I wonder if it's possible to experience a more stark juxtaposition of human reality than as a guest of the Oberoi Grand in Calcutta?
In many ways I feel this luxury hotel, protected by wrought iron gates, metal detector screening and a military check point, represents a new Fort William - the original colonial outpost sacked during the series of events leading up to the Black Hole of Calcutta incident. Many of the guests we share the hotel with - much of the time ourselves included - seem in the business of denying the outside world exists and relish protection from it. Few can blame us.
After two days exploring the 'outside world' the sheer poverty, destitution and squalor of Calcutta has become starkly apparent, but so too has the great dignity of those battling it. Just as the foul stench of excrement, urine and rotting refuse is battled - and for the most part overcome by - the intoxicating cocktail of spices, incense and perfumes; so the optimism inspired by the determination and resilience of Calcutta's poor overwhelms the emotional impact of the abject deprivation suffered by this unfortunate multitude.
It isn't just the ubiquitous urine and festering rubbish, it is the vulnerable victims that shock. Such as the heart-wrenching view of mangey and often crippled wild dogs stalking the streets in search of scraps to eat. There are so many limbless lepers and cripples not shy to parade their stumps for donations that we are already in danger of becoming de-sensitised to such a shocking image. Whereas I will never be able to be de-sensitized by the mal nourished babes thrust in our faces by their desperate mothers amid pleas for alms.
In particular we were struck by the little girl - no older than 10 I don't think - who greeted us outside Mother Teresa's House with helpfulness and apparent altruism only to set about us on the way out with a very clear intention to extract payment for her earlier directions and effusive welcome. When we went to offer a small donation she replied insistently that she did not want money, and frog marched us to the nearby shop to buy her the food she and her family needed. Her highly adept "working" of tourists is to be admired and the hope her survival instinct inspires is infectious. It is perhaps ironic that outside the doors of Mother Teresa's home for 50 years, this little girl was able to extract from me a greater donation than the saint-to-be's own sisters!
Contrasted with the guests at Oberoi - myself included - who nonchalantly graze at all you eat breakfasts and limitless buffet lunches and then lie by the pool in the sun; the so-called uncivilized masses have a great deal to teach us all. However, they also have a great deal to learn. The streets are mayhem, bedlam even, and the traffic a reason-less throng of speeding taxis and trucks - bereft of lanes or traffic lights - blended with the crossing pedestrians in a bizarre dance of danger and risk. So many times we ran the gauntlets of chaotic, devil-may-care traffic, but it wasn't until we took a taxi that the dodgem-like chaos appeared to take on some rhyme. It seems relentless beeping for the horn is the only way to ensure survival - producing an incessant din that is frankly maddening.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think I have ever enjoyed any hospitality more than the Oberoi. The hotel is filled with a musty ambience of a bygone era - the British Raj. It can boast India's very first lifts, the original we ride to our room today. Only a short walk to the nearby Eden Gardens Stadium, it's the perfect billet for the cricket press and players alike, here for the third test between England and India and so there's a great air of civilisation brought by the likes of Mike Atherton eating his breakfast and working by the pool. The attentiveness of the staff leaves you feeling like royalty and the peaceful pool, welcoming bar and sanctuary-giving lobby are lovable. I must admit that on day two we still have not eaten outside the Oberoi's four walls.
But we have ventured out and walked the streets for many kilometers drinking in the disturbing sights, stomach quenching aromas and infuriating noise; as well as marvelling at the scale and gradieur of the remaining Raj-era architecture. We have dived head long into the culture shock that comes from any visit to India and have loved every minute. Having been to India too long ago to remember well, I am being reminded that what is so addictive about this insane country is what it teaches you about life and the living of it. It can be so intense that if you are lucky enough to take refuge in somewhere like the Oberoi, you need to merely in order to process India's lessons. As I do so during the coming two months', I hope to share them here, so watch this space.