Kolkata

Today is Thursday. I have gotten over the jetlag. Some streets are already familiar to me and I can find my way on foot to and from the Goethe-Institut on my own. I am beginning to acclimatize. Today is my first official day of work at the Times of India.

From the twelfth floor of Shantiniketan Building, an old high-rise in the south of Kolkata, I can see the surrounding sea of buildings. I got to the lift via Camac Street; from the balcony at the rear I can view the Victoria Memorial and the second Hugli Bridge. Strictly speaking Kolkata is not situated on the Ganges (even if Vico Torriani claims that so nicely in his catchy tune), but on its branch, the Hugli.

It is two o’clock in the afternoon. I have been sitting in the open-plan office for two hours. Work does not begin at the Times of India until noon following the big breakfast. I am wondering how long I will be here this evening.

Same here and there: a muddle of voices and telephones ringing

Bob Roy, the chief editor, has not arrived yet. He had to stay a bit late on Wednesday. Yesterday we met for the first time and discussed how we would proceed over the coming weeks. He wants to send me out to the neighbourhoods so that I get familiar with Kolkata. I should also go to cultural events such as concerts, book presentations, art exhibitions and so forth, and additionally to religious or secular festivals. Of course, they also wish to show me the city’s sights. But, I should also input my own subject matter. For example, he thinks the idea of a ride on the tram that Jörg Zimmer from Nürtingen suggested to me before I left is very good.

But, today we will take it somewhat easier. Aditi Guha, his deputy (who will come to Nürtingen in a few weeks for the return visit), urgently needs to finish two articles. My co-workers around me are also very busy. Irene Saha is working on the wedding supplement that has to go out tomorrow. Debolina Sen is chewing over a service article about job fairs in Kolkata. And Rajani Yadav is designing a local edition of the Times of India for the neighbourhood of Salt Lake City.

Later, when everyone is here and not too stressed, I would like to have a group portrait made so the readers at home know with whom I am working.

Unlike in Nürtingen, here the graphic artists are also in the same room. But the muddle of voices is actually not at all different than that at home on the Neckar. The frequency with which the telephone rings is also not much different. To this extent, it is not such a major adjustment.

The size of the newspaper is, however. 350,000 copies of the Times of India are printed alone in Kolkata. That’s a lot. Yet, it should not frighten me, writing an article is the same everywhere whether the newspaper is big or small.

Incidentally, getting into the office is far simpler in Nürtingen than here. In Kolkata you have to sign your name in a large book out in the corridor, write down who you plan to visit and your telephone number. Then someone notes what time you entered the office through the glass door and when you leave it again. Behind the door is another friendly lady who asks whom you wish to see and informs that person. Perhaps it will be easier starting tomorrow; then they will be familiar with me.

Yet there is something seriously different here than back on Carl-Benz-Strasse: Since you do not begin work until lunchtime, you eat in the office here. The meal is prepared at home and then a team of cooks is available in the office to heat up the delicacies and also make tea. And, whereby the editorial office in Kolkata is dominated by women, only men are working at the stove and sink: Ramesh Goldar, Baidyanath Purakayastha, Uttah Manna and Pradip Manna care for the physical wellbeing of their co-workers.

I myself went to the snack bar first thing today. Ramesh took me there about four. Although I could read the menu, I didn’t recognize any of the dishes; the names mean nothing to me. So, I pointed to a random dish under the heading “Vegetarian.” It served potatoes in spicy sauce: delicious.

I will therefore doubtless work my finger down the menu day by day. After all, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. The language is a mystery to me anyway and after five minutes I’ve already forgotten the name of what I just ate.

Yet, I did learn one important word today. My colleague Irene Saha taught it to me from her native language Bengali. It is “dhannabad” and means “thank you!”