Kolkata and Burdwan

(6/15 to 6/23)
Enrolled in the Ela De Intensive School for the Culinary Arts, I am quickly advancing my knowledge of Bengali cooking. I am also learning several secret ingredients; the majority of which are either impossible to find or impossible to find fresh in the states.

In addition to working on my Bengali through cooking, general interaction, hanging out with my family, and a daily regiment of watching serials and TV cooking shows on Z-TV Bangla, I see several other things around West Bengal including Shantiniketan (the university established by Nobel Laureate Tagore in the middle of the jungle), the Bengali countryside, the fringe of the jungle, more of Kolkata and one of its suburbs (Sodepur) and a few other odds and ends in Burdwan.

(5/29)
The heat definitely begins to smack me around a little bit, especially after a lovely low of 40 (C)...at 10...in the evening. (Recall, 9/5*C+32=F, so 40C is 104F) Fortunately, the air conditioned car is my chariot for viewing the bustling nightlife and vendors of all things delicious - sweets, fruits, vegetables, clothes, electronics, fish, mystery items stowed in cardboard boxes, etc. - all on display in specialized stalls lining the major thoroughfares and side streets. By mystery items I mean there are stalls filled with cardboard boxes manned by a bored looking vendor with a desk, a scale, and today's paper (in which his head was happily buried).

Of culinary interest, Chinese-Indian fusion restaurants are also big in this area. Even my Pishimoni has a (wonderful) specialty of chilli chicken which is as delicious for dinner as it is in the morning with fresh paratha. I hope that she bestows upon me several more recipes in my summer training to gain insight into the "World of Yum."

(5/28)
After a few days in the city with my aunty and uncle, I head 100 kilometers west of Kolkata to the city of Burdwan to stay with my Pishimoni (Dad's sister), my Pishimoshai (her husband), and their younger daughter. In a few weeks, I will head to Bangalore to visit their older daughter. (Official government site: http://bardhaman.gov.in/home.htm or the beloved Wikipedia site: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bardhaman)

(5/26)
I arrive in the sweltering evening after a long flight from Sydney, where the evening lows were around 11 or 12 (C). I think I feel fine, but the heat slowly creeps up on me and, initially, I don't realize how tired I will feel from it.

Fortunately, there are many escapes from the weather including museums, shopping in air conditioned convenience for non-hiking clothes in Salt Lake (an area of Kolkata that was originally marshy land, but was filled in with quite an engineering feat involving diverting the Ganges), and going out at night like the rest of the city. When evening arrives, the city pulses with commerce, entertainment, sporting events, and the resulting three hour long traffic jams in Ambassador SDL 15000 taxis. Note these classic cars are not air conditioned. However, the singing passels of passengers piled on top of cargo trucks chanting sports songs, hurling jokes across the roads, and general shenanigans of people jumping in and out of cars ("Will I walk, or will I wait it out? Let me step out of the car and see. Oh, crap, the traffic is moving. Quick, jump back in the car! Oh, it stopped again. I should have just stayed home.") provides enough amusement to divert (me, at least) from the chaos of the traffic and the 99.95% humidity heat.

There is also excellent eating involved. My aunty with whom I am staying, spoils me, knowing my fondness for luchis and good black tea. I also pick up a new vegetable mistress, potol. Think zucchini-like squash with pea sized seeds that are crunchy, almost like fried (dry) peas. Don't worry eggplant, I still love you, too.

In addition, I see my first Bengali play, Dilda (the name of the main character), about a cobbler who wins the lottery. I am able to follow the basic plot, but much of the social and moral commentary is sadly lost on me. Although I cannot obtain the full meaning of the play just from listening, I enjoy watching the inherent dancing of the actors and the stylistic and technical differences between American/European and Bengali plays - how scenes are changed, how music is incorporated to show reflection and provide transition, and vocal differences (emphases of tone/volume) used to guide the audience in appreciating the important themes.

I am my father's daughter, as evident by my quickly developed fodness for the consumption surrounding theatre intermission. Vendors with goods strapped to them (akin to the cigarette girls in casinos from classic ads) cry out to the theatregoers, trying to catch their stomachs' fancies, "Hot masala chai!? Moori?!" (Fried snacks tossed in mustard oil)." On the street nearby, carts with puchkas sing to me. (also called pani-puri. Little half-palm sized flat breads that puff up after being deep-fried and then are stuffed with spiced potatoes/vegetables and drizzled with tamarind water. Yes, you want to eat them - in mass quantity.) Tasty times are all there for the taking. Although these temptations, like all the phenomenal street food I see, call to my stomach, my head is strong enough to know I would not be so thrilled with my life decisions a few hours afterward...