There are some things that one must do before dying:
So there we were, the three of us, in the Bandel Local heading to the historic Bandel Church. Well, fine. I missed the train. It was just the two of them in that train while I struggled out of bed, wore my socks and ate bread toast (which my mother insisted was a healthy mid-morning breakfast) at the same time and ran to catch the next available train. After the not-so-smooth beginning, I finally met the two tourists and we headed towards the auto stand. A fifteen minute crowded-auto ride later, we found ourselves amidst a busy street which had BABA CABIN restaurant on the left and a very questionable biriyani stall on the right. But there it stood, right in front, the majestic Bandel Church. I am lying. There was nothing ‘majestic’ about the Bandel Church. In fact, BABA CABIN seemed a lot more appealing at that point.
Nonetheless, all three cameras were out and clicking as we headed in to what looked like an entrance. No, we did not find devout worshippers singing psalms at every corner. What we did see were a lot of glittery families who had come to picnic on the church ground. I was really glad I had that bread toast. There were some decorations put up for Christmas [the previous day] for which one of my two travelers added with a smirk, ‘That’s the nativity scene, in case you did not realize.’ Yes, thirteen years in a convent school and I still needed a Bible history lesson.
- Backpack through Europe
- Gain expertise over fine dining
- Shake hands with the Dalai Lama and,
- Travel in a local train, specifically on the Eastern Railway.
So there we were, the three of us, in the Bandel Local heading to the historic Bandel Church. Well, fine. I missed the train. It was just the two of them in that train while I struggled out of bed, wore my socks and ate bread toast (which my mother insisted was a healthy mid-morning breakfast) at the same time and ran to catch the next available train. After the not-so-smooth beginning, I finally met the two tourists and we headed towards the auto stand. A fifteen minute crowded-auto ride later, we found ourselves amidst a busy street which had BABA CABIN restaurant on the left and a very questionable biriyani stall on the right. But there it stood, right in front, the majestic Bandel Church. I am lying. There was nothing ‘majestic’ about the Bandel Church. In fact, BABA CABIN seemed a lot more appealing at that point.
Nonetheless, all three cameras were out and clicking as we headed in to what looked like an entrance. No, we did not find devout worshippers singing psalms at every corner. What we did see were a lot of glittery families who had come to picnic on the church ground. I was really glad I had that bread toast. There were some decorations put up for Christmas [the previous day] for which one of my two travelers added with a smirk, ‘That’s the nativity scene, in case you did not realize.’ Yes, thirteen years in a convent school and I still needed a Bible history lesson.
Bandel Church is one of the oldest churches in West Bengal. So obviously there will be reconstructions done from time to time. I’d like to know whose idea was it to use shiny tiles (the kind I have mostly seen in really swanky bathrooms) for the reconstruction of the church interiors. It seemed like a logical construction choice because everyone likes to feel pee-ish in public places.
So the Church itself is very reminiscent of general catholic school churches. Nothing very special about it except it had a lot of stairs and that it was built in the 1600s.
Anyway, having made the realization that history can be very misleading and unexpectedly disappointing, we left to fill our tummies. Being short on cash, we decided to hope back on the train [and this time together] and go to Shrirampur. While on the train, we came across a variety of people. While some revealed their flat tummies (as we sucked in our own) others merely stared at us as we chatted loudly about inappropriate girl things. Oh, we also had tea in a mud pot (possibly one of the best moments in the train).
We reached Shrirampur, where SAMRAT (the restaurant which promised great food) waited for us. Having had our late lunch which consisted of one plate of chow and garlic chicken split three ways and talked about everything (read: everyone) under the sun, we decided it was time to put this day to an end. We boarded our respective trains (this time separately) and as I watched them struggle to get inside a cramped ladies compartment I knew that we had to repeat this journey again and soon.
Amrita Kar
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