Tag Archives: ganges

My first visit to Kolkata (Calcutta) was very nearly my last

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IN AUGUST 2011, my wife was invited to attend a Loreto House School reunion in Calcutta (Kolkata). As I had never been to the city before, I accompanied her. While my wife took part in the daily activities with some of her former schoolmates, I explored, and fell in love with, the great city on the Hooghly River – one of the channels through which the Ganga (Ganges) makes its way to the sea.

Throughout our five-day visit to the city, the monsoon rains fell heavily and incessantly. I walked around Calcutta in sandals without socks – often wading through filthy water that submerged my feet and lapped around my ankles. Fortunately, my feet did not become infected by whatever might have been lurking in the water. However, the monsoon did not affect my enjoyment of the vibrant, but delightfully decaying. city – one could almost say it is India’s own distinctive version of Havana in Cuba.

One day, I visited Jorasanko, the palatial residence of the Tagore family, whose members included not only the Nobel Prize winner, the polymath Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), but also artists such as Abanindranath and Gaganendranath (both Tagore). After seeing around the fascinating rooms of Jorasanko, which I enjoyed so much that I visit it whenever I am in the city, I sploshed through the flooded streets towards the Hooghly River. On my way, I walked along a busy street lined with shops and filled with crowds of people. A steady stream of rickshaws pulled by thin, sinewy men – each of the vehicles laden with two or three passengers – made its way through the busy throng. The huge wheels of these vehicles keep the passengers high above the water flooding the streets, but the pullers’ feet were permanently submerged.

I noticed that some shops – often those of clothing and textile merchants – men were distributing hot food – rice and dal – to occasional passers-by. I stopped at one of the stores, and asked about the food distribution.  It was explained to me that during Ramadan, it was a virtuous thing to feed the poor. This kindness impressed me, especially as those who were serving it were fasting.

Howrah Bridge

Eventually, after boldly crossing a wide road clogged with slow moving heavy traffic, I stepped onto the Howrah Bridge, a gigantic steel bridge – a Meccano lover’s dream come true. It traverses the Hooghly – a section of the great Ganges River system. It was constructed between 1935 and early 1943. At first, the bridge crosses over a large market that is strung along the riverbank. Then, after a few yards, it is over the water. I walked along the downstream facing pedestrian walkway, dodging many porters carrying heavy and bulky loads on their heads. I took numerous photographs until I was two thirds of the way across the river. There, I met a policeman with an ancient-looking rifle – its leather strap slung over his shoulder. Politely, he informed me that photography was forbidden on the bridge. By then, I had sufficient images stored in the memory of my digital camera.

Once over the river, I headed through the streaming rain and thick crowds to a boat station close to the Howrah railway terminus. My plan was to travel on a river bus downstream to a landing stage not far from Park Street.  I bought a ticket which was printed on such very poor-quality paper that it had to be kept dry to stop it dissolving or falling to pieces.  I asked someone on the floating platform at the water’s edge if the boat that was approaching was heading for my planned destination. I received what I believed was an affirmative reply, and then boarded a relatively empty boat with plenty of free seats. We set off.

To my surprise, the boat headed upstream rather than downstream. Soon, we passed beneath the Howrah Bridge. We sailed a long way upstream away from the city centre. The banks of the river were lined with unattractive industrial buildings, and these were punctuated by occasional bathing ghats. We were heading away from the pleasant old part of the city in which Park Street is located.

I disembarked at the boat’s first stop. Had it not been raining so heavily I would have stepped out of the boat station to explore the area around it. Instead, I bought another flimsy ticket to return to Howrah. This time, I asked several people to tell me at which of the two floating embarkation pontoons I should board the downstream boat. I waited close to the water while a large crowd of fellow passengers gathered behind me. I wanted to be sure of embarking first.

The boat approached where we were all standing. I could see from afar that it was ‘packed to the gills’ with people. When the boat was about 18 inches away from the pontoon, I felt a great push from behind me and I was catapulted across the water towards the approaching vessel. Luckily, I was able to grab something on the boat, and this saved me from falling into the water and being crushed between the boat and the pontoon. Had I not been able to do this, I feel sure my life would have ended prematurely.

 The boat was stuffed with people – I am sure that sardines are less tightly packed in tins. I wanted to try to take a photograph to capture an image of this crowd, but I could not because so great was the pressure exerted by those around me that I was unable to raise my hands from beside my body. Thus wedged, I looked around and noticed there were only a few lifesaving flotation items. If our boat had sunk, I imagine that only a few of us on board would have survived.

It was a great relief to disembark at Howrah. I was drenched, somewhat shaken, and hungry. I decided to take a taxi to Flurys in Park Street. It is a European style tearoom/restaurant that served what I was yearning at that moment – toasted club sandwiches. I boarded a dented yellow Ambassador taxi in a car park near the railway station.  We inched our way forward into a mass of other similarly damaged taxis. The crowded taxis were so close to each other that it felt as if they might become welded together. It took almost an hour for my driver to skilfully manoeuvre his vehicle a couple of hundred yards from where I boarded it on to the beginning of the bridge.

At last, we arrived at Park Street, where, slightly drier because of sitting for ages in the taxi, I settled down at a table in Flurys. I ordered my sandwich and savoured the peaceful atmosphere in the tearoom*.

Despite my near escape from severe injury (or worse) on the banks of the Hooghly, my enthusiasm for Calcutta remained undiminished.

*Note: when I last visited Flurys in January 2025, it had lost most of its charm; it has become a place for tourists and Instagrammers.

This is a chapter in my book “The Hitler Lock & Other Tales of India”, which is available from Amazon

An evening prayer offering by the water of the River Ganges

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THE WORD AARTI is from the Sanskrit language. It means ‘something that removes darkness’. In many pujas (Hindu ceremonies), an aarti is performed: it involves presenting a flame to appease the deity or deities. 

 

One evening, we were walking along the bank of the Hooghly (a part of the holy Ganges river that flows through Kolkata) just after sunset. We came across rows of plastic chairs facing the river at Babughat (one of the stepped landings used by people bathing in the river). Between them and the water there was a row of altars. We asked someone the reason for the chairs. We were informed that they were set up so that people could watch the daily Ganga Aarti, which was due to happen at 530 pm. Our daughter,  who had witnessed a Ganga Aarti at Varanasi, persuaded us to wait and watch the forthcoming aarti.

 

We sat down and joined the other spectators. While we waited, several hawkers walked along the rows of chairs, selling snacks of various kinds, both packaged and prepared to order (for example, jhal muri – puffed rice with flavourings). One hawker carried a tray on which a small lamp (a diya) was flickering. For a small cash offering, he blessed the ‘customer’ and placed some prasad (blessed food) into his or her right hand. Meanwhile, rotating spotlights and piped music added to the festive atmosphere. Gradually,  all the seats were occupied,  and many people were standing nearby on the sides of the ghat.

 

At 5.30 pm, priests dressed in shiny gold robes with wide sashes over their left shoulders began assembling, one in front of each of the altars. The latter were illuminated with hoops carrying brightly lit electric light bulbs. Then,  the ceremony began.

 

A pandit, dressed in white, speaking into a handheld microphone chanted prayers in Sanskrit. As he was doing this, the gold clad priests performed several visually exciting activities. These included moving containers emitting clouds of smoke. They swung them and moved them in circles, each man in synchrony with the others. After this, they did much the same thing with candelabras each carrying many small flaming oil lamps (diyas). These were then replaced by larger flaming lamps, each of which had handles shaped like cobras ready to attack.  After the balletic flame movements, the flaming lamps were carried down to the water’s edge. I could not see whether they were immersed in the river.

 

In addition to the movements with the flaming lamps, large conch shells were washed through with water, some of which was sprinkled on the crowd. The conches were also blown to produce a sound indistinguishable from the horns on the locomotives of the trains running every few minutes on the suburban railway track that was a few feet behind where the ceremony was being performed. 

 

I am very pleased we waited to watch the Ganga Aarti. Apart from being more spectacular than many theatrical performances I have seen, it was very moving. It is yet another example of how much more vibrant and fervent religious ceremonies are in India than they are in most parts of Europe.

The power of faith and a polluted river

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!

ON CHRISTMAS MORNING (2024), we walked leisurely beside the Hooghly River (a stretch of the Ganges) between Prinsep Ghat and Eden Gardens, a distance of about 1.3 miles. With a good paved footpath,  this is a pleasant, picturesque, tree lined place to stroll.

 

Near Eden Park railway station,  there is a popular bathing ghat (a flight of steps leading into the water). From a  bridge that overlooks this, we watched people bathing in the river. Many of them immersed themselves fully several times. Others washed themselves. We saw people applying shampoo to wash their hair. I noticed a few men wading out into the water, carrying small trays containing flowers for puja. They threw these floral offerings into the fast flowing stream.

 The Ganges, of which the Hooghly is a part, is considered to be a place of great holiness by Hindus. They believe that bathing in this river conveys several benefits including: cleansing the soul; connecting with divine cosmic forces; washing away bad karma from the present or previous births; health giving and healing; and removing negativity. So, if you are a believer, bathing in the Hooghly/Ganges must be a good thing. But, must it?

 

Signs along the path on which we strolled exhort people not to dump rubbish in the river. But it is clearly obvious that these signs are not obeyed.  It is not only strollers’ rubbish that enters the sacred river. The river is being continuously polluted by sewage, industrial effluent, and decomposing corpses. This has resulted in high levels of toxic chemicals including heavy metals, and frighteningly large amounts  of bacterial and other microbial pathogens.

 

According to several official bodies, the Hooghly  has been deemed totally unsuitable for bathing. Yet despite this, there is no shortage of people entering the river to bathe, putting  their entire heads underwater, and washing themselves with this water that carries a real risk of causing ill-health. Such is the power of faith that the well-publicized risks of bathing in the river are outweighed by the belief that the water can only benefit the bather.

He took his own drinking water from India to England in 1902

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THE MOST DISAPPOINTING tourist ‘attraction’ in Jaipur, is the City Palace. After more than 3 weeks travelling in Rajasthan, I can safely say that this royal palace is the least interesting place we have visited. Architecturally, it lacks the finesse seen in other royal palaces. In addition it is far less interesting historically.

Not wishing to seem too negative about the place, I will mention one item that did catch my attention. It is a huge silver vessel, a jar: possibly the largest silver jar that has ever been made. It and several others were made to carry water from the Ganges to England. The water was for the use of Maharaja Sawai Madho Singh II during his visit to England to attend the coronation of King Edward VII in 1902. Each of the jars could carry about 400 gallons of water.

While this is a fascinating exhibit, I do not believe that the palace is worth visiting. Its admission fees are exorbitant by local standards: minimum of £10 for non-Indians and minimum of £3 for Indians. Additional charges are levied to see certain exhibits within the palace compound. These prices must be compared with the admission fees for the palace’s far more beautiful and much more fascinating neighbour, the Jantar Mantar (non-Indians pay £2, and Indians pay 50 pence).

Blooms beneath a bridge in the city of Calcutta

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OVERLOOKED BY THE MIGHTY Howrah Bridge and straggling alongside the left bank of the Hooghly River – a stretch of the Ganges – you will find the colourful Mullick Ghat flower market. The best way to enter this busy marketplace is by descending a staircase at the southeast corner of the Howrah Bridge (completed 1943). As you go down the stairs, you will have to step aside to make way for men carrying enormous, heavy loads on their heads. Many of them make use of the stair rails to support themselves while they climb.

Part of the flower market (next to the railway track) is in the open air. The rest of it – the part nearest to the river – is under cover. Narrow, muddy passages run between the numerous stalls selling whole flowers, flower heads, individual flower parts, and petals. Also, flower garlands and other floral decorations are aplenty. A steady stream of people hurry in all directions along these paths. Many of them are carrying heavy head loads. Occasionally, they dump the head loads (containing floral items) at one stall or another. To an outsider, like me, the place seems like a chaotic but highly colourful environment. It is probably not as crazy as it seems, but highly organised.

The flower market was established along this part of the Hooghly during or before the 19th century (https://www.telegraphindia.com/my-kolkata/places/a-visit-to-mullick-ghat-flower-market-one-of-asias-largest-under-the-howrah-bridge-in-kolkata/cid/1892065). The ghat was built in 1855 by Rammohan Mullick in honour of his father Nimai Charan Mullick. It was constructed on the land where the old Noyaner Ghat had stood. The older landing stage had been made by Noyanchand Mullick in 1793.

The Mullick Ghat stands next to the Jagganath Ghat, which was constructed in 1760. Both ghats were important because they were used by pilgrims embarking on ships to transport them to the holy site at Puri in Orissa. Although it is not known for certain why the flower market was established beside these ghats, it is not unlikely that it was connected to the embarkation places for the pilgrims. And flowers play an important role in Hindu rituals.

Even though the market seemed extremely busy to me, it is apparently in decline. This was in no little way connected with the recent covid19 pandemic. If what I saw is a somewhat diminished version of the market, I can barely imagine what it must have been like a few years ago. Providing you are not allergic to pollen or crowds, a visit to the flower market is an exciting and beautiful experience.

From the Ganges to the shore and then back into the river

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THE CERAMIC ARTIST, our friend Falguni Bhatt, works in Calcutta. While visiting her studio, she suggested that we visit Kumartuli in north Calcutta. Close to the Hooghly River – part of the Ganges – this district of the city is a warren of narrow lanes lined with the workshops of craftsmen who make Hindu idols out of the grey clay collected from the shores of the Ganges. We went there and were amazed by the huge amount of creative activity that confronted us.

Mounds of damp dark grey clay are carried on the heads of porters to the workshops. Others carry bundles of straw to the artisans. The straw is used to make armatures – these are shaped roughly like the finished idols. A completed armature, which can sometimes include supporting metal rods, looks sufficiently like the idol being created.

Clay is applied to the straw armatures. Gradually, the straw is hidden by the clay. The surface of the clay is either smoothed to resemble fine skin and/or inscribed to create bodily details – for example finger nails and the creases on the palms of hands or facial details or clothing and footwear. Creatures and objects associated with the depicted deity – for example, veenas and snakes – are created in the same way, starting with straw armatures.

The completed idols, which are frequently very detailed and of complex shapes, are left to dry and harden. The clay idols are not fired in a kiln.

Detailing on a clay idol

Later, the idols are painted according to tradition, and then decorated with elaborate costumes and jewellery. The jewellery is made from hand cut cardboard often with sequins and mirrors applied. A small section of Kumartuli is dedicated to workshops creating these intricate, attractive ornaments.

Each of the clay idols is an exquisite work of art. Each of them displays evidence of the highly skilled workmanship that created them. They rival the superb ancient Hindu stone carvings that can be found carefully displayed and conserved in museums. Yet, each of these clay masterpieces is destined to have but a very short life.

The idols are created in Kumartuli for use in important Hindu festivals such as Durga Puja, Kali Puja, and Saraswati Puja. We saw idols being prepared for the last mentioned. Most of the idols being created include the stringed musical instrument played by Saraswati – the veena. Her puja is to be held next in February 2024.

During these ceremonies, the carefully crafted idols – fully painted and decorated with elaborate hand made ornaments – are dropped into the Ganges. When I expressed my surprise at hearing about this, Falguni said something like:
“Life is transient.”

Feeding the spirit of the deceased by the River Ganges in Calcutta

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WHILE WALKING ALONG the well-tended riverside path that runs alongside the Ganges (Ganga) in Calcutta, we reached the Gwalior Monument – a tall tower overlooking the river. Around this edifice, which was built by the British in 1847, we saw something we had never seen before.

A craftsman was shaping the stiff dark grey mud from the holy Ganges into rectangular slabs with numerous small regular depressions. The finished product looked a bit like an oversized old fashioned Casio calculator. There were quite a few of these to be seen on the flat ground surrounding the monument.

Small groups of men, often with shaven heads, congregated around these mud slabs. The men were chanting prayers and placing grains of rice, sweets,and other food substances into the depressions in the slabs. We asked a bystander what was going on, and he explained it to us in perfect English.

The groups of men were performing ‘shraddha’ on the eleventh day following the death of a family member. Our informant was also attending a shraddha being held because of the recent death of a friend or relative. The son of the deceased was performing the shraddha puja. I have read that it is very important for Hindu couples to have a son because only a son can do shraddha for his parents

On the eleventh day following death, the spirit (atma) of the dead person is still in contact with his or her loved ones. The food being placed on the mud slabs will not, of course, be physically touched by the spirit, but it is believed that it will sustain him or her on the next stage of its eternal journey. A similar shraddha is performed on the first death anniversary and, sometimes, at other times.

Our informant told us that he was not entirely clear about the deep significance of shraddha, but he was happy to believe in its necessity. It was, he felt, an important part of the passage of life.

The eleventh day and one year ceremonies are observed by many Hindus, but until today, neither my wife nor I had ever come across these mud thalis for feeding the spirit of the deceased.

A year after my father-in-law died, there was a special ceremony in which I played an active role, but it was completely different from what we saw next to the Gwalior Monument.