Of Bengal, porpoises and boat cruises on the Ganges!

Leaving behind the quaint and gully strewn island town of Navadwip, I stepped onto the massive Teak wood boat that swayed lazily over the forceful Ganges currents. I could spot my fuzzy destination far across the river, its plane banks camouflaged within tall coconut palms, and wild green shrubbery. A tug of rope here, with a spluttering motor there, and we were finally on our way to Mayapur.  District Nadia, West Bengal.

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The Village of Mayapur

The green fields were greener than green, speckled with countless mustard blossoms. They were so brilliant, as bright as a golden canary. I was tempted to run through these yellow dappled fields; my hair blowing in the air, as I sprinted like a weightless fairy to some catchy Bollywood tune that played in my head. However a single toe into the slushy compost that kissed their roots changed my mind. I could definitely be content with just looking, and no touching - natures eye candy per se.

I walked at a safe distant, inhaling the slightly fresher air that was getting bolder with the change of seasons.  West Bengal’s humid summer was lazily giving way to its cooler counterpart. Mayapur is a small village- town of the vibrant Nadia district, sandwiched prettily between the Ganges and Jalangi rivers. One hundred and thirty kilometers north of Kolkata, Mayapur remains unadulterated with its village culture and mentality still running strong through its veins.

Of course the contagion of modernity should never be underestimated. I never failed to snort with laughter whenever I passed outsized brand endorsement posters swallowing thatched chai (tea) stalls. Mayapur’s favourite by far had to be Pepsi, with their dashing celebrities swigging stylishly on their dark colas, a mysterious twinkle in their eyes. Hell, even I felt like buying one, just to confirm that twinkle wasn’t guaranteed.  As I always like to say, “…the proof is in the pudding my friends,” or more specifically in this case NOT in the bubbly drink. Engrossed with such nonsensical logic procured by my entertaining mind, I walked further down the dirt beaten road.

The burning sun had now mellowed out; it’s once lashing rays muted by the nippy evening breeze. October was the season of festivities, and I found myself smack in the middle of Bengal’s biggest one! Durga Puja is the most important festival for Bengalis, and celebrates the home-coming of the Goddess Durga and her four children. Not only does the celebration mark the victory of the Goddess over the buffalo shaped demon Mahishasura, it epitomizes the victory of Good over Evil. A ten day celebration, the puja peaks as the most significant socio-cultural event in Bengali society.

So it was no surprise that the residents of Mayapur went all out (all puns intended). Wrapped in their finest, they strutted along the fancily lit streets, every piece of jewelry they owned flashing boldly with their every movement. Puja was their time to shine- literally as well!

“You’re dressed like my maid” Soma said.

She disapprovingly looked over at my pink stripped kurta-top which was paired with baggy black cotton pants. I disagreed. I had specifically made the effort to brush my hair into a neat bun, rather than the messy mass that usually adorned my crown. I even stuck a big black bindi sticker on my forehead to appear more festive. She ignored my responsive shrug, nervously adjusting her sparkling accessorized hair. I was suddenly surrounded by masses of diamond encrusted chiffon saris, shimmery eye-shadow, dangling earrings, and glossy gleaming lipstick. Maybe I was slightly underdressed.

It was only 6pm, but the sky was very close to charcoal. I smiled back at the staring pilgrims that gathered around us- they strangely found me very amusing.  Famous for nurturing the roots of Gaudiya Vaisnavism (a religious movement founded by Chaitanya Mahaprabhu  in 16th century India ) Mayapur’s holy temple bells rang loud and clear into the early night. Cymbals and drums soon joined the bells, as the clear voiced, sweet chanting of worshiping monks filled the air. It was extraordinarily calming, and I greedily soaked it all in.

The pandals (creatively handmade and decorated structures of bamboo and cloth- famous in Bengal) stood proudly beautiful as we entered to pay our respects to Goddess Durga. Crafted laboriously with Ganges clay and dry straw, the goddess’s gorgeously painted eyes glared down at the speared demon that lay splayed by her rosy feet. Every year the Bengali locals competed to outdo each other by coming up with the most elaborate and innovative pandal themes; their healthy competitive spirit was definitely visually spoiling me for one. Can you imagine a pandal made of nails or rice? Well I didn’t have too…I had solid visual proof. Anyone in their right sense of mind would be in awe at the immense talent and hard work that most definitely went into recreating these fabulous scenes. It’s a real pity that they would be dismantled after a few days.  

I took another moment to gaze, but my attention was snatched by a group of dancing worshipers, who were busy shaking, their every body part, like there was no tomorrow. Six powerful boom boxes blasted the most popular tunes as arms and legs flung out enthusiastically to various rhythms and beats. Bengalis definitely knew how to have a good time, regardless of the temporary deafness they will have to suffer at the end of it all.

So I sat down on a comfortable rock, the contagious excitement bubbling inside, as I munched messily on the piping hot jalebi (traditional sweet) Soma handed me. The sugar syrup dripped down my wrists, pooling by my feet- but I didn’t care. I was in rural heaven, and nothing could tame me (or that’s what I thought at least before a colony of red ants viciously attacked my feet).

Adventure’s Beginnings

I wiggled my looming backpack, adjusting and tightening the hip buckles. I had never packed like this before. Precisely calculated clothes were piled, then rolled, and squashed in all possible angles into the rucksack.

“Here take it with you, just in-case... it’s not heavy,” said my kind and very insistent landlord.

Why would I want to carry a water purifier gadget on my back for the next three weeks was beyond me? I was raised in West Bengal where roadside opaque nimbupani (lemonade) and tangy juicy puchkas (pani-puri ) were everyday essentials. So in all fairness I actually held that a sprinkle of bacteria here and there was rather quite delicious!

Puchkas

However, here I was contemplating on refusing this over-enthusiastic little man that had done so much for me in my time living in the intense city of Hong Kong.
So choking down the “No thank you, I’ll pass” that was itching to spill off my lips, I grinned awkwardly and graciously served an “Errrrm…Thanks?” instead.

He smiled wider, clearly pleased, ferociously scribbling last minute changes on the Mandarin translation cards he was making for me.

“Little sacrifices, little sacrifices,” I mumbled silently, almost trying to convince my self that it was all towards the greater good (and yes in-case you were wondering, dramatics is my God-gifted talent).
All was packed. I was ready.

In my case, procrastination was definitely NOT genetic; but nonetheless, I have been cursed with the habit. So bow to me if you’d like, for I am the self-proclaimed Queen of Procrastination. As if to mock me, here was Hong Kong - crisp and precise. People stood in lines without pushing and were always on time. At first I suffered a minute case of culture shock, but soon enough adapted like a dutiful human being; that is to the lines and expected decorum, but strangely never to punctuality!

There was literally five minutes for my over night train to Beijing, and I was still sitting clumsily in a red cab, luggage strapped and my jittery legs ready to leap and run the minute we arrived. However that minute took many more minutes to come.

I raced, and puffed and dragged my body, flustered, frustrated, and slightly swearing at myself for lingering on that extra 30 minutes on the Central Island.  I felt like pushing innocent travelers who were walking at a sane pace, totally envying the extra, sweet time they were obviously relishing. 

“Beijing train, train Beijing” I shouted, bursting dramatically through the station doors, shooting crazy eyes and desperate pleas to anyone that would listen…of course no one did. It was much easier to ignore the crazed, sweat patched laowai (quasi-derogatory term for a uncivilized foreigner) than pay her any attention at all.

 “Great! JUST GREAT!” I yelled aiming my tiring irritation at anyone, and everyone that heard me. I had missed my train, and was in that dangerous territory of possibly attracting the wrong kind of attention if I didn’t shut up. So with recognition of my fast vanishing determination to avoid a temper tantrum, I graciously, though more hastily, decided to take my walk of defeat a little further ahead.

A long, winding line snaked around the opposite end of the station, as security nonchalantly checked passports for essential stamps. My anger had faded fast, and now I was wallowing in self-pity. I must have looked quite the mess, as Chinese tourists giggled at my frowning face. I looked down and saw a smudge of dirt on my legs. Too dejected to give a damn, I rolled my eyes at their apparent childishness, urgently pushing my million loose strands into the messy bun plopped on the top of my head. “Who cares anyways…” was my train of thought at that precise moment.

A gentle tap made me jump, bag and all, causing quite the thump as I landed.

“Beijing? Beijing Train?” the woman asked as I attempted to collect my shattered wits once again.

“Huh?” I said, utterly confused at what was happening. Was she mocking me? Or did she miss her train too? I honestly, and seriously did NOT care too much to tell you the truth. She definitely was the wiry, insistent type…a female Bruce Lee…I had to giggle mentally.  

I took a deep breath. I had to snap out of my self-absorbed trance to make sense of what was going on.

“This is the train to Beijing. You Beijing no?” she said pointing to the twisted queue.

“Oh my God! My train!” I shrieked, grabbing the stunned woman into a forced hug. 

She nodded dazed but polite. I beamed a thousand watts, almost skipping and tripping in delight. Apparently the train had got delayed much to my joy.

My grin now most definitely chocolaty still hadn't faded. Bored with waiting, I nibbled on my foil wrapped brownies meant for the journey (I have always been bad with moderation). The immigration eyed me warily as I smiled away to glory, (in retrospect it probably had something to do with my overwhelming happiness paired with half a tray of packed brownies) but I didn't care, I was finally off to Beijing!