A day out with the girls

Standing outside Linton Street Post Office gave me a good vantage point on which to gently muse on life and the busy-ness of passers-by (except when interrupted, fairly frequently, by young men who delighted in shouting out ‘hello lady’). With that name it sounds a typically British place, but in fact it couldn’t be more Indian. From the family sleeping on the pavement through the mid-day heat, oblivious to the flies swarming around them, to the young man standing idly by his sparkling new motorbike, the street encapsulated much of Kolkata life. For a while I stood by an old man and his wife who were making pakoras – they had got a small-scale production line going, scooping out big clumps of dough and dumping them in a pan full of sizzling and spitting fat. The end result looked quite appetising, but I couldn’t help pondering on the cleanliness of the man’s hand, and decided in the end to desist. Opposite this old man and his wife was a sparkling air-conditioned shop, selling, among other things, Cadbury’s chocolate, pepsi and Colgate toothpaste.

This street is also an entrance to Park Circus slum, and I was waiting for Tabassum and her sister Tarranum. Tabassum is a community worker with the Association for Women with Disabilities, and she had arranged a picnic by the river for some of the disabled girls from her slum. Tabassum is also blind.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a grubby little girl give me a cheeky grin, and then grab the hand of the older boy she was with and pull him authoritatively away. I smiled back. It was a couple of moments later, when the little girl turned round to look at me again, that I realised that it was Tarranum’s daughter. And the boy she was with was Tabassum’s brother. And it was a moment after that that the full realisation hit me: here was a five year old child leading a blind seven year old child alone on a 20 minute walk through a Kolkata slum, to meet a foreigner. And let me tell you that little girl was absolutely fearless. She confidently led both me and her uncle down the streets, guiding him past the motorbikes that came zooming close by us and other hazards endemic to the streets of Kolkata’s slums. When some older boys shouted out to her (I don’t know what they said) she went up and whacked one of them on the arm, albeit with her cheeky grin. And when walking past a cow she gave its rump a big whack as well. I gave the cow a wide berth.

We reached Tabassum’s shack with no other untoward event, and I was welcomed by the big smiles of both sisters decked out in sparkling shalwar kameez. We had arranged to meet at 3 o’clock, and I was spot on. It was not until 4 o’clock that the girls actually turned up, but I didn’t mind; it gave me time to talk to their mother in broken Hindi, and be fed a paratha and burger-y thing.

Once the other disabled girls from the slum arrived we walked together up to the main road, and hailed a taxi. We were a group of 10 people (with two children), so I assumed obviously that we were to be getting two taxis. Not so. Tarannum, I and Tabassum’s younger brother squeezed into the front seat next to the driver, and the other seven somehow managed to fit in the back. Being squeezed between a surly Indian taxi driver and an over-excited young boy, with my right leg twitching every time we drove up too quickly up to traffic lights, did not make for the most relaxing of journeys. However, we got there in one piece and piled out of the taxi, and I was able to breathe in the cooler river air and take in greenery and open spaces. Millennium Park was a welcome break from the craziness of Kolkata’s streets, and we all enjoyed ambling along the footpaths looking at the views across the river. I had been told that this was to be a picnic, so I came prepared with snacks of pasties and cakes. I seemed to be the only one who had brought food however, and meditated on the thought that perhaps Indian picnics don’t include food. The girls seemed happy enough to dig in to what I had brought though.

After having our fill of cakes I expressed a wish to go on the river, and Tarannum said that we could get the commuter boat across to Howrah station and back. This was definitely the best spent 10 Rupees ever. We all clambered on to this rusty hulk that had definitely seen better days, elbowing our way past hundreds of commuting men. The hulk slowly chugged across the river, I could say into the sunset, but unfortunately it wasn’t quite the right direction. We did chug our way past fishermen drawing in their nets, but also past huge rusty wrecks that seemed to be decomposing mid-river. Evidence of the decay of modern industrial ‘progress’ side by side with a still-thriving centuries-old way of life: interesting. At Howrah station the hordes of commuters pushed and jostled their way off the boat, and very few people got back on it for the return journey. We chugged our way back across the river, enjoying the cool breeze and twinkling lights of Kolkata.

Once the trip was over, the fun did not come to an end, however. We made our way to a mini theme park, and as the girls wished to sample the delights of one of the rides I let myself be talked into it. I was pleased to exit with my head still attached to my spine: I can’t imagine what Tabassum must have felt, not being able to see what she was letting herself in for. However, the girls obviously enjoyed it as they wished to go on the big swinging boat: I declined this pleasure and took on the role of official photographer.

After this we made our way to the exit, and before all piling into another taxi we partook of a Kolkata delicacy: pani puri (or something like that). It was very strange, once tried I don’t feel the need of trying it again. It was a fried UFO shaped object, inside which the street hawker puts a dab of something like mashed potato (not able to see clearly due to it being at night) and some bitter liquid. Hmm.

Very rarely are the girls able to get away from their slum, which made this day all the more special, although it was tinged with sadness for me. These girls probably wouldn’t have been able to afford even these simple pleasures had I not been there. One of the girls, who has a curved spine, took me gently by the hand, and then said to me ‘what must these people be thinking about us?’ A revealing comment from someone who has had stigma attached to her for her whole life.