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Monday, June 29, 2009
Food Glorious Food
Since arriving in Orissa I have eaten almost exclusively in the canteen at the university. Like most cafeterias, it doesn't merely serve regional food. Instead the menu draws from a variety of Indian cuisines, with each dish prepared in such a way that everything tastes almost exactly the same. For this reason, I have very little idea of what Oriya food tastes like, or for that matter, what any Indian food tastes like other than the north Indian-inspired meals that I've found at restaurants in Jackson Heights, NY or Edison, NJ.
In Kolkata I had an Indian food experience that was radically different from the previous Indian food experiences I've had. My coworkers and I went to a small Bengali restaurant called Kewpie's. Even though it is located in a dimly lit alley far from the glitz and glamour of the restaurants on Park Street, everyone we asked seemed to know of and recommend it.
When we found the place we felt more like we were visiting a traditional Bengali home than a restaurant. The dining area was nearly empty with a few tables placed in what would otherwise have been a living room. We scanned the menu and after a few false starts in ordering, we managed to find a few dishes that we wanted to try that the restaurant actually had the ingredients for.
Bengalis are known for their seafood and I must say that the fish I ordered was the main event (it's the second one listed under fish on the menu if you ever go). It was served inside a banana leaf, lightly crusted in some undecipherable but purely delectable spices. We ate in the traditional Bengali fashion: drizzling the sauce over rice, breaking off a piece of our main course, rolling it all into a ball with one hand and then popping the whole mess into our mouths.
In Kolkata I had an Indian food experience that was radically different from the previous Indian food experiences I've had. My coworkers and I went to a small Bengali restaurant called Kewpie's. Even though it is located in a dimly lit alley far from the glitz and glamour of the restaurants on Park Street, everyone we asked seemed to know of and recommend it.
When we found the place we felt more like we were visiting a traditional Bengali home than a restaurant. The dining area was nearly empty with a few tables placed in what would otherwise have been a living room. We scanned the menu and after a few false starts in ordering, we managed to find a few dishes that we wanted to try that the restaurant actually had the ingredients for.
Bengalis are known for their seafood and I must say that the fish I ordered was the main event (it's the second one listed under fish on the menu if you ever go). It was served inside a banana leaf, lightly crusted in some undecipherable but purely delectable spices. We ate in the traditional Bengali fashion: drizzling the sauce over rice, breaking off a piece of our main course, rolling it all into a ball with one hand and then popping the whole mess into our mouths.
Kolkata in Pictures
Kolkata (Calcutta) is often called the intellectual capital of India. And while this may be true, the most striking parts of the city for me was the energy, the movement, the dynamism. Just to get into the city from the bus station, we had to cross the most traveled bridge in the world. Over the course of the weekend we rode in cars, buses, boats and subways, and in each mode of transportation we were caught up in a flurry of people and activity.
In Bhubaneswar students on campus and some residents of the city seem to speak with a bit of distrust of the outside. Not many students come from "outside." "Be careful of outside food." When we ride through the main drag of Bhubaneswar, we see few crowds and even fewer women. In Kolkata, on the other hand, residents seem to embrace the outside with tons of people out and about shopping, eating, selling, and more. Also, Bengali women are dominant on the scene and make their presence known with their fiery fashion sense. Bangles, large bindis, nose rings and red-painted feet are just a few adornments the women were sporting.
We visited Dakshineswar Temple, one of the most famous temples in Kolkata, which is meant to honor the goddess Kali. The building was red and white, which are colors favored by Bengalis. In fact, married women traditionally wear these colors only.
We followed this with a visit to Belur Math, a monastery and temple complex that was created in 1938 in homage to Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa by his student Swami Vivekananda. Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa is a respected social and religious reformer that helped advocate for the rights of women. Most notably, he rejected the practices of child marriage, widows being denied the opportunity to remarry, and dowry deaths (the murdering of wives whose parents have not paid their dowries in ways that are meant to look accidental, usually occurring in the kitchen).
On our second day, we visited Victoria Memorial, probably the most recognizable landmark in Kolkata. It was built between 1906 and 1921 in honor of Queen Victoria, also known as the Empress of India. It is currently an art museum, which houses a small section that details India's colonial past (curated somewhat strangely from a British historian's perspective...at least that's how it seemed to me). The grounds around the memorial are vast and provid a nice oasis of calm in the middle of the frenetic city.
In Bhubaneswar students on campus and some residents of the city seem to speak with a bit of distrust of the outside. Not many students come from "outside." "Be careful of outside food." When we ride through the main drag of Bhubaneswar, we see few crowds and even fewer women. In Kolkata, on the other hand, residents seem to embrace the outside with tons of people out and about shopping, eating, selling, and more. Also, Bengali women are dominant on the scene and make their presence known with their fiery fashion sense. Bangles, large bindis, nose rings and red-painted feet are just a few adornments the women were sporting.
We visited Dakshineswar Temple, one of the most famous temples in Kolkata, which is meant to honor the goddess Kali. The building was red and white, which are colors favored by Bengalis. In fact, married women traditionally wear these colors only.
We followed this with a visit to Belur Math, a monastery and temple complex that was created in 1938 in homage to Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa by his student Swami Vivekananda. Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa is a respected social and religious reformer that helped advocate for the rights of women. Most notably, he rejected the practices of child marriage, widows being denied the opportunity to remarry, and dowry deaths (the murdering of wives whose parents have not paid their dowries in ways that are meant to look accidental, usually occurring in the kitchen).
On our second day, we visited Victoria Memorial, probably the most recognizable landmark in Kolkata. It was built between 1906 and 1921 in honor of Queen Victoria, also known as the Empress of India. It is currently an art museum, which houses a small section that details India's colonial past (curated somewhat strangely from a British historian's perspective...at least that's how it seemed to me). The grounds around the memorial are vast and provid a nice oasis of calm in the middle of the frenetic city.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
The River Ganges
The Ganges is one of the major rivers in India flowing east from the Himalayas to the Bay of Bengal. The 2,510 km river is linked to the goddess Ganga and is considered holy by Hindus. The water is said to have purifying qualities and pilgrims come to bathe in the river in hopes of washing away their sins.
The Ganges is also the site of many religious ceremonies and rituals. As the river is considered a pathway to heaven, families spread the ashes of the deceased there. Believers may also come to the Ganges with water bottles in tow to capture some of the river water and bring it back to their ailing loved ones to help them along the journey to heaven.
One of the cities that the Ganges flows through is Kolkata. On our first full day, we traveled to the edge of the river and dipped our feet in. As our next stop was on the opposite side of the city, we then took a thirty minute boat ride across the river.
A Passage From India
My coworkers and I decided to go to Kolkata (Calcutta) for the weekend. We arrived at the Bhubaneswar train station Friday afternoon at around the same time as the sky opened up and thick sheets of rain furiously came falling down. It was under a cold and gray backdrop that I first caught sight of the blue train that we would be traveling on for seven and a half hours. It reminded me of those trains you see in black and white films in the scene where the starlet's scarf covered head leans outs of the window calling to her lover as he endeavors to out run the train.
This romantic image quickly faded once I entered the non-AC chair car of the train. Replacing it was the odor of frying oil mingled with the faintest smell of chai and something a bit sour, like stale public toilets. The inside had a dingy, fallen look. The formerly white walls were a muddied grayish color accented with a dull peeling blue paint. Six or seven fans were creaking overhead, and small pools of water were gathering on the hard, inflexible train benches as the windows stubbornly stayed open.
We tried to find our seats through the parade of people coming down the aisle. One man selling pakoras out of a flimsy metal plan, another man urging you to buy a bag of potato chips from the crate he was carrying. More men shouting out the goods they were offering: chai, bottled water, and packets of gum dangling from a carrier as if the whole structure were a mobile that belonged in some baby's crib. There were also the travelers, of course, with their overstuffed bags pushing their way toward their seats. And then there were the blind, the one-armed, the crippled, reaching out their hands for just a few coins.
We found our places and squeezed into seats 97, 98, 99 and 100. After settling our belongings, we waited for the train to depart.
Anyone who has ever been on public transportation with me can guess that I was asleep within moments of the train moving. When I awoke, the rain had dissipated and the train car was filled with heavy, clingy air. As best as they could, my fellow passengers had contorted themselves into rest-like positions, mouths half-open and a sheen of sweat on their faces. I was pressed against the window, but when I turned around I saw huge expanses of green land. As the train continued chugging along, I focused in on the leaves and grass holding on to the last droplets of rain.
This romantic image quickly faded once I entered the non-AC chair car of the train. Replacing it was the odor of frying oil mingled with the faintest smell of chai and something a bit sour, like stale public toilets. The inside had a dingy, fallen look. The formerly white walls were a muddied grayish color accented with a dull peeling blue paint. Six or seven fans were creaking overhead, and small pools of water were gathering on the hard, inflexible train benches as the windows stubbornly stayed open.
We tried to find our seats through the parade of people coming down the aisle. One man selling pakoras out of a flimsy metal plan, another man urging you to buy a bag of potato chips from the crate he was carrying. More men shouting out the goods they were offering: chai, bottled water, and packets of gum dangling from a carrier as if the whole structure were a mobile that belonged in some baby's crib. There were also the travelers, of course, with their overstuffed bags pushing their way toward their seats. And then there were the blind, the one-armed, the crippled, reaching out their hands for just a few coins.
We found our places and squeezed into seats 97, 98, 99 and 100. After settling our belongings, we waited for the train to depart.
Anyone who has ever been on public transportation with me can guess that I was asleep within moments of the train moving. When I awoke, the rain had dissipated and the train car was filled with heavy, clingy air. As best as they could, my fellow passengers had contorted themselves into rest-like positions, mouths half-open and a sheen of sweat on their faces. I was pressed against the window, but when I turned around I saw huge expanses of green land. As the train continued chugging along, I focused in on the leaves and grass holding on to the last droplets of rain.
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