Here I am!

Alive and well back in Calcutta!

Only a bit better, because I have sat on the banks of the Ganges and I have rested my eyes on the Taj Mahal. Like poetry.

My last night in Varanasi I was having a coughing fit, so I went outside to sit on the patio by the river. And it was very late and the stars were very bright. And right above my head, the brightest and the most beautiful was Orion himself. Right there. And years and years ago, my mother told me, that whenever I am far away from home, I can look up and find Orion and know that she can look up and see him too.

And Agra was wonderful. Denise and I drank Banana Lassis (the world's greatest drink) at a rooftop restaurant and watched the elephants, camels, painted horses, drummers, trombones, floats, and dancers prance down the street. We were told it was a celebration of Rama's wedding. And it was golden and glittered and the Taj Mahal framed it all, tall and dark in the background.

(My arm is red from pinching.)

The Taj Mahal.

It was amazing. And everything it is said to be. Peacful and beautiful and so tragic.

The train ride back was long. 29 hours (five hours late) and I lay in my bed and read books on unrequited love, which seemed appropriate, and helped the romantically-tragic feeling to linger and follow me down the train tracks, past the green rice fields, and deep into the night.

(Yes, I'm feeling very poetic.) And I'm reading Love in the Time of Cholera, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and I must share the first line with you, except I don't share it with Jacob because he already quotes it by heart - but I have to share it with the rest of you because it is really beautiful:

"It was inevitable: the scent of bitter almonds always reminded him of the fate of unrequited love"

I keep rereading the same lines over and over so they will stick.

The people here have been overwhelmingly kind. I have been told so many worries - to be on my guard for theives and manhandlers - so I always find, with a bit of surprise, that my guardedness is met with complete kindness. A man on the train invited me and Denise over to sit by him, saying, "we have done many train things so far - read and slept - but now we must enjoy the pleasure of talking to each other!" So we did, and he did, and he told us proudly about his wife and children and about his home, and we about ours, and he gave us his card and said if we have time we should call him and he will show us around the city and the fesitval. I am amazed over and over by the kindness of strangers here.

But coming home was the best.

I was walking down Sudder Street, at night, as the train had arrived late. And a man came up to my side and said, "Do you need a room, Madame?" Annoyed, and without even looking I answered, "No," as it was the fifth man to have asked in two minutes. But then I did look, and it was Stan and he was laughing, so I hit him with my bag. Which worked out, because then he carried it for me, and we walked back to the apartment. And in the courtyard a party was happening. An anti-licing party, as five of the people had all gotten lice that day. And they were combing hair and listening to music, smoking their cigarettes and drinking beer. And when I arrived they said, "Kate!" and I felt like Norm on Cheers. And someone poured me a beer and handed my a plate of pasta with cheese. And one of the girls started painting a henna bird on my hand. And I was comfortable, warm and happy. And before going to bed they said, "it is so nice to have you back."

And the air smelled good, perhaps less pollution than before. But perhaps that is me just feeling partial.