I had the most wonderful experience today. I was invited to lunch at one of my new Bengali friends’ house. This is what I travel for, what interests me. I don’t care much for tourist spots in general, but here in Kolkata every tourist spot seems to have something to do with the british occupation of India, so what little interest I might have had wanes even more. I feel kind of bad that in spite of asking a couple of times, I can’t even remember his name - it is an obscure Bengali name that is hard to pronounce.

But what an exceptional honor to be invited to someone’s home, however humble it may be.

I just loaded all of my pictures from today, and unfortunately I was a pretty lame photographer, but I’ll show you some anyway.

They live way outside the city, probably 40 miles or so. He and his son ride the train to work and back every day, but the trains are so dangerous that they insisted we take a taxi for my sake. A friend of the family is a taxi driver, and he gladly took us there and back in exchange for my friend’s wife’s Biryani, which is somewhat legendary.

We left Kolkata proper and headed out:


People always seem to be going somewhere, even if there is no apparent place to go:

It took almost two hours to get there and we kept going into poorer and poorer neighborhoods:



And past a banana plantation:

Finally, we turned down an even more decrepit street, then a few more:

And we were there:

(Actually, this is a house down the street, but you get the idea, their house is actually a bit nicer, with solid walls...) Not much to look at from the outside, and extremely small on the inside, but they keep it very clean and are extremely proud of their home. There is one room, about 100 square feet, and a small anteroom that is used as a kitchen, washroom, whatever. They share a well and a pit toilet with six other households. He lives there with his wife, teenage son, and two daughters, about 8 and 11, I would guess. There is a table/bed/lounging space that they all share.

We had some Indian sweets, dates, raisins, and nuts with some homemade (family recipe) chai and beer. Then the main course arrived. It was incredibly good and they made me eat until I just about exploded. We ate with our hands in the traditional Indian way, and I was not very good at it, so they gave me a spoon.

I thought it would be rude to take many pictures, but I did get one with his son, the cab driver, and the main course:

All five of them sleep on that bed. I can’t imagine how one manages to get pregnant...

It is customary in Bengal that if there is a male guest, the women eat after the men, but if there is a female guest, the women eat first. The only time men and women eat together is if they are family members or it is some sort of feast, like a wedding. I did spend some time talking with his wife and daughters when we were through, and gave them a bunch of chocolate, which the girls went crazy over. I wanted a picture of the whole family, but his wife declined and I didn’t press the matter. Afterwards, she graciously thanked me for coming and said that I was welcome to come by any time I want.

After another two hour drive, we got back to the shop and they gave me some gifts, including two very expensive saris. I tried to decline, but they insisted.

What an incredible honor it was, a banner day. I feel very special right now. It is also inspiring to see people loving life and being healthy and cheerful and proud, even though they have practically nothing. Out of the three places I have visited in India, I find the Bengalis to be the kindest, warmest, and most cheerful and approachable. I would recommend a trip here to anyone, and if you find and go into the Curio Art Palace and mention my name, you just might get a home-cooked meal, too.