Kolkata: Rules to live by.

Kolkata. 

After 3 days in this interestingly dusty city, I’ve come to 4 basic understandings of living in Kolkata:

1. Blowing your trumpet is a way of life.

And I mean literally. Honking is a 24-hour/7-days-a-week affair. You’re not a legitimate driver if you don’t honk your way out of any traffic situation.

There’s an unmistakable drone of honking that blankets the entire city of Kolkata.

Even at the airport, near the runway where they transport passengers from plane to terminal via bus, the bus driver honks away at the traffic controllers milling around baggage containers under the huge airplane wings.

The funniest part is, the honking doesn’t do any good. Considering that nobody follows road markings (you’d be mocked if you tried to follow any traffic rules), few pay attention to road signs and pedestrian crossings, and pedestrians cross the road like their grandfather owns it.

And half the vehicles on the roads don’t have side-view mirrors. They really don’t. Nobody uses them, and they become more of a hindrance than a necessity since traffic tends to be backed up bumper to bumper, with barely an inch between cars side-by-side on the roads. There’s no space for side-view mirrors here.

But drivers honk all the same. I suppose it’s a psychological and cultural driving etiquette here. Honk loudly and frequently enough, maybe you’ll be able to honk all the slower drivers out of your way, and speed your way across town.

When that happens, hold on tight. It’s like getting on a 3D adventure simulation ride in Universal Studios – the bumps, jolts, zig-zags. Except that it’s live.

The irony? Signs along the roads that say “No Hurry, No Worry”.

I’m not kidding.

2. Ya-ya-papaya

“Ya, ya.”

That’s what you say when you’re expressing agreement, certainty, or just a space filler.

The Kolkatans use it like we use “Can” in Singapore.  With a little left-to-right shake of the head in rhythm with the 2 syllables.

“Can you call my driver, please?” “Ya,ya, no problem, madam.”

“The traffic is really bad here...” “Ya, ya, everyday is like that here, madam.”

“Your wife is really beautiful...” “Ya, ya, I is lucky, madam.”

Ya ya. I like it.

3.  Don’t queue, just join in.

Queuing is not a common concept here.

Actually, let me rephrase that. Cutting queues is a perfectly acceptable norm.

Everyone does it, no matter where - at the airport checking-in, at the booth counter buying entrance tickets, at the markets buying things  -  the concept of waiting for your turn in line does not exist.

You can distinguish the tourists from the locals by the fact that the former patiently wait in line whilst the latter blatantly join mid-way or elbow their way through the front.

And it’s perfectly acceptable. Nobody tells the queue-cutter to get back in line, nobody feels embarrassed by jumping the line. It’s just a way of life.

I decided to do it Kolkata-style when we were trying to buy entrance tickets to the Victoria Memorial grounds the other day.

I elbowed all these local men out of the way with aplomb, barked at a local who tried to cut in front of me and positioned myself right in front of the counter, stuck my hand through the small gaping  hole and demanded for 4 tickets.

My friends found it rather amusing to say the least. And I think the locals were also a bit stunned at this tall, crazy Asian woman with big camera and all pushing in.

Well as they say, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. In this case, do as the Indians do.

4. You can ask for anything.

You literally can.

In our hotel at the Chrome, there’s even a button on the phone that says “Anything”.

And if you want something, and don’t know who to call, just press the Anything button.

It’s synonymous of the culture here, you really can ask for anything, the Kolkatans are a really hospitable people.

But when you get what you ask for is no guarantee.

Yesterday, I was trying to put on a sari for my friend’s wedding. Clearly, that wasn’t going to work without any help.

What to do? Call “Anything”.

Although we had to call twice before someone came up finally.

Two ladies from the hotel staff very gamely attempted to drape the sari around me. First they twirled the cloth around me, then they twirled me around the cloth. This went on several times, alternating between one and the other.

Finally, one of them admitted that it’s easy to dress one’s self in a sari, but very difficult to do so for someone else.

After more than 30 minutes of trials and attempts, they finally managed to pin it onto me, not without the help of at least 6 safety pins.

See? You can ask for anything. Even sari dressers.