When walking to Prem Dan on my last day Amelie and I took a different route: through the Prem Dan slums, where many of the ladies at the home came from. I've walled through slums and poor areas in South Africa, Dominican Republic, Honduras, Haiti, Columbia and Mexico. A lot of what I saw wasnt new, but it still fascinated me. People with fresh fish for sale. A bajillion fruit stands. Doorways with people sitting in them. Flies. Garbage. Stench. Wet, black watered-roads. The idea of semi-clean feet are but a pipe-dream. Houses built ride beside the train tracks, and by houses I mean shacks made out of garbage scraps. People sorting through garbage: women and shoeless children. Houses made from scraps. A lot of blue tarp material. Bustling and jostling in absence of a hurry for where do these people need to rush to?
As Michelle, Teresa and I would walk around at night life was jus as complex. The markets were packed with few, but pervasive, flashing lights. The streets and alleys always had life, usually demonstrated through conversation. Cricket was played in open spaces. Pigs and cows roamed free. Kids loved to practice their English on us but usually couldn't get past, 'hello!' And our response often invoked laughter. Children as young as four or so tried to sell their wares. People sat cross-legged in their shop waiting for customers. There was life. We got to have glimpses of, what I believe is, authentic Indian life.
One of the two most memorable walking experiences was going down the auto street. Just down the road from the Mother Teresa house is one long stretch of street-facing stores all with a plethora of auto parts for sale. But after every four or so stores there were long alleys, each lined with twenty shops or more. It is fascinating, really. There are parts of every shape and kind: headlights, side mirrors, alternators, radiator pieces, door handles, bumpers, steering wheels. If your car needs a part you go from shop to shop and find one that will work, and then bargain. I was looking to buy a license plate and I felt bad having Teresa and Michelle walk so much with me so I shopped alone. At this point it is 9pm or so. It is dark. The street front stores do not have any license plates so I start into the alleys. I didn't really think anything of it but after the bajillion looks of wonder and concern, and a man asking if I was lost, I realized how out of place I looked: tall, white girl, dark alley, car stores and lots of men. I didn't feel unsafe, but culturally out of place. But that didn't deter me; I kept perusing the stores until they closed.
The second most interesting, but heartbreaking, scene is seeing street sleepers. I noticed them the first night we arrived in Delhi. There were people sleeping everywhere: in the carts, rickshaws, on bed frames on the sidewalk, benches, trees, on cardboard or plastic on the ground or on the plain sidewalk. But in Kolkata it became more real. First, I was working with ladies in Prem Dan, some who had come from the streets. During my stay at Prem Dan I got to hear some stories which made street life even more real. And then as Teresa, Michelle and I walked the streets in the evenings we would see families settling in for the night. By 'settling in' I mean moms setting up pieces of cardboard on the sidewalk and placing their babies and toddlers on it for the night. Whole families sleeping together. Contrast that with big, comfy beds, sheets, blankets, stuffed animals, pillows, stories, cuddles and kisses, walls, a door, a roof and heating/air conditioning. They most often slept with their heads to the road. My guess is they did this so people could walk by, away from the road. Toronto has 'cracked down' on homelessness so locally seeing people actually sleeping in the streets is a much different experience. That's all I got. There are still thoughts on India brewing that I shall hopefully write on later.
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