So I called them. Both were expecting my call and wondered why I hadn't called as soon as I'd arrived . . . was I OK? Very sweet, if overly-concerned. I met Dr. De at his office off of Shakespeare Sarani Street; I was immediately greeted by his secretary Basanti, who offered me tea. After our lovely discussion, Basanti invited me to have dinner with her family to enjoy a home-cooked Bengali meal.
Basanti lives in a nice neighborhood called Lake Gardens, in a five-story rowhouse with her brother, his family, her sister, a cousin, a couple of kids I'm not sure to whom they're related, and two renters. I removed my shoes upon entering and they proceeded to treat me like a queen-on-display. At various points everyone in the house came down to inspect me, to ask how I was enjoying Calcutta, and to offer me tea. They had lots of questions and loved to talk and laugh. Sajal (Basanti's brother) and his son Swarnab wanted to know my views on any number of topics, and asked me to explain baseball. I showed off the few phrases of Bengali that I knew, and though I'm certain I butchered the words, they were absolutely thrilled.
Dinner was ready at around 10pm (they eat late), and though I was bloated from the tea that almost every person offered and I was too polite to turn down, I managed to make it to the dinner table. There was only one place setting. "You are our honored guest; we will eat later." So I sat at one end of the table while the family sat at the other, and they watched me eat. Was that uncomfortable: I had to really watch that I didn't spill anything, that I ate everything offered, and that for the love of God I didn't use my left hand (it's the "unclean" hand). The meal was wonderful, except for the weird fish side-dish that I smushed around to make it look like I ate most of it. Then Basanti's sister brought out the famous Bengali sweets; we all sat around talking and laughing and eating dessert. After dinner, Basanti's family presented me with gifts (!) and Swarnab walked me to my cab. They couldn't have been more kind. I thanked them profusely and they shushed me, as if they were insulted I was thanking them. "This is what is right, we take care of you," they said: they thanked me for coming to their home.
Dr. De and his wife Deepa took me for Sunday brunch at the Calcutta Club (their country club). We walked through the bar area, and I noticed someone eating peanuts. When we arrived at our table I asked the waiter for peanuts. The waiter and Dr. De traded words for what seemed like 15 minutes, and then Dr. De told me, "he is bringing your peanuts." Not sure why that was a big deal. After lunch they drove me back to their home in the suburb of Salt Lake, which is beautiful. I was offered tea, and sweets, and a comfortable pillow. How was I feeling? Did I enjoy the meal? How was I finding Calcutta these days? Is there anything you need? Then they brought me gifts: a beautiful Indian wall hanging, and, much to Deepa's delight and amusement, a large bag of peanuts. I'm still not sure why the Great Peanut Controversy was a big deal at the club; but Deepa thought it was funny so, hey, I'm happy to be the foreign white girl taking one for the team. When they drove me home, they too shushed me for thanking them: "It is our way in Bengal: you are our guest."
Supriyo is much closer to my age, so he had his driver take us to some of the more trendy areas of town to site-see. He showed me Park Street, some of the nicer suburbs, the office where he works. While driving in the Shakespeare Sarani area I saw something so shocking I couldn't believe it: a Baskin Robbins neon sign. "Pull over!" I shouted. And so I introduced Supriyo to American ice cream. The ice cream was just dreamy, but the chocolate syrup and whipped cream were unusually different than is offered in the US. "This is just a small token of my thanks to you for being such a terrific host, taking me sight-seeing and eating wonderful Indian food," I said. "You do not need to say thanks, as that is the rule of friendship," he replied.
About a week ago I had yet another sinus infection, and this one was pretty bad. I called Dr. De (handy that he's an ENT doctor) and asked him to simply recommend medicine. He replied, "Oh no, you will come to my office! You will now you will be my patient!" So he stayed late that afternoon just to see me. He gave me medicine that he had there in the clinic and offered me tea. I got out my checkbook and asked him what I owed him for the visit, and you'd think I had just insulted his mother. "No, no, you will not pay: you are our guest."
Dr. De, Basanti and Supriyo showed me not only another side of Calcutta, away from the squalor and suffering, but also extraordinary hospitality. They were gentle and generous, with great senses of humor. I was overwhelmed by their attention, their generosity and their concern for my wellbeing . . . and I was a stranger to them. I will miss them. Yet it's an astonishingly small world: turns out that Dr. De and Deepa have one child, who studied and currently lives in . . . wait for it . . . Dallas, Texas. Of all the places on earth . . . an incredible coincidence. So, when I get back home, I'll have a new friend that I had to fly to Delhi to board the Palace on Wheels train tour to meet a doctor in Calcutta who has an only child who chose Texas out of every place in the world, to meet.
