Travelogue: Calcutta
The rains flooded the streets today while I was the internet café. 15 minutes of email-checking and suddenly I realized it was virtually impossible for me to step outside the door, which proved to be problematic when the owner decided to close shop and I ended up perched on his rapidly inundating front step. An old woman suggested I carry my flip flops and wade through on bare feet like herself. I decided to give it a shot since the poor thing looked 6 inches shorter than me, thereby leaving the water well to her chest.
I'm two feet in (flip flops still on as my American non-calloused feet won’t do well with shards of glass) and a rickshaw driver unceremoniously spits into the water around my legs. A tourist furiously snaps pictures with one of those large professional-looking cameras. Look at us: a writer and a photographer vigorously trying to capture exotic natives in their exotic locale.
* * *
I eventually made it out of Sudder street and to do some shopping. A very pushy shopkeeper (they’re all pushy, but this one more so) drags me into his shop and simultaneously interrogates and displays his wares. Where am I from? The usual debate as to my confusing appearance and my origins commences. Do I go to school? I don’t? Am I married? Do I live with my mama? No? Do I have a job? I won’t take that sari for 600 rupees?!? But Americans spend thousands on clothes in our country!
I put my foot down and yet I still come away with 4 silk scarves, a lavender sari, and dancing anklets. I paid way too damn much for that sari…
I'm two feet in (flip flops still on as my American non-calloused feet won’t do well with shards of glass) and a rickshaw driver unceremoniously spits into the water around my legs. A tourist furiously snaps pictures with one of those large professional-looking cameras. Look at us: a writer and a photographer vigorously trying to capture exotic natives in their exotic locale.
* * *
I eventually made it out of Sudder street and to do some shopping. A very pushy shopkeeper (they’re all pushy, but this one more so) drags me into his shop and simultaneously interrogates and displays his wares. Where am I from? The usual debate as to my confusing appearance and my origins commences. Do I go to school? I don’t? Am I married? Do I live with my mama? No? Do I have a job? I won’t take that sari for 600 rupees?!? But Americans spend thousands on clothes in our country!
I put my foot down and yet I still come away with 4 silk scarves, a lavender sari, and dancing anklets. I paid way too damn much for that sari…
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