Monday's dhobi day.*

6

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* From the British folk song " Monday's washing day"

We had a decent night's sleep on the Padatik Express and woke up around 40km outside Kolkata. There was light mist rather than fog and we seemed to be making good progress until after crossing the Hooghly River and joining the main line into Sealdah station. Then there were the usual unexplained halts and people started getting off the train to walk along the track. We were 50 minutes late by the time we got to the platform,  not a problem for us, and headed straight for the Pre-paid taxi queue,  ignoring the touts. The queue moved quite quickly and we were soon seated in a newish Tata Indigo taxi, a bit more spacious than an Ambassador,  although lacking street cred. The official rate is Rs75, about a third of what the touts want.

We arrive at the Fairlawn around 8.30 a.m. and for the second time in eight days they have a room ready for us at this early hour. This is a real bonus.  We are able to unpack and stuff a week's worth of dirty washing into a large bag, for the attention of the Dhobi wallah. We can also shower ourselves before heading out for breakfast. We choose Flury's as D saw Eggs Benedict on their menu last week and really fancies them. R has promoted her runny nose to a cold and only wants toast. D's choice is 'not available today' so it is lemon tea and toast for two. Our plan today is to visit Tagore's House then wander back through the bazaars. D looks at LP to check the address and spots that it does not open on Mondays.

Our target is switched to Kumartuli, the district that houses the workshops of the idol makers. This involves a six stop ride on the Kolkata Metro for a massive five rupees each. The metro is in pretty good shape. Bans on spitting, smoking , littering and photography are actually enforced.  It shows what can be done. The trains themselves are quite old but only a little shabby unlike the trams which are positively decrepit. After we exit the Metro D switches on the mapping app on his phone again and we manage to hit our target at the first effort.

The first workshop that we see has a fifteen feet high unpainted idol of the goddess Saraswati in the entrance. The chap inside invites us in for a better look and tells us that this idol has been specially made for a club to mark her festival which occurs shortly. From the darker recesses of the workshop a holy man appears, splashes us with water and places talakas on our foreheads and gives us some kind of blessing. He seems very pleased to receive a small donation in return. 

What are professional idol makers called? Idolaters? Idlers? The ones we meet all seem to be very friendly, happy to demonstrate their skills and have photos taken. The idols are built using a wooden frame around which straw is wrapped to create the basic shape. This is then covered with a yellow, fairly coarse clay. When this is dry a finer grey clay and strips of cloth are used create smooth surfaces and pick out details.  Some complex pieces are made using molds. Once finally dry the idols are painted with a base coat before the details of the faces etc are painted on. Finally some of the idols are dressed. It was interesting to see how techniques have been adapted to take advantage of modern equipment and materials. Airbrushes are widely used and there are a few specialists who carve polystyrene. 

We walked up and down alleys for over an hour and probably saw only a fraction of the workshops. The whole area was devoid of wheeled transport, presumably to ensure that idols did not get accidentally damaged. At one crossroads we passed a karoom board,  set up on legs in the street. A lively game was in progress. Our walk took us through to the river and we decided to take a ferry ride. D's map said go north for the nearest jetty. We walked past bathing ghats, washing ghats and a burning ghat although the latter was not in use as we passsed. Judging by some of the notices posted this river bank must get lively at times.

The ticket seller at Bagbazar Jetty was insistent on correct change being tendered for our fare. It must take forever to count it all at the end of the day. Our ferry was just coming in so R was installed in a good seat and D went up to the front to take pictures. There followed a thirty minute cruise down the Hooghly River in a pleasant breeze and with plenty of photo ops. Not bad for Rs 6 each. At Hooghly we bought tickets for the short crossing to Armenian Ghat, just south of the Hooghly Bridge. This seemed quite pricey in comparison - five rupees each for five minutes. There is no opportunity to bring home a souvenir ticket from the Kolkata ferries. At each disembarking your ticket is collected,  ripped in half and thrown on the ground. 

We have a short walk from the jetty into the lively and colourful flower market. There is so much to look at and photograph but you need to keep your wits sharp as there is a constant flow of porters with head loads and flatbed tricycles, not to mention customers with sharp elbows. We have previously looked down on this market from the road above which leads to the Hooghly Bridge but it is worth getting in close as you get the smells (mostly pleasant) as well as the sights. Even R's dodgy nose picks up some fragrances. One sight that we had not anticipated was seeing flower heads being sold by weight, the vendors using old fashioned hand scales to measure.

Although the sun was masked by a haze and it was not as hot as yesterday, it was very humid and we decided to head back to the Fairlawn. D's plan was to get a tram from the terminal at the east side of the Hooghly Bridge towards Park Circus. We found a safe place to stand next to a Policeman who was writing up traffic tickets and watched the chaotic traffic. We could see along the street if the tram was on its way. After ten minutes or so there was no sign. D noticed a rusty Calcutta Tramways hut and braved the traffic to make an enquiry.  Inside there were four men in Tramway khaki reading newspapers. D asked when the next tram was due.  One spoke good English and answered this question at great length. In summary his answer was "No idea pal".

After a further ten minutes there was still no sign of a tram so we set off walking along the MG Road. In a bid to escape the crowds and the traffic fumes we tried the side streets of the Barrabazaar area. That name might strike a chord with Glaswegian readers. There were fewer exhaust fumes but the streets were still packed with people and cycle rickshaws. There were also a few of the hand pulled rickshaws that the authorities try to ban every now and again. The streets are lined with every kind of business. If we ever need a rubber stamp making we know where to come.

Eventually we find ourselves quite close to the MG Road metro station and opt for a cheap ride home. Back at the hotel our room key is missing.  We are certain that we lodged it at reception before going out. They are certain that they don't have it. We search our pockets and bags and eventually a master key is produced so that we can get into the room. Nothing has been touched so foul play appears unlikely. By the time we have had a cup of tea a very apologetic Antipodean chap knocks at the door to return our key, which he had picked up in error.

R's cold has not really improved and we decide to stay local. LP lists a small restaurant along the street called Bhoj & Company. We have passed it and it looks clean and quite smart with presentable staff. They promise genuine Bengali cuisine.  What more could we want?  They are not too busy when we arrive and we are ushered into the window table. The don't serve alcohol but that is OK. We aren't really soaks. The menu is in Bengali (?) text with the dish names phonetically listed in Roman script. Our waiter has very limited English. We wade in. Some words are easy like Meat, rice and Non-veg. Bhaja must be Bhaji, those flat pakora things. Bengali pulao rice sounds safe enough and there are a couple of dal dishes so we go for one of them. Butter Nan is one we recognise so we order one to share. It seems that some of the veg dishes are unavailable but Aloo Gobi (potatoes and cauliflower) is on and is one we like. We then ask for Mixed Bhaja as a starter. We get a bit of an odd look for this.

The Bhaja arrives first. It is a tapas size dish of spicy chopped mixed vegetables.  Oh well. It tastes alright. The rest comes soon after. Again tapas size portions except for the rice which is in a bowl the size of a large soup plate.  The Nan is crispy and delicious. For us the portions are great - no overeating or guilt at food waste. We even have room for delicious Mishti Doi to follow. A really good day, even if we didn't get a tram ride.