This year I'm taking a course called WRITE 298: Creative Non-Fiction Writing. It's my favourite course this semester because I essentially get to write blog posts for school and so all the assignments are FUN. Yes, I am describing school work as fun. That's how great it is.
So, throughout the year (it's a full year course, wonderfully enough), I'll be sharing some of my writings. Here's our first assignment: a description of place. Despite the short time my DTS outreach group spent in Kolkata, that city still stands out vividly in my mind - perhaps more vividly than other place I've been. So, even though I haven't been there in a year and a half, and have hardly any pictures to look back on, it was easy to remember and write about.
The Fabric of India
The first glimpses of the city are overwhelming, and I’d almost be glad for the barrier of the taxi window between me and this new place, if it wasn’t for the stuffiness of the incense-choked cab. I step out into the city, and it is chaos. CHAOS. An absolute flurry of colour and bodies and shapes and voices and cooking and chaos. Everything is moving. Even the air is throbbing and pulsating with the energy of the city.
Kolkata is a vibrant tapestry come to life. At first glance, the colors seem muddied, all running together, but with a closer look the intricate pattern begins to stand out. Colors and shades intertwining, wrapping and twisting and combining, creating altogether new colors and shades that reach out and grab you, pulling you into the fabric. Swirls and waves crashing over each other, vying for attention. The grand, ostentatious pattern gets daintier and more delicate the closer you get, but no less subtle. No, never subtle. This tapestry is bold, in your face, demanding to be noticed. Each thread cries for its just amount of attention. Every strand is there for a reason, holding the fabric of India intact.
One distinct thread running through the city is the pungent aroma. I can see the smells wafting through the air. Pleasant and unpleasant smells alike drift around me. Curry and sweat and dirt and cooking meat and chai tea and flowers – each scent equally as strong, each scent mingling with the others as to be barely distinguishable. Combining into one scent describable only as INDIA. Down some of the backstreets, there are less pleasant smells – bodily wastes and excretions. I’m unsure whether these are from the flea ridden street dogs wandering about, or the raggedy looking people sitting in the gutters. But still, even this is a piece of the fabric of India.
Another part of the tapestry is the cacophonous symphony of the pulsating city. There is a constant underlying drone of motors. Cars and taxis and tuktuks clog the streets, packing eight or nine lanes of traffic into what would be a four lane road at home. Of course, with this many vehicles, there is quite a resounding tumult of blaring horns, along with what I’m sure is some terribly colourful language from the taxi drivers. There is a buzz of voices on the street, merchants selling their wares and customers haggling for prices. The food vendors are just as noisy, with their sizzling meat and simmering spices.
Everything is exacerbated by the extreme temperatures. Never had I imagined this kind of heat. It is the kind of heat you can see. My Canadian body was not ready for this Indian weather. In my mind, a temperature that far above zero calls for a bikini, a pool, and an icy drink in hand. Yet here I am, modestly covering up with pants and a scarf. Kolkata is a tapestry, alright. A thick, thick tapestry that blankets you with sweltering temperatures, at once completely drenching you in sweat and totally parching your throat. It makes your vision waver, to the point where you almost miss the sights of the city.
Almost.
Maybe if Kolkata was a vastly different place, the heat could distract from the rest of the available experiences. But it is not.
Kolkata is a vibrant city, assaulting each of the senses equally. The debilitating heat can’t distract from the blinding sights, which can’t distract from the pungent smells, which can’t distract from the deafening sounds, which can’t distract from the overwhelming taste. All the stimuli vying for attention is so lively; everything becomes jumbled. I swear, you can hear the sights and taste the smells. Everything is so fierce; it demands to be experienced by every sense at once.
Walking down the sidewalk, everything is compressed down upon you and there is no escape. The sidewalk is lined with vendors, selling food, clothes, and every knick knack imaginable. Their grey, greasy tents block out the sun, but not the heat. The heat is magnified by the close quarters and even the air feels sticky. The bright colours of the wares are unaffected by the shade. Hanging clothes waft in the breeze likely generated by the hurried passing of people; I can see the gentle wind, but can’t feel a thing. The dyes are brilliant and the patterns are bold, instantly catching to the eye. The people walking past me on the street are even more dazzling, though. The beautiful fabrics of their outfits stand out against the dark skin and make their warm eyes glow.
Here you can see the tapestry of India most clearly. All the sights, all the sounds, all the smells, are brought together, concentrated in this tunneled in sidewalk. All the things that make Kolkata, KOLKATA. Most places in the world remind you of someplace else, holding pieces of home, or seeming like a familiar vacation spot. Kolkata, though, is a tapestry with a very particular style, a one-of-a-kind flavour. It's absolutely one of a kind, and can’t remind you of anything but itself.
So, throughout the year (it's a full year course, wonderfully enough), I'll be sharing some of my writings. Here's our first assignment: a description of place. Despite the short time my DTS outreach group spent in Kolkata, that city still stands out vividly in my mind - perhaps more vividly than other place I've been. So, even though I haven't been there in a year and a half, and have hardly any pictures to look back on, it was easy to remember and write about.
The Fabric of India
The first glimpses of the city are overwhelming, and I’d almost be glad for the barrier of the taxi window between me and this new place, if it wasn’t for the stuffiness of the incense-choked cab. I step out into the city, and it is chaos. CHAOS. An absolute flurry of colour and bodies and shapes and voices and cooking and chaos. Everything is moving. Even the air is throbbing and pulsating with the energy of the city.
Kolkata is a vibrant tapestry come to life. At first glance, the colors seem muddied, all running together, but with a closer look the intricate pattern begins to stand out. Colors and shades intertwining, wrapping and twisting and combining, creating altogether new colors and shades that reach out and grab you, pulling you into the fabric. Swirls and waves crashing over each other, vying for attention. The grand, ostentatious pattern gets daintier and more delicate the closer you get, but no less subtle. No, never subtle. This tapestry is bold, in your face, demanding to be noticed. Each thread cries for its just amount of attention. Every strand is there for a reason, holding the fabric of India intact.
One distinct thread running through the city is the pungent aroma. I can see the smells wafting through the air. Pleasant and unpleasant smells alike drift around me. Curry and sweat and dirt and cooking meat and chai tea and flowers – each scent equally as strong, each scent mingling with the others as to be barely distinguishable. Combining into one scent describable only as INDIA. Down some of the backstreets, there are less pleasant smells – bodily wastes and excretions. I’m unsure whether these are from the flea ridden street dogs wandering about, or the raggedy looking people sitting in the gutters. But still, even this is a piece of the fabric of India.
Another part of the tapestry is the cacophonous symphony of the pulsating city. There is a constant underlying drone of motors. Cars and taxis and tuktuks clog the streets, packing eight or nine lanes of traffic into what would be a four lane road at home. Of course, with this many vehicles, there is quite a resounding tumult of blaring horns, along with what I’m sure is some terribly colourful language from the taxi drivers. There is a buzz of voices on the street, merchants selling their wares and customers haggling for prices. The food vendors are just as noisy, with their sizzling meat and simmering spices.
Everything is exacerbated by the extreme temperatures. Never had I imagined this kind of heat. It is the kind of heat you can see. My Canadian body was not ready for this Indian weather. In my mind, a temperature that far above zero calls for a bikini, a pool, and an icy drink in hand. Yet here I am, modestly covering up with pants and a scarf. Kolkata is a tapestry, alright. A thick, thick tapestry that blankets you with sweltering temperatures, at once completely drenching you in sweat and totally parching your throat. It makes your vision waver, to the point where you almost miss the sights of the city.
Almost.
Maybe if Kolkata was a vastly different place, the heat could distract from the rest of the available experiences. But it is not.
Kolkata is a vibrant city, assaulting each of the senses equally. The debilitating heat can’t distract from the blinding sights, which can’t distract from the pungent smells, which can’t distract from the deafening sounds, which can’t distract from the overwhelming taste. All the stimuli vying for attention is so lively; everything becomes jumbled. I swear, you can hear the sights and taste the smells. Everything is so fierce; it demands to be experienced by every sense at once.
Walking down the sidewalk, everything is compressed down upon you and there is no escape. The sidewalk is lined with vendors, selling food, clothes, and every knick knack imaginable. Their grey, greasy tents block out the sun, but not the heat. The heat is magnified by the close quarters and even the air feels sticky. The bright colours of the wares are unaffected by the shade. Hanging clothes waft in the breeze likely generated by the hurried passing of people; I can see the gentle wind, but can’t feel a thing. The dyes are brilliant and the patterns are bold, instantly catching to the eye. The people walking past me on the street are even more dazzling, though. The beautiful fabrics of their outfits stand out against the dark skin and make their warm eyes glow.
Here you can see the tapestry of India most clearly. All the sights, all the sounds, all the smells, are brought together, concentrated in this tunneled in sidewalk. All the things that make Kolkata, KOLKATA. Most places in the world remind you of someplace else, holding pieces of home, or seeming like a familiar vacation spot. Kolkata, though, is a tapestry with a very particular style, a one-of-a-kind flavour. It's absolutely one of a kind, and can’t remind you of anything but itself.
Comments
Post a Comment