Back to Kolkata

“Its never the same the second time”. Apparently. It has been eleven months since I reluctantly left; during a time when I was sentimentally attached to every moment, and totally attached to life in the middle of an Indian city. In the time lapse between I have been living a completely different reality: Next to the sea, on paradise islands, in the middle of lush rice paddies...always surrounded by fresh clean air, nature, hot water showers and normalised luxury. It is good to be back and in a strange way it is comforting that not much has changed. The yellow ambassador taxis are still beeping and surging and hustling the human pulled rickshaws, the piles of rotting rubbish are still drifting under feet, sticking to shoes and successfully reproducing trails of filth. The street chai is still loaded with sugar and evaporating from boiling kettles sending a sweet sticky vapour to join the melody of scents The gangs of women are still shouting in my ear “no money just milk” as I try to buy water from a lungi-clad man crouching on top of his stall of a shop.

There is however, something refreshing about being back in Kolkata, which is perhaps why the lack of change is reassuring: Away from the mask of careers, consumerism, advertising and future plans. Life in Kolkata seems so much more Present. Adapting has still been unexpectedly tough. Even though the dirt, smells, metallic fumes and crowds of pressing bodies are so familiar, my senses haven't just adjusted and are still too sensitive. My pedestrian skills are rusty, and my curious eyes betray my previous experience. Walking back up the stairs to my new room on the roof of Modern Lodge, I felt the skin tickling sensation of deja-vu; as if I have never really left and as if time has just stood still. The rattle of the tap filling up the rusty bucket with ice cold water sounds so familiar and yet strangely exciting – a reminder that I am back. The hotel's resident 'old man' still spends every day and night camped on a broken bed at the entrance, collecting 100 rupee bills and monitoring every event as his remaining energy migrates to his incredibly lively eyes. The manager still refuses to give a discount for long term stays and smiles at his obvious victory as despite his vicious bedbugs and bubbling walls of mould, his rooms are still competitive with the rest of the run-down infested hostels. The man who washes the floor with old rags, jumps up to offer his hand, and squeezes it as a sly reminder that if I want an electric plug in my room, he is only to happy to silently oblige.

Most of the Sudder street beggars are the same. The lady who is covered with acid burns; the matriarchal families camping on the pavement; the crazy Man Outside is still wandering the lanes, bowing down to touch the passing feet of volunteers, and bringing a contagious smile to all around as he grins and mutters and waves his hands. The 'India Game' man continues to try to sell a shot of pooping his board of small balloons. But his energy seems a little dimished, his cries no longer echo down the street, and more often then not he if crouching rather than standing – too many years of 'India Games'.

So what has changed? The chai wallah has gone home, and the two boys in the Sikh restaurant have shocked me by apparently turning into men. One has grown whiskers and one has grown nearly half a meter and seems to be trying to flirt with me; perhaps child labour isn't as prevalent as appearances might suggest. I still haven't ventured to the train station or to the slums, but I am well aware that the effects of the global financial crisis are beginning to filter into the city. The dollar plummeting has more than doubled the real price of food and accommodation, and as I worry about how my money will last, I also wonder how the crisis, that was only a feature of the international news one year ago, is now affecting the city's homeless?

There are many new faces among the volunteers. Only a couple of friends remain. In a way, the fresh influx gives me confidence. It is ok to leave. There will always be others to fill the space. While the absence of the most committed and inspirational friends from one year ago, reassures me of the importance of a life in 'balance'. Living more than several years in this intensity of human poverty has to come at a cost. Now I am realising why I left – to grow stronger and be ready to return with a much more sustainable attitude. The 'guilty' sensations of my own random 'privilege' doesn't appear to be hanging over me. Perhaps its just waiting around the corner, ready to pull me back into the suffocating grips of self-reproach. But right now I am finally feeling the freedom of choosing to be here. I want to be exposed to the harshness of exploitation in order to learn, to change, to improve; but this is a massive system of injustice, which can be tackled at any place in the world. Continuously thankful for change providing the gift of opportunity for me to live around the world, to explore the diversity of life – its paradises and it tragedies.