Back to Kolkata

 The sparrow seemed very upset with me sitting out on his terrace this morning. After five minutes sitting on the lamp above me shrieking he won and I wandered back inside to pack.

Our trip this morning was back to Gadkhali Ghat for the trip home. A couple of hours before high water we boarded, thankful that someone had already cleaned the mud off the jetty; every high tide l leaves an inch or two of gloop. 

The morning was calm, but gradually breeze picked up to a good force 4. We also had a knot or two of tide against us most of the way. 

Jenny caught this very prayerful pose! We breakfasted almost as soon as getting under way, really tasty aloo torkari with far too many puri breads which complemented the potato dish, banana and egg perfectly, but were great just to eat separately. 

The first vessel we saw sailing, and definitely downwind. The previous evening we'd noticed a man machine sewing opened plastic sacks together; now we saw why. 

The fisherman furthest forward seemed to have a good fish on his line while the lady readied her landing net. I hope they caught it, though we were round a bend before it broke surface. 

Twenty years ago there was a single hotel in the Sundarbans, apparently. Now there are many of these resorts from basic to luxury (ours was about midrange, I think). The consensus seems to be that they are overall good for the environment - by increasing economic value of the area many more are engaged, professionally and voluntarily, in preserving the mangrove forest. This shows in, for example, the impressive cleanliness and lack of plastic floating around, because it is actively removed. I would love to see the boats (all built locally - we passed one boatyard with two boats underway) equipped with electric motors; the canopies could house solar panels. This would cut sound and exhaust emissions but also much reduce risk of oil spill pollution. 

Our final turn before the ghat had an almost rost - though nothing to compare with Eynhallow. 

We reached Gadkhali Ghat at a much busier time than when we'd departed - it was chaos with boats jostling for a space, passengers pushing to get on and off, cargoes being loaded.... 

Jenny had contacted our tour organiser about the driver, and he was marginally better than he'd shown on the outward trip, but still inspired an essay I'll tag on the end. 

Back to our apartment we showered, "took rest", and sat on the balcony for a snack lunch. A troup of monkeys settled close by; fortunately they didn't approach. 

We've now relocated to Gulnar and Cyrus' apartment for our final couple of nights. They hosted a family gathering with wonderful Parsee food and conversation was so easy. Finally broke up around 11.30.

Comparing Indian and UK approaches to ASD. 

Our Sunday plan was to head for a farm out north of Kolkata but there's a very large political rally scheduled and getting around will be difficult. Instead we're being taken to the Tollygunge Club, which sounds like a very upmarket version of the Saturday Club we stayed in for the wedding nearly two months ago. Hoping I can get away with shorts - Kolkata is hot now.

Finally, the essay. I've been thinking much about the ethics of travel, particularly for tourism, this trip. There are so many separate issues to consider before trying to tie them together (which I'll almost certainly never get round to), but this was triggered by the drives of the past few days.

What can I do? What should I do? 

As the end of our long-awaited India visit draws very near I've a particular burden, highlighted perfectly by our driver to and from the Sundarbans. In short, he wasn’t just someone accustomed to the general chaos and following the loud and opportunistic norm, he simply hadn’t bought in to the give and take, or not the give part, anyway. 

In general, drivers here (specifically Kolkata, in this case) will take any space available, meaning a robust and continual game of chicken is occurring. This is a pain in many ways, for example if you have left space for a truck squeezing past, the space you’ve left will be instantly full of scooters, rickshaws, and any other form of transport which managed to pass; then there’s a total snarl up for as long as it takes for multiple bystanders, the truck driver’s mate, and, possibly, a police officer or two to persuade drivers to move in a helpful direction. A manoeuvre of seconds becomes a shouty five minutes or more. The usual occurrence, though, sees drivers of all vehicles taking all the liberties they can while being aware that others have to go somewhere, even if that “somewhere” appears ludicrously tight. Few drivers seem to actively wish death on other road users, but despite this there are far higher rates of injury and death on the roads than we in the UK accept.

Our driver, though, didn’t accept that liberalism. He seemed to intend his constant horn-blowing to mean something like “fair warning, die if you want”. Multiple times when there was no way to overtake without oncoming traffic or pedestrians having to stop, swerve or leave the road entirely (even when nowhere to go) - he simply blared and went. He would do this even if there was no point or possibility at all in overtaking, so he had to tuck back behind because (for example) the road was blocked. He also had a fondness for “rat-runs”, leaving the main roads for narrow roads through villages; being almost the only car meant he could speed up and this, for me was the most frightening as we passed through effectively traffic-free areas at crazy speeds relying on the horn to remove mobile obstacles such as people, dogs, goats and cows.

One of our long-distance drivers in Mizoram watched videos as he drove despite the challenge of narrow road, poor surface, multiple bends and sheer drops; this was frightening but the most at risk were those of us in the vehicle. Far, far worse would be hitting someone else: though the car may be piloted by a nutcase, it’s only there for our pleasure, and I lack the skills to alter the risk in any meaningful way despite being he ultimate cause of that risk. 

What should I do? I’ve not learned Bengali (though I may have employed some choice swearing if I had), the driver had very limited English. The proper approach may have been to try and say using signs that I’d be much obliged to slow down, but I’m stupidly unassertive when challenging someone else in a professional sphere – except when that’s my role and I have the language to give nuance. Should I have insisted he stop, then get out and take a chance that the bus / Uber / hitchhike alternative would be better?

Well, I’m writing this from our apartment rather than a prison cell so as far as I’m concerned we got away with it. But this adds, for me, to the whole ethics of travelling debate I’m having with myself, and I’m deeply uncomfortable with and confused by the much increased risk my actions expose others to.