Fast flight to Calcutta, or like they say nowdays KOLKATA. Everything is changing in India, even the city names. Embracing development in the "american way", the Kolkatians are creating a city full of options although without infrastructures, basic education or health needs assured. They are re-inventing their city and, very proudly, liberating themselves (theoretically and conceptually, which is a start) from the "british way".

Independence and self pride, acceptance of the new, embracement of the "modern way" are the fundamental values of the middle classes, who self-assuredly walk around on their brand new "pumas", with their last Nokia model in their ears, in frenetic masses, on their way to their new jobs.

"It's all about jobs, now"- tells me the south indian lady seating next to me on the plane, well wrapped in her beautiful silk blue sari. She pulls out the indian "Times" and arranges her big "old ladies 50's" non stylish, but yet trendy (in the artsy crowds of Brick Lane and Soho) glasses, sniffing her austere nose to the news- "Have you seen how they dress? All these tight jeans, and tops without sleeves? Not like you, very nice salwar khamiz, very nice. You look like real indian girl. You married? You should come and visit me. Here. I write you my address." - She starts writing her Kolkata address on a small, neat, piece of paper, in a very careful neat writing, while I look down on my salwar khamiz, depressively, disgusted with that enormous large piece of cloth I wear in India, that always makes me feel like a little girl or an old granny, depending on my mood, anything that is not sexy, stylish or trendy!!!

We land in Kolkata and the hair hostess asks on the mic:" Please remain seated' till arriving to a complete stop", to this literally everybody takes no notice. They open their seat belts, get up, open the luggage and rush to be the first, starting to push and arguing to get to the door. The air hostesses come out quickly like little soldiers trying to sit everybody down as the plane is still moving and we haven't even landed properly, but everybody ignores them, and tells them to mind their own business.
As usual indians can't cope with the rules of the modern world- what are you talking about paper forms and security measures?

I prepaid a yellow cab and ask to be driven to the Diplomat Hotel, in the heart of the town. For an instant a rush of New york memories crosses my mind and I feel transported to the Big Apple while looking at all the yellow cabs on the roads, all the people rushing on the roads, the big buildings, the neon signs.
If it wasn't for all the slums and improvised card and newspaper huts inbetween them, the ageing decaying look of the buildings themselves, the dogs running around, the beggars on the car windows walking miracoulously in the middle of the road, their clothes drying on the crash barriers in between, the babies lying on the sidewalks exposed to the car fumes, waiting to be breastfed or runover- this would be just like NY!!!!