Kolkata Part 3-The receptions or Sikhs Know to Party

We are now in Aurangabad to see the World Heritage Site caves of Ajanta and Ellora after a whirlwind tour of Varanasi, Agra and Delhi with daughter Kate before her return to New York. I will be posting on those legs soon, I hope. Meanwhile, join us at the Sikh wedding receptions.

Kate's hand hennaed in traditional wedding designs.

Like any wedding anywhere in the world the nuptials always include a party. The Sikhs are no different but they take it to a degree that is not seen in many parts of the world much less the rest of India. Most Indians do not drink at their parties and the Hindu majority does not eat meat. However the Sikhs, according to one family member, Sonny, love whiskey, chicken, mutton and dancing. My participation in the the many parties around the wedding bears out that statement. It is difficult to know how many parties there were because they seemed to merge together in a haze of loud Pujabi folk music, whiskey and a variety of rich foods. However, I am sure that the first night there was a party in the community room of the apartment complex of the family.

As we enter the room which is gaily decorated with columns wrapped in saris, flowers as streamers and oriental carpets on the floor we are instantly directed to the bar for the beverage of our choice. Uniformed waiters circulate offering tasty hors d’oeuvres of tandoori chicken bits, battered fish fingers, and some kind of deep fried vegetable balls. The bride and groom were subjected to an endless round of photos with everyone at the party. A videographer walked around the whole evening videoing everything in sight. As I walked around I noticed three drummers in ethnic dress who soon started to pound out Pujabi rythmns and the crowd responded with enthusiastic traditional dances. We, after a few drinks, join in the dancing and danced as if we had danced these dances all our lives. After several hours of dancing, dinner was served buffet style with several dishes including(surprise) mutton and chicken. This party fizzled out around midnight because everyone had to get up early for the wedding the next day.

Richard with the bride and groom
Note: Several of you have commented on my pink turban. Apparently, it is traditional for friends of the groom to wear this color as pink is considered an auspicious color.

The following day immediately following the wedding ceremony, a reception was held at the Tally Gunge Golf Club. Again there were endless photos of the bride and groom, lots of canapés and another huge buffet meal. We returned to the family home to hang out and get to know the family better. I have never met a more congenial or gracious bunch of people. I felt truly welcomed and felt like I was becoming a member of the family. Kate, who had preceded our arrival by two days, was definitely in the bosom of the family.

Deb in beautiful hand made sari

We wait for our ride

The last day of the festivities was spent in wait for the grand finale, another reception. This one was thrown by the groom’s family in the ITC hotel which is a five star establishment. The pattern of the previous parties was repeated with cocktails, hors d’oeuvres dancing, dinner and more dancing. This night was pure magic as the two families, Italian and Indian, had by now merged into a familiar unit. Deb, Kate and I felt included in this melded melange. Everyone was dancing to the Punjabi, American and Euro-pop. I have never had so much fun dancing. The Sikh men dance with abandon and seemed to challenge each other to dance to greater heights.

Prit busts a move

Everyone got into this and throughout the night one dancer or another would find themselves in the midst of the group being egged on including yours truly. I busted out some of my best moves to nods and claps of approval. Several of the family told us that our enjoyment of the music and parties increased their enjoyment of the parties. All in all, it was probably the best wedding I have ever attended because as the post title suggests, Sikhs really do know how to party.

Kate and Deb with our hostess Shobra

Kolkata Part 2-Alessandro and Simran's wedding

This is the second in the series on the wedding in Kolkata

The Sikh temple is a modest building with four minarets and a stucco façade. We can enter only after washing our hands and removing our shoes. We climb two flights of stairs to find a large hall carpeted in a sea of red commercial carpeting. Square marble clad columns support the broad expanse of the ceiling punctuated here and there by elaborate crystal chandeliers. An ornate altar clad in pink flowing cloth is capped by a gold dome.

The elder priest blessing the gathering

We hear the sounds of three saffron turbaned musicians. One plays the tabla and two others sing and play harmoniums. An ancient bearded Sikh priest waves a feathered sceptre as the crowd files in. The groom is already seated facing the altar dressed in a traditional long Punjabi coat and a deep red turban accented with gold thread. The men and women are seated separately on the floor at either side of the altar. The bride enters dressed in an ornately decorated sari and sits by the groom on the floor.

The bride and groom

As everyone settles in, a younger priest stands in front of the altar and asks the elder priest for permission to perform the marriage. The elder gives his assent and steps off the alter. The younger priest takes his place on the altar and starts to conduct the ceremony. As he speaks the groom and bride perform a series of bows to the altar and then they circle the altar four times. This signifies the different phases in their marriage and instructs them how to conduct themselves within the marriage. It is somewhat like our promise to love, honor and obey. There is more music by the turbaned trio. The priest conducts some sort of invocation while everyone stands with clasped hands.

The musicians

After a few more blessings and bows, the priest thanks the older priest for allowing the marriage to occur. The older priest then circulates through the temple providing each participant and guest with a golf ball sized lump of ghee to eat. The fathers of the bride and groom sign the book of the temple and everyone congratulates everyone all around.

Desperately sikhing India

Stay tuned for the receptions or Sikhs know how to party.

Kolkata: Part 1

I hope to do several posts in the next few days reporting on our stay in Kolkata and the wedding. What follows is an account of our first few hours in Kolkata : the city formally known as Calcutta.

Our late night arrival in Kolkata is marred by a clueless taxi driver who could not find the address of Simran’s family home. We race through the empty late night streets. A hazy pall hangs over the city; a polluted mixture of dust, exhaust and the exhalations of 18 million people. We speed past piles of trash, ramshackle buildings, and the tarps of makeshift “houses” of the countless Kolkata homeless. Kolkata at night is a daunting place yet we are told it is generally safe. However, I am suspicious of roving packs of seemingly semi wild dogs.

We stop to ask a group of rikshaw pilots for direction. They seem as clueless as our driver with two of them giving conflicting directions. Deb is intimidated by their stares at her camera and bag. I watch in amusement as an errant frog hops down the middle of the street unconcerned by taxis careening past. After an hour and a half “tour “of the city with many turns, twists, misinformation and I suspect downright stupidity we finally accost a motorcyclist who directs our driver to the address we have been looking for in vain. We finally arrive to the worried looks of Simran and her family.

We stealthily enter the family apartment to avoid waking family members sleeping on mattresses in the dining room. It reminds me of some of our holidays and events at home where at times every available horizontal space contains a sleeping body. We are graciously offered a variety of curries, rice, and chapati, but I was not hungry and politely declined until I heard the offer of a large, cold, Kingfisher beer. We slipped off into one of the bedrooms and commiserated with some of the younger members of the family along with our daughter, Kate, who had arrived a few days earlier . After some lively conversation and much teasing and joking we reluctantly bid everyone good night to totter off to our room for a much needed nights sleep.

I awakened the next day and as as I took stock of my surroundings I was impressed by the apartment . Marble floors stretched across the apartment to the floor to ceiling windows which offered panoramic views of Calcutta from fourteen floors up. I staggered out of our bedroom to find Deb engaged in a conversation with our hostess, Sobhra. I was offered a cup of chai which cleared out the cobwebs of our late night flight through the city of Kolkata. We trundled down two flights of stairs to the family apartment to find a lively scene. The family was in various stages of dress and were quickly given a seat at the table and offered savory pancakes infused with finugreek and other aromatic herbs and spices. These were topped with butter, yoghurt, pickles, chutneys and fruit. Endless cups of tea were offered and we were soon filled to the brim and ready for our first day in Kolkata.

Patnem, Goa

The gentle waves of the Arabian Sea roll onto the fine grain sand in front of our thatched bungalow. The sea view is framed by the rustic wood rail of the porch below and the fringe of the thatched roof above. Today is slightly overcast with a light breeze that tempers the humidity and prevents the heat from becoming oppressive. The sea is darker today from the overcast yet is still warm and inviting.

Deb peers from the window of our bungalow in paradise

We started our morning with a yoga session on the beach followed by a swim in the 85 degree water. After a quick rinse, we walked up the beach to a little restaurant for a breakfast of fruit filled crepes and strong black tea. After a leisurely walk back to our bungalow, we enjoy the slowly warming day.

View from our window

Patnem Beach is a mile long stretch of pristine sand. Its pristine nature is maintained by daily cleaning courtesy of sari clad ladies with stick brooms that rakec the sand clean. The wide crescent bay is bracketed at either end by rocky headlands capped by the fringe of coco palms.


Along the shore, numerous bamboo huts and open air restaurants offer shelter and food to a diverse group of international travelers. There is a virtual babble of languages as one passes the huts and tables along the beach. The restaurants, which are little more then shacks, offer an incredibly diverse international menu for the hungry tourists. Yet this is a temporary paradise.


Each May, due to government regulations, every hut, shack, table and chair must be removed from the sand. Each October, everything is rebuilt anew for the coming tourist season. No one wants to be here from June to September as the heat becomes oppressive and the monsoon drenches everything; flooding the streets and making travel by road nearly impossible at times.

Our four days here have passed much too quickly as we while away the time swimming, sunning, reading, eating and sleeping. There is not much else to do here and it has suited us just fine.

Self portrait on the beach

We did have the strange fortune of landing in the only place that celebrates Carnivale. Once a Portuguese enclave, Goa has a large catholic population. However, Mardi Gras has only been celebrated here recently at the behest of a hotelier who read about Carnival in Rio and thought it might boost the local tourism. As a result many of the towns in Goa have elaborate festivities complete with floats, parades, and raucous parties. We were away from any population centers on our beach but we did get treated to a sporadic fireworks show as we sat on the beach enjoying the warm night air.

A view of the next beach to the south

Paradise, however, is never perfect. In a nearby town, Islamist terrorists bombed a local tourist hangout killing 10 innocent workers and patrons. The Indian Mujahadeen are targeting tourist areas especially those patronized by Americans or their allies. It is sad that the world has come to this but at the same time we can not allow ourselves to live in fear or they win. Not surprisingly, we have met very few Americans on this trip. In that regard the terrorists are winning. Now there are increased travel advisories from the American consulate that stop just short of telling us we should leave the country. We will stay and keep a low profile as we always do and try to enjoy our moments in paradise.

Goan sunset

As I write this, we are enroute to Kolkata for the wedding of our friends, Simran and Ale. We are looking forward not only to the wedding but to our stay with our gracious hosts, the parents of Simran, the bride in question. It promises to be an interesting several days and I will report on the festivities as soon as I can. In the meantime think of us lounging in the bosom of Mother India.

Pictures of Southern India

The prettiest video I ever saw-confirmation of our berths on the train to Kerala (see next post)

Train station in Kochi

After reluctantly leaving Varkala Beach we headed a little further up the coast to the town of Kollam. We booked a deluxe private houseboat for a 24 hour cruise of the famous backwaters of Kerala. We slowly motored by local villages while munching on local cuisine. It was a very relaxing trip.

Misty morning on the Backwaters

Deb and Richard on the Backwaters of Kerala

We spent a few days on Black Beach at the north end of Varkala. Beautiful palm trees framed an
azure blue sea. Water temp and air temp about 85 degrees. Heaven! A small swell the first day was fun for body surfing. The next day the swell increased to around four feet and I got pounded into the sand.

Deb makes a friend

Fisherman haul out a boat in Varkala

Richard meets some fisherman in Varkala


Temple interior-Madurai

Deb gets blessed by Ganesh

We visited the South India town of Madurai which is a bustling IT center with over 1.2 million inhabitants. It is a mad swirl of buses, autorikshaws, cars and scooters. All are belching black smoke and as a consequence, Deb and I both have upper respiratory issues. We are issuing coughs, seriously green phlegm and expectorating a lot. Despite this we enjoyed Madurai. It is a very lively city and not surprisingly full of Indians. The local food is great with a vegetarian thali available for anywhere fro 75 cents on up. You either get a banana leaf or steel tray which is loaded with rice, puri, two or three spicy sauces, a couple of curries, raita, curd and pickle. It is an all you can eat deal and invariably tasty and well prepared.

The temple complex

This temple complex covered approximately 160 acres

Temple in Madurai

Some of these temples are over 300' feet tall. This temple has over 3 million images of Hindu gods

Not always fun and games

Today was one of those days that drive men mad and women to tears.

We left our beautiful room this morning in Fort Kochi to head to the mainland and train station to try to find out if our tickets on the night train to Goa were going to be valid. We had been waitlisted when we bought the tickets a few days ago and were told to check back the night before or the morning of departure to see if we had a confirmed berth.

After walking out into the steamiest air yet(our Florida friends can relate to a July morning)we autorikshawed to the jetty, ferried over to the mainland and autorikshawed to the train station. Upon arrival at the station I stood in line for fifteen minutes to be told that the Area Supervisor at the other train station could confirm my status. We jumped into another rikshaw and zoomed through the steamy heat bathed by bus diesel exhaust and the constant beeping of horns. Joustling and bouncing our way in the suspension-less rikshaw we arrived at the other train station. After a few miscues, bad directions and misunderstandings, I found the Area Supervisor's office. I walked in and queried about my ticket. He insisted that there were no quotas for me. I patiently tried to explain that I was not there about quotas but was only trying to determine the status of my ticket. He continued to insist there were no quotas so I gave up and left.

I then went to the reservations office to wait in line for another fifteen minutes to see if I could get an AC seat or berth anywhere in the direction we needed to go. I finally found someone helpful who told me that Mardi Gras was going on in Goa so everything in that direction was booked solid. I went out into the street to find a travel agent to see if we could book an air conditioned deluxe bus at least to Mangalore which was just over half way. Our guidebook, Lonely Planet (which has been very unreliable) stated that there were plenty of these buses. Of course the travel agent informed me that these buses had all gone out of business in the past several years. I suspect it was because of the notoriously pot holed roads in the state of Karnataka just to the north of us that was blocking our way to Goa. I also suppose this is another reason why the trains were booked solid.

The travel agent kindly informed me that the state bus service ran AC buses up there. So I went back into the train station, grabbed Deb, who had been patiently sitting with our bags in the heat, humidity, and blare of the train station. We dashed outside, hailed another rikshaw and clattered, choked, bounced, and sweated our way to the bus stand. Upon arrival at the bus stand we dodged squealing, exhaust spewing buses to find our way into the terminal. After several misdirections, miscues and misunderstandings, we found the ticket window. Sure enough, the government had AC buses going everywhere but Mangalore. Needless to say we were now getting frustrated and, quite frankly, just a little bit panicky because we had to be in Goa by the 17th to catch our plane to Kolkata for the Indian wedding to which we were invited. Also, did I mention it was hot?

So, back into another, you guessed it, rikshaw for the ride back to the train station. I went back to the window of the helpful guy in reservations and asked for the soonest possible seat, berth or floorspace to Goa. He said he thought we could get on the train on the 15th. He would have to waitlist us but we would be number 17 and 18 on the waitlist. I reminded him that I already had a ticked for tonight and was waitlist numbers 16 and 17. He replied,"Oh, you should have no problem getting on this train. It goes to Delhi and many people cancel at the last minute." While muttering obscenities under my breath, and wondering why he had not told us this in the first place, TWO HOURS AGO, I thanked him politely. He also told us the final chart would be done by 5PM and we would know for sure if we were on the train. Again I thanked him and walked away shaking my head.

After some much needed lunch and a strong local beer to calm our nerves and dull our senses, we found an internet cafe and did some catching up. About half an hour ago, I checked our waitlist status (I just typoed "witless")to find we had indeed been given confirmed berths (I also just typoed "births"; I do feel reborn). Anyway, we have another five hours until our train departs so I will sign off and wander off muttering into the Indian night.

Backwaters of Kerala

After a nearly two week trip dowm the East Coast of India and up the West Coast we are now in Kollam. It seems like a long strange trip but it has only been two weeks. We took some much needed R&R in Verkala and just finished a houseboat trip as described below.

We board our luxury thatch clad houseboat in Alleppy for our serene trip though the backwaters of Kerala about noon after a hectic morning bus ride to the embarkation point. We are greeted by our captain, cook and engineer.

The day before we took a canoe ride though some narrow deep green canals shaded by overarching palms to keep us relatively cool in the hot humid afternoon. It was a languid trip reminiscent of one we took through the Mekong Delta last year. We visited a rope making concern where they take the husks of coconuts, soak them in water for three weeks and then spin the husks into fiberous strands to create rope. This is all done by hand and labor intensive. We paddled further and stopped for chai, which is a milk and tea concoction flavored with cloves or nutmeg and sugared to the max.

Anyway, back to the houseboat. The boat was only three months old and contained a front veranda which was our living room, a stateroom with attached private bath, kitchen and crews' quarters in the rear. Since we were a little late in arriving, the other 1500 boats that sail out of Aleppy had already departed so we missed the chaos. We also chose a one way trip from Kolam to Aleppy to avoid the crush. The trip was much the same as our canoe trip the day before but on a grander scale. We sat in padded wicker chairs and floated past villages while fisherman fished from canoes. Unfortunately, I had done the same trip 35 years before and the character of everything had changed. Where once stood isolated villages of thatch along the water ways, there is now an almost constant chain of brightly painted concrete houses. What were once poor fishing villages is now endless suburbia serviced by the river on one side and a road on the other that was not there 35 years ago. Before I was on local boats, powered by steam engines that looked exactly like the African Queen (Bogart movie). Now everything is diesel powered and the waterways are suffering accordingly. Still life goes on much as it did for hundreds of years. One hears the slap slap slap of women beating their laundry on the rocks at rivers edge. Almost naked fisherman cast their hand nets to see what fortune will bring them.

This is all capped by the bizarre sight of Amma's ashram (the hugging guru) which is a fifteen story complex in bright pink piercing the late afternoon sky. We stop briefly to explore the ashram and its 20,000 devotees from all over the world. Amma is off on a hugging tour so we miss her.

Soon after embarking we are treated to a royal Keralan lunch of chili fried river fish, several vegetable curries and rice. We are starving and dig in with gusto.

As we continue down the waterway we slip into a narrower channel and get an overview of the village life which is more of the same as described above. We watch the sun set over Amma's but get no respite from the heat and spend a fairly miserable night in the hot humid air that is little cooled by our room fan.

The next day dawns overcast but cooler and we are enchanted by the misty morning light and a village loudspeaker that plays wake up music for all within earshot and know we are in India.