Ok so after being sick for the last week I had pretty much decided that I couldn’t face going to Calcutta, and would do a massive skip to greener pastures, aka Rishikesh. (Yes I will admit, all that comes to mind when I think of Culcutta are slums!)

It was only after meeting and speaking to gorgeous blue/green-eyed Frenchman, (previously mentioned) who had just arrived from Culcutta that I decided to ‘suck-it-in’ for 2 more days and just give it a go.

What can I say about Calcutta?

My pre-conceived notions about Culcutta were completely wrong.

On arriving at the train station, rather than being surrounded and bombarded with rickshaws, there were hundreds of bright yellow taxis. Driving through the city I was amazed at how incredibly clean it was and how controlled the traffic was. My hotel, which kind Frenchman found in his guide for me (bit dubious about trusting good old lonely planet these days) was clean and friendly. Setting off to find some lunch…I was pleasantly surprised to be able to walk around the small streets quite easily, with minimal hassle. There were loads of shopping stalls and even an ‘India-styled shopping mall. I was impressed, this was not the city of squalor and poverty I had been envisioning. Calcutta is by far now one of my loveliest Indian cities.

After lunch, I set off to try and find the Victoria memorial. (Built to commemorate Queen Victoria’s 1901 diamond Jubilee. As stated in the guide: “Built for a beautiful Indian Princess, and not a dead Colonial queen, it would surely rate as one of India Greatest Buildings” I was approached by an old guy who offered to take me there in his Rickshaw and I happily agreed. I was mortified when I realised that he actually owned one of those pully rickshaws, no horse, no donkey, no bicycle, just an old man and his old legs. (As far as I’m concerned it’s slave labour) and I felt incredibly pompous and hypocritical sitting there being pulled by this poor man……especially when he would attempt to start running to keep up with the traffic….by the time he dropped me off I felt compelled to double his asking price of a mere RS20 just to ease my conscience…

Lesson 3: When in India….make sure you are dropped off right outside the entrance of your destination.

Old Rickshaw man gave me a big toothless smile and pointed around the corner. I think telepathically what he meant to say was:

“This is the main road, I’m not allowed on the main road, your destination is around the corner, across the suicide main road, around the massive park, across the road on your left, walk for another 5 minutes and there it will be! Hope you have an umbrella?

Oh and thanks for the HUGE tip! “

And he was off.
Some 25 minutes later after asking about 6 people, and getting caught in a torrential storm. (You would think I have an umbrella by now:-).I eventually found the VM. Nevertheless, I was still smiling, The VM was stunning, the city was beautiful, the people were friendly and I got to take photos of a foal for Hannah. (aka Utlah- sorry babe your alias is out:-)

After the VM I went to look at St Paul’s Cathedral only to discover that it was closed between 12- 3. Was sitting down outside the church, minding my own business, when I’m approached by a really chatty, friendly Indian woman. She sat down and offered to take me to the local village area. Before I could even answer she had then started telling me her entire life’s story. She is a nurse, but she only gets RS400 a week. She was married and had a daughter in college. (college is very expensive you know) She was waiting for the church to open because she desperately needed to get money from the church to buy her husbands medicine. Now I have to be honest, immediately alarm bells were going off and I just wanted to get away. But not been brought up to be rude…I struggled to find an opening/ or a pause, at which I could make my escape. I got told how the church continually refused to help her with the money,

as did the Mother Teresa House…..(That should have been my first clue!)

she hadn’t eaten in 2 days,

and looooooook her shoes were falling apart!!!

Her husband couldn’t work because of the severe pain caused by his brain tumour!!

“What could she do?” “What could she do?” She implored me.

What indeed???

At this point, a man walked over who she introduced as her husband. (He didn’t really look like he had a brain tumour….but seen as I’m hardly a qualified physician I decide I had no right to make that call.) I then made the fateful mistake of asking…

“How much is the medicine!”

Within seconds she had whipped out the prescription sheet for me…RS450.- Mmmmmmmm…So he was literally only 6 pounds away from a pain-free existence….how could I NOT help? I figured if she was waiting to get medication from the church (I thought there might be a medical centre in there….) then they would know straight away if she was scamming…so I would be pretty safe.

Surely?

So yes, I agreed to go into the church and get the medicine for her. No sooner than the words were out of my mouth was she shouting to her supposedly pain-infested husband that she was going to get medicine and walking down the road calling me to follow.

At this point, yes I should have voiced my objection….”Why aren’t we going into the church??” 

but no I didn’t- I simply followed meekly.

It’s OK!

(I rationalized)….we are going to go to the chemist and will actually be buying the medicine so the money won’t be wasted. At the first chemist we arrived at, Medicine-Woman walked inside and started shouting rudely at the man who was in the process of talking to another customer, I hung around in the background mortified. Once she got his attention, she handed him her prescription- he took one look at it, shook his head, gave it back to her and waved her out the shop.

Medicine Woman was not detered.

She said to me: “He doesn’t have it, we go to next place” And off we set again. There was something about the pace that she was walking and her entitled manner with people that she passed that just made me feel uneasy. We continued to walk for another 10 minutes and the entire time I was overwhelmed and in complete turmoil as my inner voices were at war!

(let’s just call them Neurotic Angel and Common Logic!)

Neurotic Angel: “Gayle stop being so tight arsed, it’s only 6 pounds for goodness sakes, whatever happened to giving with an open heart?”
Common Logic: “Gayle you are a bloody idiot! 90% of your gut says this woman is scamming ‘us’ , so why are you falling for it? “
Neurotic Angel: “Brain TUMOR! What if the man REALLY does have a brain tumour? We are in Calcutta, I bet Mother Teresa wouldn’t have thought twice about helping poor man with a brain tumour! Shame on you!”
Common Logic: “Ah yes very mature and now you are comparing ‘us’ to the most compassionate person in the world? We fall short miserably! You know she is probably going to go and simply resell the medicine!

You know this Gayle!!“

Neurotic Angel: “That’s not really the point and you know it…..even if she is scamming ‘us’ she still needs the money more than ‘we’ do……how dare you be so selfish?”
Common Logic: Oh my GOD you are sooooo draining!!!!

So in a country filled with people begging for help you are going to help the person who is literally lying to your face?

So much for your ‘love of honesty Gayle!!“

Neurotic Angel: Brain Tumour!

Brain Tumour!!

BRAIN TUMOUR!!!

So while my inner voices were battling it out Crazy-Medicine woman then started talking to me about how she has a sister in Canada and a wealthy family in Delhi, but she would never dream of asking them for anything.
Neurotic Angel: “Umm….how noble!”
Common Logic: (fuming)” No of course not but you will ask a complete stranger (namely ME!)

Simply because I’m white???? “
It was at this point that I have to admit….good old Common Logic won and I decided in all good conscience I really wasn’t comfortable giving her that amount of money! (Even if it was only £6)

so I handed her RS100 and marched my ‘tight arse’ out of there.

Needless to say, she wasn’t very happy, and I then had to deal with the annoying voice of Neurotic Angel berating me the entire way home. She was eventually silenced when I stopped and spoke to a chemist about it, and he said yes, Medicine Woman would absolutely have resold the medication. He also said that the reason the first chemist wouldn’t give it to her was that the prescription was probably out of date!

So Yeah for Common Logic. It took a while but she prevailed….. eventually!

Now there is a point to this whole story….(I promise) and no it’s not to shine a light on two of the MANY voices that continually run through my head on a daily basis. (Alas it’s hard being me!:-)
I have spent the last couple of days thinking about how, this, has to be the absolute worse thing about travelling through India.

It’s not the dirt,

the constant staring (or the spitting)

or even the poverty itself…

.it’s the sheer guilt you feel every single time you are confronted with someone begging for money.

It’s the knowledge that your days spending money could possibly feed this person for an entire month.

Its knowing that while you are here on holiday enjoying the sights and experiences, people are scavenging for food and money simply trying to stay alive.
It’s also the continual awareness that the tourist industry itself plays such a massive part in maintaining and perpetuating the status quo in India.  As the guidebook says: It would probably be better to donate your money to a reputable charity, so it could be put to good use.

But for me, personally, (although I am sure I’m not alone) ….giving money often has very little to do with actually improving their lifestyle. If I’m honest, it’s simply a means to an end in helping to relieve the overwhelming guilt that I constantly feel for simply having money, in the first place. And yet every time I give, I’m then compounded with the double guilt that I am actually making the problem worse!!

Let me give some examples:

Example One: While waiting for my train to Calcutta a scruffy station child (one of the hundreds that sleep in the station) came up to me begging for food……for about 5 minutes, continuously…

when that didn’t work…she dropped to her hands and knees and started touching her head on my foot over and over again, all the time looking up at me and motioning for food.

I tried ignoring her at first,

then I asked her to please stop,

then firmly insisted that she stop…..

but eventually, I just went and bought her something to eat because I couldn’t take the overwhelming guilt I felt.

Of course not even 30 seconds later I had another 5 children surrounding me, all wanting something to eat too! When I wouldn’t buy for them all one of the older girls got really angry and started shouting at me.

What can you do?

Example 2: When I was going for the ride with Santos in Bodhgaya, he took me to a very old holy shrine, but as with most religious shines it was surrounded by beggars all sitting outside. Most of them were incredibly old and frail. As we walked inside there was a little old lady sitting by herself next to the shine, she could have easily been 90 (at least). I don’t think I have ever seen anyone so thin and fragile-looking, so I gave her a little money. By the time I came out of the shrine, NEWS had spread faster than wildfire and I was accosted by 4 equally-fragile-looking geriatrics. It was heartbreaking having them hobbling after me the entire way down the road until we reached our bike. Santo’s was unphased by them, and seemed mildly amused by this whole spectacle. Especially since he had already warned me about giving out money. Once we were on the bike, and they realised that I wasn’t going to give them anything they started shouting angrily at me as we drove off.

Example 3: Or how about the little boy that walked up to me with a bleeding arm today begging for money for the doctor ( I doubt he needed a doctor for that little scratch) but never-the-less he was a persistent little bugger who then proceeded to follow me for almost a block.

A WHOLE BLOCK!!!!!!!!!!!

Eventually, I relented and gave him some money, just to get him to go away!

And therein lies the lesson: “Hound Foreigners and eventually they (well the weak ones) will give in and pay up! “

When in India you are dammed if you do, and dammed if you don’t!

So yes…..this for me has been the hardest part of India, knowing deep, deep down that, I am actually part of the problem.

Am I being too hard on myself…..(Mmmmm yes probably)…..but at the same time, it has made me so much more aware of how my actions are completely controlled by my emotions….

and how so often even random acts of kindness can have ulterior motives! (If you look hard enough.)

Personally, that awareness alone, (I think) is priceless!

Patt on the back for me!😉

And now I’m shattered…so this will have to be continued tomorrow…..as will my replying to my messages…Midget so glad you are well, but I have my own theories…you will just have to wait and see.

Loads of Love from India