Improvisation versus method. That`s how I`d define this crazy city (Calcutta – or Kolkata), almost out of control but not quite, with a seething, ever-expanding population of 15 + million or so (like Mexico City, the exact numbers are hard to pin down), battalions of yellow taxis, an all too visible class / caste system and endless visual shocks.

Kolkata+streetfood

Finding your way anywhere is by trial and error, plus a bit of tribulation. Dodging honking auto-rickshaws, taxis and manic little Marutis, even hand-pulled rickshaws (yes, tragically they still ply their trade), negotiating the streets becomes an art. Even pavements can be hard-going, pockmarked as they are with mini craters and broken slabs, half occupied by rows of food-stalls where people chop, cook and eat, and sometimes fusing seamlessly with the street.

Then suddenly you are confronted by the beauty of an ageing edifice, a decrepit colonial mansion with peeling shutters, plants creeping out of fissures or roofs, half curtains obscuring some kind of life that, miraculously, goes on inside. Outside, a tarpaulin stretched from a tree to a bicycle might be home to a small family. Washing and tooth-brushing is done at the street-pump by the men at least, though who knows where the women manage it. A naked toddler with a huge red tika (the mark of Hindu sanctity) on his forehead sits and plays with a tin bowl – bizarrely happy. If only he knew.

Kolkata+Bengali+cleaning+teeth

The Bengalis of Calcutta constantly improvise. Their driving skills are extraordinary considering the gridlock they have to overcome, like dodgems snaking between lines of cars, honk honk, but never a scrape. And the patience of Job. Packed to the roof with people and bags, rusting old buses career past, inmates always with smiles – it`s a daily route after all.

And the method? Just watch the street kitchens. There’s an established hierarchy of tasks undertaken in tandem – some chop, others mix, mould or fry while still others assemble the finished goods and still another is a cash machine. Then come the eaters, upstanding male office-workers in impeccably pressed shirts or young women students in vividly coloured kurtas. It`s a Calcutta ritual repeated endlessly throughout the day – there`s no strict time. So finally, anarchy wins.

Calcutta_Kolkata_street_taxi