28th December: Dum Dum

Having spent Monday night in a very comfortable hotel bed did not soften the blow of being jolted awake at 6am on Wednesday morning. With half-closed eyes we walked over to Khardah station, where we were met by Gopa, the young woman responsible for the Dum Dum project. We squeezed our way onto the train, past the vegetable-sellers whose produce blocked the entrance to each carriage. The train arrived at Dum Dum, two stops before Sealdah, at around 7.15, and we followed Gopa around the corner to an open space nestled between the station and a rubbish heap, with a public toilet off to one side. There we met another of the Crawl women, Gita.

We quickly laid out a large plastic sheet on the ground, just as the first of the kids wandered over. We gave the kids a colouring-in book to flick through, and they then pointed to their chosen page for "uncle" and "auntie" to tear it out. They then sat on the plastic sheet, rummaged through a pot of crayons to find the right colour, and finally unleashed their creative talents.

While we helped the kids to get started, Gopa went off to buy bread, returning with a bagful of loaves. She and Clem then started to spread some fluorescent mango jam on the bread to make sweet sandwiches. In the meantime, I sat down with the kids, encouraged their artistic efforts, and tried to find out their names using my minimal Bengali: "tomar nam kee?"

I soon replaced Clem on sandwich duty, since this was one culinary task I could just about handle, and she took over with the kids. By this time there were around a dozen aspiring artists. We were told that there are many more kids in the summer (and in the warmer week that followed, 30-40 kids showed up), but in the winter the children are slightly more reluctant to emerge so early from their blankets (those who have such luxury, that is).

The kids were adorable. Their artistic talents varied: some were very neat and coloured in the border carefully before filling in the centre; others adopted a more free-spirited approach to borders. Some were shy, others outgoing. A few spoke remarkably good English, but with most we had to point and, if in doubt, smile as broadly as we could. All had an eye for vivid colours and boundless enthusiasm. They also found our appearance most entertaining, especially Clem's sun-brightened blonde hair.

At around 7.45 another of the Crawl team arrived. Raji, who was training to be a nurse, spread out some newspaper on the ground and used the medical supplies provided by Crawl to treat the wounds of several of the kids. Most of the injuries were to the children's feet, unsurprisingly given that they wander these treacherous streets barefoot. One of the kids had suffered a serious injury, with half of his left foot shorn away. Gopa told us that Crawl had raised money to pay for his operation, and that his bandage was changed here every couple of days. His injury didn't prevent him from bouncing around with the energy of any other eight-year old, of course.

While the kids were colouring-in, some of their mothers came over to talk to Gopa, and a few of the men who had been standing outside the station sidled up to peer over at what the kids were doing. When each of the children finished their colouring-in, they handed the page to auntie or uncle for approval, which was ready and genuine.

At around 8am it was time for breakfast. Gopa lined up the kids, youngest at the front, as Clem handed out sandwiches and I served up bananas ("kolar"). As at Sealdah, most kids were given one of each, but for a few Gopa told us to hand out extra for their siblings who couldn't make it that morning. A few mothers with very young children, one seemingly only a week or two old, were also given food. It's hard to imagine how children that small could survive on the street, but somehow their mothers manage to keep them alive.

In total we served around 30 kids, I think. Some, apparently, managed to wake up only for food. That is not particularly surprising, I suppose. After the children had scattered to wolf down breakfast, or distribute it to their family, we packed up and made our way back into the train station. On the way we handed out the remaining food to mothers and children who hadn't made it over to our little area. Then Gopa headed back to Khardah while we ventured off to continue our exploration of Kolkata, with the whole day ahead of us.

First we took the metro south, to see the house of Tagore, India's greatest modern poet (and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913). Dum Dum is the northern terminus of the metro, so as we waited for the empty train's doors to open we were confident of finding a seat. We were too complacent. As the doors opened, we were surprised by the men behind us pushing past in a mad scramble to one side of the carriage. Rather confused by their haste, we ambled over to the other side, only to find that these seats were reserved for the elderly or "physically incapable". The train quickly filled up, but since it was only a few stops down to Girish Park we were fine.

We emerged from the metro station into the noisy, dirty, crowded streets of northern Kolkata. With the aid of the LP map and some gesticulating, we managed to find Tagore's old house, now transformed into a museum. Unfortunately it would not open until 10.30, so we had another hour or so to kill.

Next on our list was a grouping of Jain temples off to the north-east. After a long walk, a metro ride back up north, another good stroll, and lots of difficulty finding the exact location of the temples, we eventually spotted the tall spires peeking out ahead of us. They were very impressive, and more than justified the rather tedious journey. We did not have a camera with us, so here are some images that Google found for us.

An old man in a white robe led us around the three main temples, all built several centuries ago. Apparently Jainism is a particularly ascetic branch of Hinduism. There are two main sects, one of which prohibits clothes. Thankfully, this temple complex was managed by the other sect, so white robes were worn by the priests. In the third temple we were joined by a pair of newly-weds in full marriage attire, followed around by family and a video camera.

Leaving behind the Jain temples, we caught a taxi back to the Tagore museum (since I didn't fancy the return trek). The taxi took a lengthy detour, doubling the trip, but eventually dropped us off in front of the building that used to be Tagore's home. We slipped off our shoes (for the umpteenth time that morning) and made our way through the crowd of visitors, most of whom were Indian. The sparsely decorated rooms told the story of Tagore's life, meandering among memorabilia such as the desk at which he wrote and, rather morbidly, the bed on which he breathed his last. The walls bore choice quotations from Tagore the poet, alongside the paintings to which he turned his hand in his autumn years.

By this point our 6am start had caught up with us, so we made our way back to Girish Park metro and from there to Dum Dum. We had foolishly forgotten to ask Gopa from which platform to catch the train to Khardah, but managed to find out (apparently it helps to ask people). The train was of course over-crowded, but tolerably so, and we made it home with at least some personal space intact.

We spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in Khardah, and in the evening Clem tried her hand at making dosas, the delicious South Indian snack. The ready-made mix was purchased from a local grocery store. Unfortunately the single electric plate we had at the flat wasn't ideal for cooking, and the dosa required some teasing from the pan, but after the first, slightly shredded attempt the results were impressive (no arm-twisting, promise). The potato and pea curry inside was also very tasty. They would doubtless be better if freshly made, but that will have to wait.