Finding Myself in Kolkata

Fear and apprehension welled up inside me as the plane commenced its decent into Kolkata. It wasn’t going to be my first time in India. I’d been there twice before. To me, India felt like and old yet unpredictable friend. One whose behavior I could never be sure of, but I liked anyway.

It was, however, to be my first time alone in India. Not only that, it was my first time alone overseas.

Thirty one years old, I was underweight and traumatized by the jagged end of a long term relationship. I was looking for a way to develop some independence and self assurance.

I chose India because of its unmatched ability to challenge me. I chose Kolkata because it was a place I hadn’t visited yet. And I chose to spend my five weeks there doing volunteer work to give something back, take my mind off my woes, and be inspired by those less fortunate than me.

I was met at the airport by the volunteer coordinator. Us volunteers paid good money to join the program, and in return we were provided with a coordinator to look after us, a place to stay, and meals.
It turned out that my place to stay was a room in an unoccupied and mostly unfurnished apartment. This was quite a contrast to the other volunteers who were sharing a comfortably lived-in apartment down the hall.

“You’ll have to adapt”, the coordinator told me, adding that I’d be getting a flat mate and more furniture soon. A middle aged Bengali woman by the name of Sucharita, she was congenial on the surface but prone to emotional outbursts when volunteers failed to adapt as required, I learned. It also became apparent that “adapt” was the most favored word in her vocabulary.

I felt lost and bewildered in an empty apartment in an unfamiliar city. Packs of huge and unrelenting mosquitoes assailed me in the night. I was informed that I’d have to wear traditional Indian clothing to work. Getting to work involved a one hour journey on a heaving mechanical monster known as a bus. The conductor couldn’t understand my pronunciation of my destination. The underprivileged women I was supposed to be helping at work eyed me suspiciously. Then, one of them stole money from my bag. I struggled to eat, with my hands, the rice and potatoes that I was given for lunch whilst sitting on the floor, not to mention use the Indian style squat toilet. The hot water heater in the apartment blew up, so I had to bathe in cold water despite it being the middle of winter. It wouldn’t be fixed, Sucharita told me, because it was too expensive. Of course, I would have to adapt.

Gradually, things improved. The women at work started teaching me Bengali. I had interesting lunchtime discussions with the staff about life in India. “We don’t want to get married”, many of them aged in their late 20s informed me. “If we do, we’ll have to live with our husband’s family, cook, and care for them. We’ll lose our freedom.”.

My evening bus journeys were made enjoyable by the soothing smell of incense that wafted through the open windows, and the warm glow from the street markets. I loved watching the streets come alive with a multitude of pavement vendors and shoppers. At night, when I wasn’t too exhausted, I hung out with the other volunteers in their apartment and we’d go on crazy escapades in the city. As my world expanded, I began to feel the limitations that I’d placed on myself drop away.

Eventually it became time for me to depart. The five weeks that I thought would never end finished so quickly. I sadly wished everyone goodbye and had a farewell dinner with my new friends. It was so hard to leave them after this alien adventure had bonded us together. I took one last look around the surroundings that had now become familiar to me. Then, before I knew it, I was on a plane home.

I couldn’t get India out of my head though. The people I’d met, the experiences I’d had, and India’s mysterious ways. I felt there was so much more waiting for me back there. Within a month I was on a plane again. Destination: Kolkata.

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