Kolkata: The Post Office and Victoria Monument

Victoria Monument

We woke this morning to another big serving of ripped-up bread, eggs, onion and especially delicious sausages. Top that off with mango juice and we were ready for the day.

Boss Man rang to confirm that, while he claimed to yesterday have a flight booked, he would in fact be sending someone to Kolkata on a train. They were to leave today and arrive tomorrow evening. And, even more promising, was the fact that he didn't even attempt to have us meet him at the railway station.

Our big job for the day was to have about seven kilos worth of stuff posted back to Melbourne as to lessen the load we would be carting around Nepal. Anando asked if we wanted to bring snacks for the journey and we declined thinking, we're just going to post a parcel...how long could it possible take? We had momentarily forgotten which country we were in. We drove to what we expected to be Kolkata's main post office. It was closed for renovations. A guy in the street directed us to another post office nearby. They didn't handle international shipping. Again, we were directed elsewhere. Finally, at 12:45pm, we arrived at a post office that would be able to do the job.

After some discussion with a helpful postal worker, or rather with Anando having some discussion with the postal worker, we decided on the slowest and cheapest option available to us. Unfortunately sea mail no longer exists so our options were limited.

Before we could even consider sending the parcel, the postal worker needed to check the contents. And boy was he thorough! There were certain items which could not be posted. The GoPro camera, thanks to it being an electronic device, did not make the cut. Neither did the eye wash or tea tree oil thanks to their liquid state. My fancy Indian bangles didn't make it either as customs would apparently want to take a look at them to ensure they weren't precious and going to make me a fortune upon resale in Australia. For fifty rupees, they weren't worth the bother and would end up in the bin after a few more glamorous days in Kolkata. We removed any products which may cause stress upon entry into Australia and moved on, a little frustrated, but understanding.

We were then handed a customs declaration form. Fair enough we thought. But then we were informed that we would need to take the form ourselves down the road to have it photocopied four times. Apparently this was the norm although we couldn't help rolling our eyes at the situation. We got the copies made with ease, thanks again to Anando, and filled each out individually. The next step would be packaging.

While those of you playing at home in Australia and New Zealand may consider packaging an item at a post office a straight forward process, we are in India. We were reminded of this fact by the post office failing to sell any kind of packing materials yet requiring each parcel to be wrapped in cloth. Do not fret though! In true India fashion there are makeshift stalls set up out the front selling everything from envelopes to glue (which would make sense later) to chewing tobacco.

We (Anando) asked at the first stall and was quoted 250 rupees to wrap our bag in cloth. Little did we know, this was an exorbitant rate. This made us realise that perhaps the 50 rupees we had paid in Mumbai for wrapping a tiny package was probably a bit off the mark. Anando took the bag and stormed off determined to find a better price and we followed like well trained puppies. We wandered the street, asked at a tailors, and failed to find another option. These stalls out the front of the post office had a monopoly and they knew it. We returned with our tails between our legs and asked at another of the stalls. 150 rupees! That'll do.

We watched as the man pulled and prodded our bag as he hand-sewed a big, white piece of cloth around it. The large size of the bag made the hand sewing a slow process. Anando and I took turns standing in line inside the post office awaiting their opening. Yes, in all the time we had been running around, they had closed for recess. In the meantime Chris supervised the final stages of the sewing and I was pulled from the queue to see what Chris was seeing. I stepped outside to find the man use a lit candle to melt a wax stick, drip it onto each seam of his sewing, and press a stamp into it. A true wax seal. And thank goodness for this faultless security because, in the mix ups, we had failed to remember to ziptie the bag closed.

I wrote Mell's address on the cloth as we talked about how lucky it was she was in Australia rather than here with us in India...the heat! It was probably the hottest we have been in India as we stood in street, sweat running down our legs, awaiting our parcel's completion. Add to that the goats and chickens I had seen strapped onto wooden carts on their way to their death and poor Mell would be fainting all over the place.

Once the address had been written on it was time to deal with the four copies of customs forms we had filled out earlier. They glued one of the forms to the cloth-wrapped bag using that horrid liquid glue that comes in a squeezable tubes that you may recognise from your time in school. The rest were tied to the bag because, apparently, another three copies would be required between Kolkata and Melbourne.

Indian vs Foreigner Tickets

Finally, we took the finished product back into the post office, paid our 3020 rupees and handed over seven kilos of possessions into the hands of India Post.

Having survived the throngs of India Post we rewarded ourselves with a Lebanese chicken shawarma (wrap) complete with wedges and chillies of course. Then it was time for some sightseeing. With Anando as our guide and me as navigator (scary) we parked up and walked, past the Planetarium, to Kolkata's famous Victoria Memorial: a very grand tribute to Queen Victoria. Before we could reach the ticket booth though we were held up in the street by a Bollywood Film Shooting of all things.

Anando purchased our tickets and revelled in the fact that our tickets cost 150 rupees each while his cost 10 rupees. We checked out the gardens, enjoying the foot massage the pebbles were giving us, before heading inside the building itself to view the museum/art gallery. There were some beautiful paintings, the most interesting of which were of places we have visited on our journey such as the Taj Mahal. After enjoying the beautiful interior we headed back out into the gardens to enjoy more of a foot massage, watch the canoodling couples enjoying the romance of the garden and exited on the other side of the compound to where we had entered.

My reaction to the canoodling couples

On our way out we grabbed water and a fizzy apply drink and, despite being purchased by Anando himself, we were still charged tourist prices. It's nice to know that it's not just us. Or maybe it is just us and Anando suffered as a result of being associated with us.

Back in the car we fought the traffic and headed towards home. A 4WD with a big bull bar was doing an illegal u-turn and heading in our direction. Anando honked as per usual and continued on. Unfortunately, so did the 4WD. They clipped the back of us. Intrigued as to what would happen next in a country where, surely, accidents like this happen regularly, Chris and I were on the edge of our seats. And what happened? Nothing. Nobody stopped. Nobody said anything. Both we and the 4WD continued on our way like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Victoria Monument Entrance

We made a pit stop to grab some beers and spotted a poor dog with a large patch on his head that was missing both fur and skin. It was red raw and I was saddened that everybody went about their business around him while he suffered, unable to help himself get better.

We dropped Anando's car off at the secure car park down the the road from his house. The owner opened the gate for us in nothing but his lungi and handed over a small bunch of bougainvillea flowers to Anando to pass on to me. Apparently he had seen me admiring the flowers yesterday and had been thoughtful enough to pick me a bunch in anticipation of our arrival home.

We walked back to Anando's house, me with flowers in hand. The friendly puppies were there to welcome us. I have taken a particular liking to the most nervous of the lot. He ran from me but, as I bent down to his level, he slowly approached. He was crouched down, with his tail between his legs as he grappled with whether to trust me or not. Eventually he got close enough for me to give him a scratch on the head and he calmed down. It's sad to see these animals who are so scared of humans. I couldn't help but think I had doomed this dog by giving him some trust in people as, when he approached a human next time for a pat, they were likely not to be as friendly.

Back home we showered and then sat in Anando's room with beers, corn chips and salsa and tried watching the video of trekking to Everest Base Camp that had come free with our guidebook. It was inspiring to say the least but unfortunately was not of the best quality meaning we could only watch half of it.

Dinner was another feast of rice, dahl, those delicious spiced, boiled eggs, and spicy potatoes in a green sauce. Top that off with mishti (sweets) and we could barely move.

Back upstairs we watched Russell Peters' stand-up comedy and laughed at his complete disregard for political correctness as he offended each and every race of people we could imagine. And then, it was bedtime.

A gift of flowers