The Street Diver of Calcutta

September 6, 2007

So I’m just following my nose, in hot, dusty and smelly downtown Calcutta. Sun’s blazing from straight overhead and I have time to kill, so I’m trudging more than actually walking. Breathing has taken on a masochistic quality, considering there are about 14 million people and their relatives around me and every one of them seems to be in some form of transit, utilising a stenching 2 cylinder engine. Added to that, the countless homeless people living on the streets. The children go around collecting whatever cow dung they can find, to mix it with straw or papers bits and stick the patties onto walls until they dry. These are then removed to fuel their cooking stoves with emit their own special thickness to the air. You have to chew the grey-black clouds of air before you can breathe them. It’s much worse than Bangkok.

Anyway I’m walking down Chowringhee Road, one of the main drags and passing the Indian Museum. Ahead of me, on the sidewalk, I see a gentleman, on the ground, with his head sticking into the aforementioned ground.

After back-checking that my eyes and perception are indeed connected to what I am seeing, my first thought is, oh my goodness, this person needs help and I immediately set my body into motion to help pull the man from his predicament … but then, “wait … this is Asia” sets in.

I examine the situation more closely. Apparently the man is not in pain and he is performing yoga exercises. There is a small dirty blanket on the ground, with a hole cut conveniently in the middle, permitting his head to disappear into the dirt underneath. There is some small change lying on the blanket.

To my right is the main entrance of the Indian Museum. I glance over and see a small boy sitting on the steps. It becomes apparent to me that he has been charged with guarding the gentleman’s wages, which is understandable because the man can’t do it himself if his head is buried in the ground.I took the liberty of photographing the event because that’s what I’d expect of someone relating a story such as this to me. It will appear next month when I post some India pictures.

This is how he makes his living.

While in Calcutta, I had the good fortune to live with an Indian fellow who had lived in Germany for some time. He took me along to diverse weddings and funerals and explained the “business” to me.

In Mumbai (Bombay) it had come to my attention that the beggar lady with the child on the arm, accosted me up to the end of her assigned turf, where a colleague took over.

My buddy in Calcutta explained to me that it is a thriving business with handbooks and manuals existing to train those wishing to make a career of begging. There are a lot of crippled kids begging on the streets. The chances are, they make more money than me. These children are crippled soon after birth to better their chances in life later on. This means, every time you give one of these kids money, you are ensuring the survival of this barbarism. By “helping” you are making it worse. My solution to this was I only gave to the very old and those with leprosy and parts missing.

Then you have freak scenes like me scrunched up in an Indian train for the 14th hour of an 18-hour run. We are stopped at a small town. The compartment is designed to seat 8, 4 on either side. Across from me is an Indian dynasty. 5 generations including the great grandfather who looks like the work of a taxidermist. Baggage and animals are included. I’m sharing the other bench with 2 American and 2 Australian travellers and our backpacks. I have my knees under my chin because I don’t know where else to put them. I shift around a bit to remind my feet of what blood circulation was like and the Australian lady next to me says, “Looks like you’re having problems with your legs.” Just as she’s saying that, I look out the window and down on the platform there’s a guy pulling himself along with his arms because he has no legs. I nudge the lady and bid her glance out the window whilst answering, “my legs are just fine.”

I learned to appreciate many things we take for granted on my travels. 

About the Author: Pendragon suffers the horrible fate of being a 20 year old trapped in a 50 year old body. He likes to write, and has a very active and entertaining non-video presence on LiveVideo.com.