फर्स्ट निघत इन Calcutta
June 27th 11.59 pm
First Night in Calcutta
Back at the executive pointe guest house. Where “our pleasure is in pleasing you.”
End of the day one in Calcutta. Or “CAL” as she affectionately calls it. Everyone affectionately calls Calcutta this. Hello Cal she says looking out the window at the guest house.
The was a minute where fear came over me and I was reminded of Acapulco when I was maybe 12 on a family vacation and I asked my parents If we could give them all of our money and go home. Would I come here and feel privileged? I don’t. I’m a witness. A witness. Of this amazing place, and God is everywhere.
The words of today are
-As you wish
-self-confidence has no substitute
-this can be arranged
-land up in Cal
-I had an idea about this Leah, but I also had NO idea..
We went to coffee once with Mainak and the NA crew. It was amazing to “land up” with these brothers and sisters in NA. Amazing. I felt instantly at home. Many of them love photography, and we spent time making photos of one another. It was joyful, and beautiful to see Leah with these people who love her so much. So happy to be reunited after nine long years.
Then to the guest house by taxi..it is hilarious to drive: or to ride I should say. On the other side of the road, and everyone beeping politely to pass, no signals to show intention, no rearview mirrors, and no rules whatsoever. It is hard for me to watch the people walking, the foot rickshaws, auto rickshaws, cars, taxis, dogs, and whatnot everywhere. An accident waiting to happen every second, yet we continue to arrive safely. Some taxis have sideswipe marks on the side.
We talk and cry and sleep. I write my heart out to clear my head, and on to the next notion. We wake moments before Mainak buzzes our room, and we are on our way again, barely awake at all. In the taxi again, back to Barista.. the very western coffee shop to sit with the crew, and meet Mala. Mala who wants to start NGO with Mainak to help women gain financial independence. She speaks of going to California or US to fundraise to meet her objectives. She agrees to arrange to take me to shoot women in labor and delivery, in hospital. I have to tell her a date, and she will arrange. We leave and walk to one restaurant with North Indian food. Murti of Krsna everywhere outside. In his many formations. There is a wait, we go to another place. We eat amazing curry, Aloo Mattar (potato and pea) with rice, and my right hand. We say goodbye to Mala, I cry again in the street as I feel Leah embracing what this journey means to her. She suggests to make the trip to Sudder Street.
So we go to Sudder Street tonight, the tourist ghetto (as defined by Lonely Planet, etc) where Leah spent much time with the street kids. She spent much time gathering the kids, caring for them, and providing for them. She speaks of taking taxis, ten in each to the zoo. She is awakening her heart as the familiarities fly by, amidst the honking, the smell, the garbage, and the extreme poverty. Walking and talking with Mainak, reliving memories and laughing, telling stories. She speaks of Morda, the chai wallah she sat with many times 9 years ago, in this alley off Sudder Street, and says she’d like to start there. We order some tea, and I watch the ants crawling in the rice. The man in the teashop has to be too young to be Morda. And after some small talk he asks does she remember him. She says she is waiting for him to remember. It is a great moment, and a beautiful smile on his face I hope I caught it.
She begins to speak of the boys she used to know, and he tells her yes, they are still here. One she thinks of fondly, named Lala comes still in the morning for egg toast at his stand. She remembers back to the days of showing up for tea, and being told she owes 100 rupee; Lala had come by and had egg toast a few times-on Leah's tab.
Then a boy comes up, he remembers Leah immediately, they quietly suggest their identities to one another and I watch as she hesitates to put her arm around him and pull him close. He says he is indeed Rajes(h), with a purple shirt and the darkest, most beautiful skin. He sits down with us for tea and Leah cannot believe this trip to this alley, to this very Chai Wallah has provided this reunion. She tells me after he mentions that he looks good on the outside, but inside is not so good for him. He looks well for a street boy maybe mid 20s with a small rip in his grey suiting dress pants.
They talk of others, who still sleep at the Indian museum at night. Just as they did 9 years ago. They call Israel on the phone, he will come to visit. And Lala still comes by in the morning. More will be revealed.
I describe India as this place with many problems, and people put God first anyway. It is centrally woven into their culture. This is my story and the words I DON”T want to put into anyone’s mouth. No. For now it is still my story, but I must remember to tell theirs.
First Night in Calcutta
Back at the executive pointe guest house. Where “our pleasure is in pleasing you.”
End of the day one in Calcutta. Or “CAL” as she affectionately calls it. Everyone affectionately calls Calcutta this. Hello Cal she says looking out the window at the guest house.
The was a minute where fear came over me and I was reminded of Acapulco when I was maybe 12 on a family vacation and I asked my parents If we could give them all of our money and go home. Would I come here and feel privileged? I don’t. I’m a witness. A witness. Of this amazing place, and God is everywhere.
The words of today are
-As you wish
-self-confidence has no substitute
-this can be arranged
-land up in Cal
-I had an idea about this Leah, but I also had NO idea..
We went to coffee once with Mainak and the NA crew. It was amazing to “land up” with these brothers and sisters in NA. Amazing. I felt instantly at home. Many of them love photography, and we spent time making photos of one another. It was joyful, and beautiful to see Leah with these people who love her so much. So happy to be reunited after nine long years.
Then to the guest house by taxi..it is hilarious to drive: or to ride I should say. On the other side of the road, and everyone beeping politely to pass, no signals to show intention, no rearview mirrors, and no rules whatsoever. It is hard for me to watch the people walking, the foot rickshaws, auto rickshaws, cars, taxis, dogs, and whatnot everywhere. An accident waiting to happen every second, yet we continue to arrive safely. Some taxis have sideswipe marks on the side.
We talk and cry and sleep. I write my heart out to clear my head, and on to the next notion. We wake moments before Mainak buzzes our room, and we are on our way again, barely awake at all. In the taxi again, back to Barista.. the very western coffee shop to sit with the crew, and meet Mala. Mala who wants to start NGO with Mainak to help women gain financial independence. She speaks of going to California or US to fundraise to meet her objectives. She agrees to arrange to take me to shoot women in labor and delivery, in hospital. I have to tell her a date, and she will arrange. We leave and walk to one restaurant with North Indian food. Murti of Krsna everywhere outside. In his many formations. There is a wait, we go to another place. We eat amazing curry, Aloo Mattar (potato and pea) with rice, and my right hand. We say goodbye to Mala, I cry again in the street as I feel Leah embracing what this journey means to her. She suggests to make the trip to Sudder Street.
So we go to Sudder Street tonight, the tourist ghetto (as defined by Lonely Planet, etc) where Leah spent much time with the street kids. She spent much time gathering the kids, caring for them, and providing for them. She speaks of taking taxis, ten in each to the zoo. She is awakening her heart as the familiarities fly by, amidst the honking, the smell, the garbage, and the extreme poverty. Walking and talking with Mainak, reliving memories and laughing, telling stories. She speaks of Morda, the chai wallah she sat with many times 9 years ago, in this alley off Sudder Street, and says she’d like to start there. We order some tea, and I watch the ants crawling in the rice. The man in the teashop has to be too young to be Morda. And after some small talk he asks does she remember him. She says she is waiting for him to remember. It is a great moment, and a beautiful smile on his face I hope I caught it.
She begins to speak of the boys she used to know, and he tells her yes, they are still here. One she thinks of fondly, named Lala comes still in the morning for egg toast at his stand. She remembers back to the days of showing up for tea, and being told she owes 100 rupee; Lala had come by and had egg toast a few times-on Leah's tab.
Then a boy comes up, he remembers Leah immediately, they quietly suggest their identities to one another and I watch as she hesitates to put her arm around him and pull him close. He says he is indeed Rajes(h), with a purple shirt and the darkest, most beautiful skin. He sits down with us for tea and Leah cannot believe this trip to this alley, to this very Chai Wallah has provided this reunion. She tells me after he mentions that he looks good on the outside, but inside is not so good for him. He looks well for a street boy maybe mid 20s with a small rip in his grey suiting dress pants.
They talk of others, who still sleep at the Indian museum at night. Just as they did 9 years ago. They call Israel on the phone, he will come to visit. And Lala still comes by in the morning. More will be revealed.
I describe India as this place with many problems, and people put God first anyway. It is centrally woven into their culture. This is my story and the words I DON”T want to put into anyone’s mouth. No. For now it is still my story, but I must remember to tell theirs.
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