Kalikata

Kolkata can drain you of energy at times. The constant flow of traffic, people and questions is truly overwhelming. Rickshaws are pulled along by men on foot, the only city in India where this still happens. Not a square inch of the road on which we are staying can be described as peaceful or quiet, at every turn we are offered something, whether it is a taxi, money change, pashminas, juice, jewellery, newspapers or charas. People here are not afraid to shout for your attention long after you have passed them by.

Nearby Sudder Street where we stay is the New Market, and it is here that on a few occaisons Aslam has found us. Quickly he picks up his pace when we turn the street corner, darting in front of us. "You want spices?" He asks, "Pashmina, sari? I am a good boy. I show you the way. No money." He points to his heart, "My wife Moona. I am good boy." Sometimes we follow him into the dreaded market. Usually just as a means to get to the other side of it. There are indeed lots of very intriguing spices in there, but the mid section is a real test for our poor stomachs. There is a nauseating smell of dead, gutted animals, closely confined live chickens and fish rot.

Aslam slowly realizes we are not here to shop, and he disappears into the crowd. Tomorrow, he will find us again, and remind us once more that he is a good boy.

The sensory overload continued at the Kalighat temple. We were met there by a helpful Brahmin who offered to show us around. As usual, we removed our shoes, and looked at the many stalls selling flowers, religious offerings and ornaments. He then guided us among the throngs of people who had come to worship Kali, goddess of destruction and regeneration. The drumming, bells and chanting grew louder, there was some bleating and we were very surprised to see the sacrificial slaughter of a young goat. Blood was washed into the drains, hoofs removed and the animal skinned. We were told that the meat doesn't go to waste, and it was a very quick death. This was a very strange experience and all the more intense when you consider that a few hundred years ago (if that), human sacrifices were made in the same place.

The image of Kali inside the temple can be glimpsed briefly amid pilgrims in a frenzy, her three red eyes glaring above a long golden tongue.

We sought peace in the Botanical Gardens after that, where even the car horns faded away, and enjoyed wandering about aimlessly through the neglected but beautiful plants, including one of the largest Banyan Trees in the world. With young couples courting everywhere, lazy yellow clouds of dragonflies and the milder temperature of the late afternoon, this was a wonderful place to be, a world away from the mad streets.

Despite the noise, pollution, dirt and chaos, Kolkata is an amazing city. It is known as Kali's city, just as Varanasi is known as Shiva's city. The reputation is deserved.