven baskets on their backs. The factory is quite small and I saw the leaves being dried, sorted and sifted. There are nine different grades of tea. I was told that the first grade is export quality tea and is not drunk here at all. Probably most of the tea shops in Darjeeling use the ninth grade tea! I had a cup of chai at a little chai stall on the estate. The tea tasted the same as it does anywhere in India – tea, water, milk, spices and sugar all boiled together in a saucepan – it is far too sweet for me.

  Darjeeling is so beautiful and the climate so much cooler, but in the winter it must get very cold. I think they have quite a lot of snow. Certainly there is always snow on the mountain peaks.

  Chapter Eight

  Calcutta – Bedbugs and Poverty

  Monday, 3rd May 1976

  It is impossible to keep up to date with all the news. Every minute of my time here is filled with interesting and exciting things – there is barely time to rest and drink it all in – let alone write about it all. That seems a waste of time. I don’t have a second of my precious life to spare! Still, I will try!

  At last I decided to leave Darjeeling even though I loved it there. I was tempted to go to Kathmandu but instead I decided to come back to the plains as I really want to see Calcutta and visit Mother Teresa’s Homes, despite dreading the journey here. I travelled on the train by night again, after going by bus from Darjeeling part of the way down the mountain.

  Once down in the plains, the air felt hot and stifling again. Urban India thrust its ugly face at us (or so it seemed to me after the Himalayas) and a feeling of depression swept through me and apparently through the others in my carriage too. For the umpteenth time I thought to myself, ‘How I hate India with its dirt and its slums, its beggars and its stifling heat’. And yet, how strange – after a while the country seems to seep into my veins and become part of me, so that I feel a wild love for it, fed by a hunger of mine to see it and know it and live it… Because India really is an experience to live: so different, so fascinating, so strange, so incredible, I could sit and watch the movements and activities of the many, many people in the streets hour after hour, day after day, and never get bored. There is so much going on.

  I could say right now, truthfully, ‘I love India’ and yet sometimes I loathe it too. I know I am not alone in feeling like this. I have met people who are disillusioned with India, but most people are fascinated by it, and everybody agrees that it is necessary to stay here for a period of time to try to understand the country, to slow down into the pace of life and grow into it and learn about the life of the people – it is so very different from anything anybody could experience anywhere in the West. How I wish I had more time. I would like to stay longer in each place, but I am anxious to see too much – as always.

  When I arrived in Calcutta this morning, I took a rickshaw with an American girl who is also going to stay here a few days. The rickshaws are all pulled by hand here – not bicycle. It is humiliating to be pulled along in a little carriage by a man or boy running as often as not barefoot along the stony, dirty streets of the city. I feel that if they can walk it, then I can too. Since that first ride I have wanted to avoid taking rickshaws here – I would rather travel on the trams and buses, they are much cheaper anyway. There are thousands of rickshaw drivers that bother you on every street corner. I feel sorry for them though. I suppose they can’t afford bicycle rickshaws.

  The buildings in Calcutta look dilapidated. As we were going through the city I saw many that look as though they need renovating or to be pulled down and completely rebuilt. We went to the Salvation Army guest house, which we heard is about the cleanest and cheapest place in town – eleven rupees a night with breakfast – still pretty expensive compared with prices of guest houses in smaller towns.

  When I arrived there with the American girl, we were told that tonight there is only one vacancy, so I left and let her have it. I went down the road and have found the Paragon Hotel where I am now staying. It is only six rupees a night.

  As I said before, my special aim in coming to Calcutta is to see Mother Teresa’s homes. I feel too that as Calcutta is so famous (or infamous) for its poverty and its slums, I ought to see it. It was once the capital of India – when the British were here.

  As soon as I arrived here, I dumped my rucksack and my carrier bag of books that is my luggage, in the Paragon Hotel, and set off to find Mother Teresa’s ‘Home for the Dying and Destitute’. I spoke to someone who has been there and she told me where it is, warning me about the area which is very poor and depressing and unsafe to walk around in alone. She advised me not to go alone but to wait until someone else wanted to go, but I felt that I might have to wait several days for that, so I went alone in a taxi.

  The area is indeed very poor and depressing with dirty stalls and barrows selling things everywhere and people mooning around in the heat. So many beggars came up to me as I got out of the taxi, that I gave to no one – otherwise I knew I would be surrounded. In other parts of Calcutta when coming from the station, I did not see so many beggars as this, and it is possible to give a few paisa without others approaching. I have been told that the city has been cleaned up in the last year and many beggars transported to the country villages where hopefully they will be better off – but possibly they came to Calcutta from the country in the first place to try to find work. Calcutta is so crowded.

  When I arrived at the gate of the Home for the Dying and Destitute, I found it to be barred, but an Indian boy let me in when I knocked. He said it was closed to keep the place cool and because the Sisters (nuns) had just left for their afternoon break. It was just after noon. I went inside and was told that the nuns would be returning at about half past three.

  There was a large hall with low simple beds, dormitory style and there were many fans. The place had a peaceful atmosphere even though it was depressing. Many of the men lying on the beds (this first room was the men’s ward) were like living skeletons. I did not feel repelled by the sight but I did feel pity. However, at least they are inside in this cooler place away from the heat and the dirt and the flies.

  The room was clean and on the walls were Bible quotations and prayers – like I have seen in Catholic homes − and there was a statue of the Virgin Mary and a picture of Mother Teresa. As the patients must all be Hindus, I wondered if it is a bit inappropriate. However, I know that Hindus think of Jesus as another god, or a holy man. Hindus also have the
ir own charitable organisations, sometimes with pictures of Indian gurus on the wall.

  Some of the patients were not thin and some were sitting up and conversing with their neighbours. There were no blankets of course as it is far too hot. When I was not standing directly under a fan, I still poured sweat, but we English of course suffer far more from the heat than Indians do.

  I went into the women’s ward next door. Whereas most of the men wore loin cloths, some of the women and girls wore simple cotton frocks. I was told later that these are sent from abroad and altered by the women using sewing machines.

  I was disappointed that the nuns were not there for me to speak to. The two boy workers spoke a little English and told me it would be a good idea to go to ‘Mother House’ to speak to the Sisters there. They described to me how to get there by tram and bus. But I decided that I was going to wait until they came and I went outside and walked around the area, but I didn’t stay out for more than ten minutes in that midday heat. One small boy came up and beckoned to me to come and see the temple nearby, which I did. It was the temple of the goddess Kali where they have animal sacrifices – how horrible! There were so many beggars and pathetic-looking people around – some looked as though they suffered with stunted growth. When I see places like this in India, I wonder how the human race can get itself into such a terrible state.

  A pack of wild-looking stray dogs, howling and showing their teeth, sent me back quickly to the shelter of the home. It is possible that some of them could have rabies, especially in this area. I have heard of several people who have been bitten by dogs in India. Some of the local people were laughing as I ran away from them. I did not make my fear of these dogs any secret! Many animals in India are so lean and desperate-looking. The cats here make our western cats seem dopey and lazy as they have an air of great alertness; their necks and ears appear to be longer as they look all around them and their faces have a different expression and are much bonier and more protruding. Some dogs in some places are friendly to humans and wag their tails, but I did not see any like that here.

  I went back into the home for a while, and then decided to go out and try to find ‘Mother House’. I thought it would be interesting to see where the nuns lived, but it might have been better to stay and wait for them to come back, because I spent the whole afternoon going on buses and trams around Calcutta looking for the place.

  There are actually very few cars or taxis in Calcutta. The streets are crowded with bicycles, pedestrians, rickshaws and animals, especially cows, walking in the streets. The buses and trams are crammed full of people actually hanging out of the entrances holding on for dear life, sometimes on the roof-tops too, just as I have seen them do on trains. It is almost impossible to squeeze in but they do still squash more people in at every stop.

  The sight of a bus going by is like watching a comic film, but it is not so funny trying to get on one. There is a bus conductor inside who seems to manage to get everyone’s fare – at least I did not get away without paying the twenty paisa (about 2p) but perhaps that is because I was noticed, being European. People sit on the large wire luggage racks on the roof. I think it is cooler for them than sitting inside the bus. On some buses you can see so many people up there that it appears that they are falling over the sides! When I was travelling through Pakistan I used to try to avoid putting my pack on top. If you have luggage up there you have to watch that nothing is stolen out of it.

  I thought I was going to ‘Mother House’ but somebody directed me to the wrong place with the same name and I ended up at about half past four, very tired, at a nursing home! I climbed some stairs and went into a room where I saw some girls sitting. They happened to be a family sitting in their private home! They were so pleased to see me, told me to sit down and chattered away, but I was so tired I could barely bring myself to be sociable. (Last night I was travelling all night on the train!) They invited me to their sister’s wedding next Sunday and I said I will go if I am still in Calcutta!

  I went across to the school opposite to enquire where Mother House was, but really I just wanted to get back to my hotel and sleep. The Indian girl and her younger sister came on the bus with me most of the way, and then she insisted on buying me a drink in a restaurant. People are so nice to me here but I never did find ‘Mother House.’

  Tuesday, 4th May 1976

  Finally I got back to the hotel last night, longing for a good night’s sleep but it was not to be! In the Paragon Hotel there were many low beds with mattresses squashed together in one room. I looked at the mattress I had been allocated and saw that there were what looked like bed-bug eggs on the bed. (I have seen them before!) I decided to take another bed in the room and I lay down on it but it was really hot and I couldn’t sleep. The manager then came up to me and told me I was sleeping in somebody else’s bed, so I told him there were bed bugs in my bed and I refused to move. He made some excuse that they could not get new mattresses. Then he whispered, “You can come and sleep with me in my bed if you like – I have clean mattress.” Typical – he knew I was alone!

  I slept on my bed in the Paragon for an hour and then I woke up and felt myself being bitten by bed-bugs, and I saw some live ones crawling on the bed − they are small, round, flat, red, beetle-like creatures – awful! I went and lay on the floor in between the beds although I was squashed like a sardine. I imagined that all the bugs were coming down at me from all the beds around about, and they probably were because they often live in the wood of the furniture and can smell you. In my frustration I got up and went outside in the courtyard – it was about one o’clock in the morning – where people were still sitting chatting. I found a high metal counter in the corridor where I lay my sleeping bag and climbed up. I had been going to sleep on the ground but somebody pointed out the ‘shrews’ as they called them. They looked more like rats scuttling about to me. I spent a more restful, but hot night on that counter.

  Before I went to sleep I saw a little man moving about. In the morning I was told by somebody that he usually slept up on that counter – that was his bed! He was one of the workers or managers in the hotel – but he never told me to get down so I stayed up there.

  I have heard that in Calcutta there are religious people who pay passers-by to sleep on mattresses in the open air for the night – mattresses full of bed-bugs! They do it to feed the bed-bugs as a religious act of charity! In Hinduism all living creatures have souls. (I also believe that – but I would not give my body to feed bed-bugs!) There are also temples in India where rats are fed, and other temples where monkeys are fed.

  When I woke up this morning I met a girl called Harriet who is also staying at the same hotel, and we went to eat breakfast together at a cafe down the road – rice, chapattis and curry. I told Harriet about my experience in the night and that I wanted to move my things to the Salvation Army guest house if they now had a vacancy for me, because I heard that it is at least clean and cooler. Harriet said she was not going to bother to move as she did not think there were any bed-bugs in her bed. Perhaps she is just lucky, although I doubt it very much as all the beds are squashed close together. I think she must be a heavy sleeper! Anyway, I could not stand to stay there for one more night!

  It is so hot in Calcutta that I pour sweat all the time night and day, but I have made some nice friends here – girls for a change. Harriet I particularly like. She also is travelling alone. She is from Rhodesia, but she told me she worked as an agency nurse in London for a long time to earn her money for travelling. She said she is going east from Calcutta to Thailand and then travelling on to Australia, as was the American girl and so many others I have met. It sounds wonderful. Perhaps next time I might do this!

  Harriet is very well-spoken, very charming, lady-like and quite conventional in her way. I feel at home in her company and I realise that often I get on far better with conventional people even though I am not really conventional myself! Harriet eats
in the cheapest of places. I have found that English people I have met always live much more cheaply than Germans or Americans – perhaps the latter have more money than us!

  Harriet and I went to the cinema together this evening to see ‘Siddhartha’ – the film of a book by Herman Hesse which I love. The price of the cinema was 3 rupees 90 paisa. I really enjoyed the film.

  Over breakfast, I told Harriet about the manager of the Paragon Hotel coming to me in the night and inviting me into his bed. I don’t think Harriet has so much trouble with propositions from men as I do – perhaps I just look the type who would sleep around! I am not though! Twice I have been asked, “Do you belong to the hippy community?” That really annoys me because they call all European travellers ‘hippies’, and most travellers I have met are extremely well-educated with university degrees, if they aren’t students taking a year off from their studies. I have also met so many ex-teachers, and almost all western women wear long skirts because they are more practical here – both because Indian women wear them (saris), and to save their legs being bitten by mosquitoes. I wear my long wrap-around skirt and either a white T-shirt or the black sari top which I bought. I love wearing that.

  Harriet told me she also wanted to see Mother Teresa’s homes, so I moved my things to the Salvation Army hostel where I am now staying, and here we asked for proper directions for visiting Mother Teresa’s Children’s Home for Destitute Babies, which happens to be within walking distance. This time some of the nuns were there. They wear white cotton saris edged with blue and are much more informally dressed than western nuns. They happen to be all Indian nuns but can speak English and are very sweet. They talked a lot to us about the babies – so tiny they were, all lying in cots – some very thin. Many have been brought in off the streets, abandoned by their parents probably because they were too poor to support them. The children range in age from nought years to about six. The older ones looked happy and laughed a lot, flinging their arms around us. I stayed till midday and helped feed the babies. The nuns told us that Mother Teresa is at present in America.