WARNING: Distubing photo and description at the bottom of this post.
My friend, the ice-cream seller
Mota Billi, in his favourite pose--with his head in a bag of cat food. Every so often, we go to Caroline's old neighbourhood. Along the way, under a flyover/overpass and especially in the early morning, we sometimes see horses with feed-bags attached to their mouths. Whenever we see one, we call it "Mota Billi".
A few years ago, the front of New Market was dug up to provide an underground parking garage. Now it is being dug up again (although less extensively) for some other purpose. Things in Kolkata are always going through some form of repair (see below).
For 3.5 months, this road was completely dug up, and there was barely enough room left for even motorcycles. Now, the road looks just as it did before. Unfortunately, the road looks just as it did before. The mechanism and the materials used are actually quite astounding. The roads are paved, and even while it is being done, pedestrians, bicyclists, motorcyclists and even cars can drive along it. In the United States, I remember that roads were closed for many hours to allow the pavement to dry and harden enough for it to be travelled upon.
Unfortunately, the results are seemingly amateurish. The pavement spills out unevenly into the gutter, and it seems very uneven in places.
I wish that I could escape death, but I can not. I suppose no one can (at least, not yet; no one yet has found a way to become immortal). I suppose that in a city of several million people it happens on a regular basis. Of course, I do not necessarily have to write about it, but it seems too significant when I become aware of it.
On the day that we came back from Chennai, I saw this scene. (I was walking back home from the ATM; Caroline was at home.) Perhaps I should be faulted for this. I have read of other people who have taken photographs or videos of things, and done nothing about it. However, it was too late for this dog (whose sister/brother/mate was mourning next to it). Moreover, I feel queasy at the sight of blood; I stood just long enough to take this photo, then I had to walk away. Also, the people in the area, who had more resources than I had, did nothing. Even the police who drove by just a few minutes later, did nothing. (Of course, they are the police in Kolkata so they are genetically incapable of doing anything; although it was strange that they were driving, since driving is an act that requires you to do something--perhaps a non-police officer was driving.)
A few nights ago (28 April), I may have watched someone die. I was walking to see and feed Mota Billi. As I turned onto Stuart Lane, I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye, and saw a man collapse face down onto the street. Two men picked him up and laid him down on a bench. I saw that he had a large bruise on his forehead (most likely from hitting the street). He seemed to be unresponsive, and I assumed that he had a heart attack. One man stayed with him and who, I assumed, was his son.
The next night, I made some inquiries and found out that the police took him on a stretcher. However, I suspect that he still died. In India, and especially in West Bengal, people who have things usually die of things. Especially in the city and district of Malda, if you have the condition known as "infant" then you will be dead by morning in their government-run hospitals.
The truly sad thing is that he appeared relatively young; he appeared to be in his early-to-mid 50's. Although he was overweight, he was not obese as more and more Indians are becoming.
