Muharram and my first taste of a slum

The first week continued along the most random but exciting path.

Not a month goes by in India when there isn't a festival. Thursday was “Children’s Day” celebrating the children and thus the future of India. As a treat, we watched a Hindi film about dyslexia which I understood a surprising amount of.

Our evenings and dinners are spent at the various boarding houses around the city. The children are divided into 6 houses: 2 girls and 4 boys. It gives us an opportunity to see more of the city and chat with the children in a non-academic environment. They are all incredibly house proud and as such the grand tour is compulsory. Many have roof terraces which give spectacular views over the surprisingly high rise skyline of Kolkata.

Our own accommodation is of relatively high standard. To quote my much more articulate room mate Charlotte, “The flat is charmingly shabby chic. Damp plays a large role in the decor but provided that the ceiling in the corner of the room doesn't fall down because of it, it shouldn't be a problem. We have a little kitchen, a nice large sitting area with 2 biting-bug-infested sofas, a tv and a washing line, a small bathroom and a large bedroom which the three of us share.” 

The Bedroom. My mossi cubby hole to the left and Charlotte having a small rest before the evening's activities. 

Back to day to day life. The fifth day took me deep into the heart of the Islamic community. The New Year festival, Muharram, is celebrated in the most fascinating way. First Alice and I visited the home of Sumeera, a day scholar’s. The room which plays home to 7 family members was roughly 2m x 5m, and contained one queen size double bed which spanned the entire width of the house. There was also a small cooking area, a filing cabinet doubling up as a set of drawers and randomly a small bald baby chick which has since been eaten by a neighbour’s cat! 
As a guest in an Indian home you are treated (and fed!) like a God. We were given sweets (oversized sugar lumps – Elsa you would love them), juice, potato chips, Bombay mix and somosas. All delicious if not random when combined together. Several extended family members came to witness two white girls in the family home, probably the greatest disappointment of their year. After chai, which I am becoming quite impartial to, we got ready for the Mela, or festival. This involved Alice and I swapping our discrete earrings for some incredibly long and dangly ones. Not my usual taste but TII, This Is India. The earrings weren't a temporary loan, oh no, they were a present for us to wear every time we return to the family home.
We left the house appropriately decorated and fell upon the parade. The first float involved a scaled model of the Titanic, complete with smoking chimneys and fish swimming around pool in which the ship sat. The locals were very keen for us to get involved and soon I found myself with a drum around my neck setting the rhythm of the night. They quickly retrieved the instrument on realising my lack of ability and originality. Onto the main street. We were hounded by cameras and requests for photos but our hosts kept us moving. The wave of intrigued festival goers followed us along the main road through a channel of oversized colourful flags. The Muslim community were out on mass celebrating with dances, food and stick combat- inflicting real pain on one another as a way of apologising to the hurt they inflicted on their God. 
After a short time we escaped the crowds and headed onto our destination for the evening, dinner with the middle school boys.

Unbelievably this wasn't my only home visit during my first week. The next blog will explain more but Sunday turned into a truely Indian day with the "Haves" and the "Have nots".