Somewhere nearby in the pre dawn darkness we could feel rather than see the shifting presence of huge beasts. Carried on the still air the unmistakable smell of elephants reached us, then we heard the quiet shuffling and steady breathing. As the light levels slowly increased we could make out the monochrome shapes of half a dozen elephants and their mahouts securing the howdahs with stout ropes.

We were getting ready to meet the Greater Indian one horn rhino in the Kaziranga National Park in Assam. These shy and bad tempered animals are difficult to approach except on elephants. Apparently they are so short sighted that an elephant with people on it looks just like the wild elephants that also roam the park.

Rising light levels rendered a faint colour wash to the waving elephant grass and the islands of green pasture where small groups of deer grazed the short grass. It was delightful to look down on the baby elephants pushing their way through the elephant grass following in the wake of their mothers and being gently encouraged by the nudge of a trunk of their aunties bringing up the rear.

Emerging from the elephant grass again into a bigger boggy pasture huge rhinos looked up in myopic disinterest, twitched an ear and continued to munch. Despite us getting really close they seemed totally unaware of our presence and as calm and benign as contented cows. That was an impression we revised later in the day.

Dawn broke over the eastern hills and flooded the plain with rich light spotlighting the startlingly white egrets perched on the haunches of rhinos and wild buffalo wallowing in shallow pools. Here pelicans perched watching geese and ducks drifting over the surface.

It is always a privilege to ride on an elephant through a natural environment but the baby elephants add to the pleasure. Being able to play with them, closely watched by their mothers and aunties is always fun.

Jeeps took us deeper into the park to appreciate the amazing variety of animals, bird life and even Indian tent turtles basking in the midday warmth on half submerged tree trunks in the river.

Rounding a dirt track we encountered a rhino grazing on sun drenched pasture. Ears twitched as the massive snout searched for a scent. It’s small beady eyes squinted as the alert ears detected our intrusion. At a walk at first the rhino approached, then it trotted before charging us. Our driver deftly manoeuvred behind a jeep sized bush and our attacker thundered past before turning bewildered back to the empty pasture. We were delighted by the close up pictures. But the jeep owner was less than enthusiastic, explaining that ten jeeps had been written off by rhino charges that year.        

Pictures

Slowly but insistently the level crossing gates dropped in front of us and we stopped with a clear view of the main railway line from Chennai to Delhi. On the other side of the crossing we watched a phalanx of vehicles forming up, across the width of the road with spaces in between filled with motorcycles, bicycles, handcarts and numerous pedestrians, boxes on heads.

From the solid bulk of traffic on both sides people pushed through the mass, ducked under the barrier and walked over the rails. Despite the shrill whistle of the Delhi express cyclists manoeuvred their bikes under the pole and walked across the rails in front of the engine. 

Only the passing of the trundling train produced a pause in the steady stream of people crossing the rails. Passengers standing in the open carriage doorways waved listlessly to the waiting population of this small West Bengal town.

When the dust settled the barrier still refused to lift. So the numbers crossing the tracks increased and impatient motorcyclists started to duck under the barrier. One family dismounted, Dad leaned the motorbike over to get it under the pole, Mum held the baby whist the oldest son stood and looked down the track to watch for the next train.  At a word from dad they all climbed back onto the motorbike and bumped over the two sets of tracks to repeat the procedure on the other side.

Only after the Chennai Express rumbled through did the barriers lift. Then the masses of traffic from both sides advanced to meet in the middle. A complete impasse of  too many vehicles with no room to pass. But accommodations were reached amid repeated impatient horn sounding and long periods waiting for impacted motorcycles to wriggle free.

Turning to our friend Chhetri we asked why people were not trained to drive. Why did motorists not look ahead to predict problems and drive accordingly. Ah he said smiling people just do what they want to do. It’s a free country after all, the largest democracy in the world. We drive democratically!

Rows of bright inquisitive eyes watched hesitantly as little fingers scooped up rice grains from metal plates. Occasionally the kids were distracted by the lady in the bright sari dishing up another ladle of rice from her bucket.

Here in the tribal areas of West Bengal the rural poor barely scraped a living as landless labourers. Yet if their children were healthy, these people living on the edge of starvation counted themselves lucky. The burden imposed by a disabled child with cerebral palsy, autism or mental retardation could tip the balance.

This was the stark reality of modern two tier India, desperate crushing povery living intimately with exravagant middle class wealth. It was the contrast that was staggering rather than the absolute levels of degradation. We’d seen poverty first hand when we lived in Sub Saharan Africa. Somehow though it didn’t seem so unjust when the whole country was poor.

That’s not to say there was no social conscience here. We were introduced to rural charities by our good friends at the Indian Institute of Cerebral Palsy.  In one village the parents, supported by dedicated local volunteers had set up a special school and therapy centre in an old government building. They had even acquired a bus to bring severely disabled children in from outlying villages. That was a huge advantage because it not only meant that the kids could get some treatment and a basic education but it released both parents to earn a meagre living.

At an even more remote village we were entranced by Sharmila a lady who had used her own savings and prevailed upon her family to establish a centre for disabled kids. So we were all the more embarrassed when we were welcomed with garlands and people trying to touch our feet as marks of respect.

The next day we were delighted to meet Sharmila again as one of the sixty two directors of NGOs and Charities who attended our three day management workshop in Calcutta. Working with Sonali and Chhetri our Indian Institute of Cerebral Palsy friends was fantastic. Chhetri had a sense of humour which was completely in tune with ours. So when he translated a joke into Bengali he often added a complimentary one of his own. The whole tenor of the conference was positive with mutual support and respect. At the end, the delegates joined in a song dedicated to the success of the seminar. It was a wonderful experience.

Calcutta was unmistakably a British city. There were magnificent buildings like the white marble Victoria Memorial which was still maintained. But there were also crumbling old insurance buildings which made the place look a bit like Manchester or Glasgow after sixty years of neglect. Like most India cities Calcutta was also dirty and grimy with a shifting layer of litter which never seemed to dissipate but there were also pavements and this made the town navigable on foot and so much more enjoyable.

Rising away the centre were sparkling new high rise buildings and modern office blocks in Salt Lake, a suburb of Kolkata, as the city is now called. So the sixteen million plus population continues to expand as the middle class grows and the gap between rich and poor widens.

 
Kolkata Community Based Rehabilitation Field Work Pictures

Kolkata Workshop Pictures

Kolkata City Pictures