Sunday 10th February - Saraswati Puja

R lets the side down badly this morning by choosing English Breakfast tea. There are so many good local varieties to enjoy. Foodwise we go with Aloo Parathas, curd and pickle and D tries Chole Bhatura, a chickpea dish. Along with some fresh fruit this is a splendid start to the day. Late tonight we catch an overnight train so we are pacing ourselves. This morning is our last guaranteed hot shower for at least 72 hours. Checkout is noon so there is plenty of time for packing. We will leave our bags at the Ivy House and come back for them later.

A lazy start gives us the opportunity to reflect on Kolkata. We still struggle with pronunciation. A's are pronounced as O's except when they aren't. Presumably this rule came about to avoid the indignity of having a major shopping street pronounced as Pork Street. As long as we have been coming here the authorities have been mounting a campaign to eridicate usable pavements. This has now moved on from the centre to the suburbs. The bits of pavement that have not been dug up are occupied by various structures apparently essential to the infrastructure of the city. Electrical cabinets feature a lot. Other regular pavement obstructions include small shrines and public conveniences. At distance it is not always easy to tell what you are approaching.

Eventually the hour of eviction arrives. It is a pleasant sunny day, lacking the humidity that has been present. As we exit the digs we notice that everybody seems to be dressed up in their Sunday best. Well it is Sunday. We turn the first corner and see a group of young men in colourful kurtis heading towards us. D cannot resist the opportunity. "Hey guys. Just one photo!" They laugh and leap into posing mode before telling us that today is Saraswati Puja, a big festival in Kolkata. She is the  Goddess of Knowledge, Music, Art, Wisdom and Learning and rides about on a swan. (Source Wikipedia + PitterPatter).  She sounds like the sort of lass that Theresa May needs in the cabinet. Everybody apart from us has made an effort to look splendid.

Rash Behari Avenue is almost the perfect street, lined with retailers of almost every ilk, and it still has trams. Our first stop is the stall where R bought a kurti yesterday. It has a slight material deficiency and needs swapping out. Some of the stalls are not open today but the one we need is trading although lacking the boss man. We are urged to return after an hour or so. No worries as Big Bazaar beckons. Such a sophisticated retail emporium must surely sell cotton thread for travellers' luggage repairs. "Sorry sir. Try Lake Market outside." They do sell plug-in mosquito zappers, likely to be useful at our next destination, and they are on offer this week. The supermarket level checkouts are very slightly more efficient than the clothing department ones but it is a close run thing. To prove that you have paid the bag is sealed with a Man City blue cable tie. Lake Market is devoid of thread although one chap does try to sell us a rusty needle.

D hopes to catch a tram back to Ghariahat Crossing but R is not for standing in the gutter waiting. Instead we get another share auto, with D balanced precariously next to the driver. Our return visit to R's costumier ends in a score draw. No refund but a replacement that should be satisfactory. We part with smiles and photos. As we look for refreshment we chance upon a chai vendor who is using clay pots. Too good to miss.

Along the road is a Bar/Restaurant that we passed last night and which looked interesting. We don't want a full meal but they are happy for us to linger over a shared starter. Add in a couple of cold uns and it seems like the perfect way to spend a festive Sunday afternoon. When we set out again on foot the temperature is very pleasant and the traffic quite light. D hankers after another tram ride but the chaps at the Ghariahat depot are not encouraging. We see another crowd of colourfully clad people ahead. This is the throng around, and the queue for, the Birla Mandir, a very impressive temple built between 1970 and 1996 , which was constructed at the behest of a wealthy industrialist.

Eventually a tram appears and we work our way through the traffic to board. The next landmark up the road is the Quest Mall which turns out to be only one stop but it was still a tram ride. The Quest Mall is full of very familiar brand names and could be in Glasgow if it were not for the fact that the Irish House on the fifth floor is supplying two beers for the price of one. By now darkness is starting to fall and we head back towards the Ivy House, stopping for dinner at a restaurant called FishFish. Guess what we had to eat.

After dinner it is time to pick up the bags and grab an Uber for the ride across the city and the Hooghly river to Howrah station. The driver drops us outside the front of the station and a pack of hungry porters descends. D's line of "No thanks. I have a strong wife" gets a laugh from a passing couple. The old ones are the best ones. Our train is the Howrah - Puri Superfast and it leaves from Platform 23, the one at the far end that smells strongly of fish. Seats are in short supply so R commandeers one end of a porters barrow,  from where she guards the luggage, while D finds out what is going on. South Eastern Railway appear to have it all under control. The train appears in the platform about half an hour before departure time, we have been allocated a two berth coupe, and the sheets are clean enough to meet with R's approval. At 22.35, exactly on time, the train departs and at 22.37 the TTE has checked our tickets. Sleepy time.