My first arrival in Calcutta was unusual. I was traveling north along the Orissan coast on a second-class night train from Puri. In the morning, fifty or sixty kilometers shy of Calcutta, the train halted in the station of a small West Bengal market town. A blisteringly loud announcement was made over the stations antiquated loudspeaker system. Following the message the majority of the passengers abruptly picked up their bedrolls, plastic suitcases and stackable lunch tins and left the train. My berth mates made no move for the door, rather they all light up another round of their foul smelling bedis and settled back in their seats. One of the smokers casually informed me in broken English that the train would be staying in the station "twelve - maybe twenty-four hours". It was only after searching out the harried stationmaster that I learn that a "bandh" (a citywide strike) had been called.

The ease in which most of my fellow travelers accepted a twenty-four hour delay in their travel plans amazed me. I wanted to be on my way! My time in India was limited and it seemed absurd to waste a day languishing in a hot train with my destination so close. But beyond the inconvenience of being stuck in a muddy town desperately short of attractions, I was curious to see what a citywide strike looked like. The idea of a city as vital and congested as Calcutta frozen for a day in self-imposed inactivity was hard to imagine. The more I was told to forget about getting to Calcutta that afternoon the more I wanted to try to penetrate the shuttered city. The problem, however, was how does one get into a city closed to the outside world.

I exited to train station and quickly exhausted the most obvious options for continuing my journey to Calcutta. Not a single bus has headed north and all the taxi drivers just shook their heads lazily when the name Calcutta passed by lips. I discovered from talking to the taxi-wallas that a crossroads on the main north-south trunk road was due west about three kilometers. One man suggested that this was the only possible place where I might find a ride heading north. With this slim bit of information I headed west through the bus station towards a small road cutting through the fields. On the very edge of the bus station I happened upon a bewildered French couple that had been busily looking for a ride too. They seemed a bit frantic and with a troubled tone in their voice they said that they had a flight from Calcutta's dum-dum airport that evening. I tried to reassure them that it was extremely unlikely that any flight would be leaving Calcutta that evening. I did not allay their fears and when they heard I was seeking a ride on the highway they asked to come along. With the informal familiarity that comes from chance encounters in foreign countries I said, "why not, come on". With out partnership formed, our small band walked west along some recently harvested fields in the growing heat of the late morning.


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