I arrived in Mungeli on Wednesday morning of last week after an absolutely absurd overnight train from Kolkata to Bilaspur. I suppose I will begin from my last day in Kolkata, since it's been a while...
I decided to pack the night before so that I could spend most of my time going through my normal daily Kolkata ritual (it seemed very important to squeeze every ounce out of my life there). I even set my alarm for a very early 8 am as to get the basic 'I'm leaving' errands out of the way. Well, I woke up at 9:30, needed to shower DESPERATELY, and finally hailed a cab for the DHL couriers office around 10:30. Kolkata streets are all one way, but change directions midday (so, for example, in the morning a traffic flow will be northward and in the afternoon the same street will flow southward). I passed the DHL office everyday on my way to Park Street, so I knew I'd see the office. Except, I always catch an afternoon cab... my 22 rupee ride turned into a 100 rupee fair and I still had to call Phillip Peacock to give the cabbie directions (my Bengali was not sufficient to direct him to an unknown location). I still had to walk about 15 minutes, even then, before I found a different DHL office to mail my box home.
It was pouring rain by this point (I decided both Kolkata and I were tearful on my last day in the city). I went to chapel to say goodbye. I thanked the student body, and everyone came to speak with me after the service. I started to cry when a few of my closer friends walked up. It was combination of sleep-deprivation and the emotional realization that I was actually leaving. Of course, all the men were appalled, but awkwardly tried to comfort me by respectfully shaking my hand and complimenting me on my Hindi singing from a few weeks back. Their 1970s pro-football player mustaches (all the rage among young Indian men) cheered me up, as well as their kinds words.
I headed to Park Street finally around 2 pm. I had a final lunch at Flurry's (a restaurant where I ate often) and then I went to meet Cecile for a coffee at Barista (the place of faintage). Saying goodbye to Cecile was AWFUL!!! I'm still not quite sure that it has all sunk in. She was undoubtedly my first and best friend in Kolkata. We hit it off immediately and were able to break our way through the language barriers to stay close for my entire time there. I will see Cecile again (I'll travel to Lyon soon, I hope), but days aren't the same without her. I wore the earrings that she picked out for me as a gift form all the French kids. She knew that I always wore earrings (an Indian development for me) and chose a pair to particularly compliment my face shape and coloring. J'aime bien Cecile!
Now it was really time to leave. Maggie, Teresa, Amos and Sandeep all took me to the train and I hugged the last of my Kolkata life goodbye as I wrapped my arms around them in a final farewell. If I hadn't been so freaked out by the creepy guy staring at me, I would have bawled the entire 12-hour train ride to Bilaspur. As it was, I merely tried to best the man by reading (as though his stares were no big deal). He won the staring contest, when around 2 am I couldn't see the words on my pages anymore. I finally gave in to sleep.
I arrived in Bilaspur only one hour late and a driver patiently waited for me from Mungeli. We had to stop in town to pick up some tables and chairs for the CNI school before heading to Mungeli about 40 km away. as I sat on the bench outside the table shop, entire families came outside to stare for long periods at the white woman in their town. Toto, I don't think we're in Kolkata anymore!
I decided to pack the night before so that I could spend most of my time going through my normal daily Kolkata ritual (it seemed very important to squeeze every ounce out of my life there). I even set my alarm for a very early 8 am as to get the basic 'I'm leaving' errands out of the way. Well, I woke up at 9:30, needed to shower DESPERATELY, and finally hailed a cab for the DHL couriers office around 10:30. Kolkata streets are all one way, but change directions midday (so, for example, in the morning a traffic flow will be northward and in the afternoon the same street will flow southward). I passed the DHL office everyday on my way to Park Street, so I knew I'd see the office. Except, I always catch an afternoon cab... my 22 rupee ride turned into a 100 rupee fair and I still had to call Phillip Peacock to give the cabbie directions (my Bengali was not sufficient to direct him to an unknown location). I still had to walk about 15 minutes, even then, before I found a different DHL office to mail my box home.
It was pouring rain by this point (I decided both Kolkata and I were tearful on my last day in the city). I went to chapel to say goodbye. I thanked the student body, and everyone came to speak with me after the service. I started to cry when a few of my closer friends walked up. It was combination of sleep-deprivation and the emotional realization that I was actually leaving. Of course, all the men were appalled, but awkwardly tried to comfort me by respectfully shaking my hand and complimenting me on my Hindi singing from a few weeks back. Their 1970s pro-football player mustaches (all the rage among young Indian men) cheered me up, as well as their kinds words.
I headed to Park Street finally around 2 pm. I had a final lunch at Flurry's (a restaurant where I ate often) and then I went to meet Cecile for a coffee at Barista (the place of faintage). Saying goodbye to Cecile was AWFUL!!! I'm still not quite sure that it has all sunk in. She was undoubtedly my first and best friend in Kolkata. We hit it off immediately and were able to break our way through the language barriers to stay close for my entire time there. I will see Cecile again (I'll travel to Lyon soon, I hope), but days aren't the same without her. I wore the earrings that she picked out for me as a gift form all the French kids. She knew that I always wore earrings (an Indian development for me) and chose a pair to particularly compliment my face shape and coloring. J'aime bien Cecile!
Now it was really time to leave. Maggie, Teresa, Amos and Sandeep all took me to the train and I hugged the last of my Kolkata life goodbye as I wrapped my arms around them in a final farewell. If I hadn't been so freaked out by the creepy guy staring at me, I would have bawled the entire 12-hour train ride to Bilaspur. As it was, I merely tried to best the man by reading (as though his stares were no big deal). He won the staring contest, when around 2 am I couldn't see the words on my pages anymore. I finally gave in to sleep.
I arrived in Bilaspur only one hour late and a driver patiently waited for me from Mungeli. We had to stop in town to pick up some tables and chairs for the CNI school before heading to Mungeli about 40 km away. as I sat on the bench outside the table shop, entire families came outside to stare for long periods at the white woman in their town. Toto, I don't think we're in Kolkata anymore!
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