The wheel turns

And so the wheel turns. If you look at the Indian flag, it has a wheel n the centre. This symbolises the circle of life, death, and rebirth. So, now I find myself back in Kolkata some 4 weeks down the line and, in retrospect with a total different outlook to a month ago.

First off, I have to kill time before Jyoti turns up at noon. Oh, go on then, more bloody shopping I suppose. I‘m accosted by every costermonger in town and, I’ve said it before, it’s all tat. The stuff they sell on Rochdale flea market is better value! But halfway into my shopping trip, I feel the familiar rumbling in my nether parts. I think I must now know now what’s causing it. It has to be the glycerol they put in Indian beer. It’s giving me the habdabs. God, I can’t wait to get back to the UK for a proper pint!

Jyoti arrives just before noon and we are soon on our way to the airport. We stop on route to see a south Indian style temple that has been recently built, complete with fancy goporums. I remember seeing some programme on tv a while back, that showed England in the middle ages. The church ruled the roost and if you wanted to get to heaven, the more you prayed and, more importantly, the more money you gave to the church, the more you were assured of salvation. This new mandir (temple) was all this personified. Everything came at a price. Want someone to pray every day for you? No problems that’ll be 10,000 /-. Just once a month? Ok, we can do that, 1,500/-. God, it was awful and I was glad to get out of there and back on the road.

The North East has a chequered history and, therefore, security arrangements at Guwahati airport are strict. It takes me forty minutes to get through check in and the subsequent security checks. Nevertheless, we are soon under way and, in no time at all, I’m back in Kolkata once again.

Your name really stands out when you’re looking for a friendly face amongst the welcoming committee at any airport. So, it was a great relief to see my name so prominent amongst the crowd. One hour later and I’m deposited back at the Lytton Hotel with a promise he’ll pick me up at 5am Friday morning, for my flight back to the UK.

Formalities done and I go for a stroll around Sudder Street. Compare and contrast – what were my feelings first time round in Kolkata? I loved it? I was intrigued? I was glad to be back in India? Well now, after I’ve been in the North east for a month, I bloody hated it. It was swimming with backpackers and it was swarming with lowlife. Twice the same guy offered me hashish and “nice Indian Girls”.

The Lonely Planet guide recommends calling into Fairlawn hotel for a beer amidst colonial grandeur. So, true to form, I did. It was bloody awful. Nose to tail with middle class, western tourists, enjoying the “authentic” Indian lifestyle. Bollocks it was back to my hotel for me and… hey, why not try the bar there? Fair play to the upwardly mobile, new Indians, they might have pretensions of grandeur but they do it well. The place was bedecked in chrome and glass, my glass was never allowed to remain empty and with every new drink, a free bowl of crisps.

Say what you like about the new India, I’d have it any day over the old backpacking tossers, with their silly beards and baggy trousers thinking they’re getting a real taste of the East. Bag of shits, the lot of ‘em!