Initiating India...

Calcutta, City of Crows:

The door to the plane has opened and the stair-ramp has been pulled up. I step out to a dead frog the size of a squashed grapefruit, which describes the frog as well...just laying there on the stairway platform. There are only a number of ways it could've got there; I'm thinking..."Magnolia".

So many other things I saw that first day in Kolkata (Calcutta) on my way from the airport to my hotel. It started with 2 taxi drivers price gouging eachother to get my fare--you're not EVER likely 2C this happen in Asia, then it was cows window shopping on the sidewalk, a woman picking up "fresh" (read, wet n' malodorous) cow feces with her bare hands and, in an artistic fashion, slopping it upon a tree where there were some 50 other dollops--her way of getting closer to God I guess cuz in India, the cow really is Holy. However, the urine baking stink and infinite beggars didn't slap me as hard as I thought they would.

Kata is known 4 being one the poorest places in India; and the fact does not escape anyone's first-hand perception. The city of 13-16 million is encumbered with countless hungry and homeless people, and it is extremely filthy with smells that'll take away any hungry the heat might spare you.

I took this 4 da crows...just

happened to be a pisser in there

It's been so long since I've looked at a dog and felt as sad and sorry for a creature of this planet than when I've seen the mutts languidly lying, listlessly limbless...wow, they are seriously strugglin'. Of course, Mother Theresa, of Calcutta, has probably brought Kata to more attention than anyone or anything else and in deed, there were heaps of Japanese and Korean volunteers staying in my guesthouse that were volunteering for the new mother. According to several "street dwellers" she's a right bitch.

She kinda looks it

I was suprised to find myself a bit nervous about tasting the street food and drink of Kolkata; surprised not because I thought the city would be cleaner, rather because I've been on the road for so long and I've taken many "risks" regarding street eats with no probs. However, after seeing enough people drinking chai--Indian tea with condensed milk--from unwashed cups of street vendors. My buddy Andy comments, "Indians aren't really into the whole soap thing." So I took the plunge and really went for it soaking up chai with random roti and dahl in a less-than-populated backstreet alleyway that one most surely wouldn't make their initial encounter; I'd had enough of observing. I finished and jumped up with as much zest as the Hot-as-Hades Heat allowed me, hoping the hot wouldn't find my nether side.

For me, Kolkata--linked with the aforementioned ravenous creature due to its unexpected multitudiness crow population, unexpected 2 me anyway--was a great intro to the massive sub-continent that will occupy my mind, spirit, and every cc of patience and peacefulness I've ever accumulated.

I met some really good peeps while in Paragon Hotel of Sudder St. and one of those, Yuhe (Jap) wanted to go the same direction as I. However, he didn't have a ticket so he thought he'd get one at the station. When we arrived, he went to the tik counter and I had agreed to meet him at a designated place. I waited too long and ended up rushing off to platform 22, which the big neon sign-board said held my train. I throw my bag up to my allocated seat/bunk number with people's unapproving nods and disdainful glances--nothing new 2 me--and nobody mentioned that there was no room. I double checked the list on the car of the train and saw my name wasn't there, but surely it was a third world goof. Meanwhile, Yuhe is nowhere to be seen and I think, he's either goofed on the platform or didn't get a ticket. I take my time and indulge in a mango I'd bought earlier, and it finally hits me that maybe I'M in the wrong train/platform and not Yuhe. I throw my mango peel, jump up and while shoving my ticket in strangers faces, ask shamelessly if this is the right train, etc. In fact, it's going to South India, NOT the north...holy hell! I jump back in, grab my over-weighted pack and thrust myself out the door, running like a maniac to platform 9 which seems 2B on the other side of India.

I'm flippin' and floppin' and makin' hell-a-racket in my sandals with everyone's gaze for, let's call it 250 meters; but keep in mind my maniacal sprint is thru the maze of a billion Indians side-stepping me. Go ahead, picture this silly scene: me with a 60lb. turtle shell on my back, another 20lbs. in my black bag in front (from turtle to teletubby instantly), ticket scrunched in hand yelling "Where's platform 10, platform 10!???!" I must've looked like a str8 shooter boy, but in the end I didn't give a holy shit dollop on a tree's trunk; I had made it. Yuhe's lookin' at me with big Jap eyes--as big as they can get; sooo unPC :P --sayin' "sorry, sorry, I couldn't find you."

A beautiful Brazilian girl was sitting right beside my numbered seat--go figure the ONE time an attractive female is sitting next to me is the time that I'm sweating profusely with sticky mango fingers and hair-gone-wild--yet we started up a great chat about all sorts of things that made us both smile and nod at "first considerations" until we were called to get up and vacate the make-shift beds of others. Good night and goodbye sort of thing as she was getting off 6 hours b4 me.

Muzic: I'm lovin' the trio of girls from Brooklyn called Au Revoir Simone that me home-spatch Mark tapped me into. The link is to their myspace page and there are several songs that sample their melodic musing that draws your ears to these girls' gorgeous gills..."let the sun shine...to show us that tomorrow is eventual."--from "The Lucky One".

Reads: Finished a very entertaining "Scar Tissue" autobio by Anthony Kiedis. I didn't enter such dark portals involving drugs as he did, but it was really great to see how he defied so many odds to come out of the scene alive and continues to make great music. A great many memories of mine have RHCP in the background; surely you'll agree mac and Z with our college pad parties on 11th St.

After that, I pushed through a classic that many of you have told me to pick up; "The Alchemist", of Paulo Cohelo which I've already read, but had the op 2 read it again. So I bulled thru it in an hour and a half b4 I left. I did pick up other things that I hadn't the first time, but I have to say--prob 2 the disappointment of many that begged me to read it--that it was a bit too heavy on the human drama, and I also felt it simplified too much...but that's just my opinion. I have to agree with Julian's assessment; PC is trying to be a contemporary Herman Hesse...suerte che!

Victoria Mounument

I arrived to one of the most ancient cities, and the holiest, in India...it's aura is nothing short of astral and transcending. Pics and anecdotes 2 come l8r.

For now...if ya want to acquaint yourself with a fascinating storyteller whose anecdotes regard the current country I'm in and the people, I think you'd do yourself a favour if you picked up "Midnight's Children" by Salmon Rushdie. I've just started it and though the first 25 pages were a bit slow getting into, he's an amazing author. You won't regret getting this book and I'm not even to page 50 yet. If it's accolytes you want, this book won the booker of the bookers awards in 1993; if your rebelious, he's had books banned in many countriesAnd whatever you do, don't call this my attempt at forming a "book club"!