Every night, ritually, she goes out onto the streets of central Calcutta, to feed what she affectionately refers to as her 'babies'. Dinner is usually leftovers of curry mixed with odd body parts of a chicken, served in appetizing Tupperware. I suppose it's a good job her 'babies', the street dogs, don't have high standards.
This aforementioned lady, named Candy, is something of an icon in our hostel. Nobody is quite sure if that's her real name. Or where she is from, or anything about her really…I suppose her mystery makes her all the more fascinating to me. Candy is Indian, has short black locks and spends her days dozing or wandering the hostel grounds in one of her signature nightgowns. Her eyes, tired as they are, twinkle with a cheeky, innocent expression. She lives at night and sleeps by day. She is clearly in a different dimension to everyone else. Her conversation appears to be limited to comments on the temperature, or offers to drink chai. Sometimes an equally reclusive man comes to visit her. I felt like I had met an elusive character from a book, crafted with the humour and knack for suspense of a master author. What was her story, behind her lovable and confusing habits?
She was certainly a memorable encounter, an eccentric phenomenon among Kolkata's fifteen million faces.
Below: crowds by Kolkata's Kali temple. I'll let your mind's eye imagine the character of Candy…
