(April 26, 2008)

I have read books about India for years, and have always been fascinated by the people and imagery of this majestic place, so when I got the opportunity to travel there with my brother this march, the experience was beyond surreal. I flew in to meet him in Mumbai, and from the moment I stepped off the plane, Canada might as well have been another planet. Here is a country where the people need signs explaining in great detail how to use an escalator (we later saw an entire family fail miserably at their attempt). Here is a country where driving rules do no exist, except for the one that states that every driver must be honking at all times. I had been told that the culture would hit me over the head, and I was not to be disappointed! Beggars, cows, rats, beautiful saris, smiling children, squat toilets, chaotic streets, lush palm trees - and usually all in one single picture frame. Exactly as imagined, they were all there, and in abundance. And who knew there were so many states in this crazy place!

We proceeded through the south, stopping for some endless relaxation in the paradise that is Goa, amazing ruins in Hampi, following by two night trains to Chennai, where we barely made our flight to the Andaman Islands.

It should be said that most backpackers don't seem to make it to the Andaman Islands, which are technically part of India but are really much closer to Myanmar, but we decided to afford ourselves the luxury. It was worth it. When people think of India, they don't normally think of the lush palm trees, coconuts and fresh mangos. All of these things were prevalent in Goa and Hampi, but the Andamans where a place to really enjoy all of these wonders in (relative) peace. The insanity of the Indian culture was ever-present, if not a little watered-down.

All of this was wonderful, and we could have easily stayed in the tropics for the entire month that I was there, but we had a destination looming over our heads: Kolcata (still often spelled Calcutta). Fellow travelers through paradise found it hard to believe that we were following our adventures in the islands with a flight to this, the most notorious of cities in India. Why trade palm trees and flying fish for garbage and disease? Well, we had to meet our mother in New Delhi, so we really had no choice.

We had read that the auto-rickshaw ride in from the Kolcata airport to the downtown could take 2 hours. With this in mind, we were surprised to find streets virtually deserted. Of course, most of the roads were lined with slums and piles of garbage, but the same could be said for Mumbai and even Bangalore. We quickly found our guest house nestled in a series of back streets, and checked in with the friendly Sikhs. The rate was a bit high, at 400 rupees (about ten dollars Canadian), but we were only staying one night. The room turned out to be a fantastic find, perched on the roof of the guest house with the whole top of the building to use as a patio. The guest house itself had amazing old-British charm with marble staircases and dark wood everywhere.

The guest house was peaceful, but as we had arrived in Kolcata on the first day of Holi, venturing outside proved chaotic. I was familiar with Holi as the festival of spring and colours, and had read about Hindu people throwing paint and coloured powder at eachother. We had not realized that businesses would be closed for the holiday, but quickly figured out that this explained the quick drive into the city. It also explained the tourists, as well as many of the locals, frolicking in the streets while covered in paint. Holi breaks down all social barriers as far as the locals are concerned, and adults and children alike had no problem smearing us, willing or not, with pink and purple dye.

Thinking we had gotten through Holi relatively clean, my brother and I didn't realize that the next day would also involve lots of colour. On our second morning, we had breakfast and then decided to wander around the city. This was maybe a bad choice, especially given that we chose to venture into some residential areas.

On our way up the street, we heard tribal-sounding drums coming from an alleyway. Walking through, the alleyway opened up into a courtyard overlooked by balconies.

The light pouring into the courtyard was stunning; the scene was serene and inviting. Once we walked into the courtyard, however, the situation dissolved into chaos. Paint-balloons were being bombed at us, drums were playing, hidden strangers were laughing at us, the foreigners - it was a free-for-all.

A group of paint-covered men in their early twenties ran out from a stairwell, and in their own drunkenly,goodnatured way, insisted on smearing us with paint. We couldn't get away without one of the men covering my face with paint, and then sneakily grabbing my chest. I think he thought I wouldn't notice, but that probably only showed the level of his intoxication. The next twenty minutes were spent being the victims of the neighbourhood children. We were filthy by that point and could hardly be bothered to avoid the paint.

Luckily a hotel manager let us use the workers entrance to wash off at the taps, while the employees stood by and laughed at us. I never realized before just how hard the paint was to get off, and my brother actually ended up with the whites of his eyes dyed purple, not to mention his hair and face. The rest of the day was spent being teased by the locals, especially at the planetarium and the Queen Victoria memorial. We weren't the only ones with paint on us, but we may have been the worst hit. That night we had to take a sleeper train to Varanasi still covered in colour. The stares were embarrassing, but the cries of "Happy Holi" our painted faces evoked from complete strangers was heart-warming.

Back in Canada, people cringe when I tell them that our trip included Kolcata. Much of my trip was tropical beaches and ancient ruins, but I'd say the memory Kolcata stands up to all of those other memories. The streets of the city are beautiful and crazy at the same time. The buildings tower over the streets, but the rustic charm overpowers any sense of claustrophobia. I also experienced more of the things I consider uniquely Indian here than in any other city, including men with trained monkeys on chains, hoards of invasive beggar-children, women sleeping on the sidewalks with their babies, and huge street-markets in the middle of the city in spite of the lack of street space. The filth was incredible (one garbage dump pouring out into the street with crows overhead sticks in my memory especially) but the city was vibrant and welcoming. The people were happy and friendly, and I'll never forget it.

Plus, I don't think there would have been anywhere I would have rather spent Holi.