The tour was agreed for an 8:00am collection. 8:00 came and went, then 8:15, 8:30. I emailed to chase and the tour guide hadn't noticed my reply to him confirming location and had assumed the tour wasn't going ahead. I had gained a free day in Kolkata. I walked to the museum. One of the first things I noticed about Kolkata; they have road signs!! *slow clap for Kolkata* I walk into the entrance and a security guard stops me. The museum isn't open until 9:30am. I wander away from the museum aimlessly and come across a narrow bookstore. I buy a Kolkata city guide with map and as I'm queuing to pay I spy a Hindu Myths book which I had been hoping to buy at some point too. With my map in my hands I walk to Mother Teresa's house. Kolkata is hot (Total Dane Bowers level and some, Tobe). At the entrance to the house is a small wooden sign that says ‘Mother Tereasa’ and underneath is a small sliding piece of wood blocking either ‘in’ or ‘out’. Since Her death, the entrance has stated that Mother Teresa is ‘in’, her body has never left. The house is the first entirely serene place I had experienced in India. Hindu temples are vibrant, warm, inviting places but still loud. Mother Teresa's house reminded me of churches I had been to at home; Quiet, calming, safe places where people pray quietly unless a service is taking place and perhaps a rousing song is sung. I walked into the house and was greeted by a nun, dressed in the familiar white and blue that Mother Teresa wore. I was led into a room and there infront of me was Mother Teresa’s tomb. To the right of the tomb were rows of benches. I took a seat and sat there for a while and appreciated the quiet. I'd never considered myself a quiet person, but I do miss the quiet from home. I'm becoming increasingly more appreciative of the English understanding of spacial awareness and our generally lowered tones. Air conditioning or fans when I'm trying to sleep replace the recognisable, and as I'm discovering, strangely reassuring glug that radiators sometimes make during the night. Walking down the road without the beeping of horns. Traffic lights, with acknowledged times to cross. The simple things that you spend your entire life adhering to. I'm not a person who practises religion, but if I was, Mother Teresa is the kind of person I would want to be. Spending her days caring for the less fortunate. I don't understand Monks for example who spend their days meditating in temples. If your God gave you life and you want to thank him, and praise him, then surely the way to prove your worth is to make life easier and/or better for others? The Holy Men in Varanasi, as well, who spend their days along the Ganges shore, in loin cloths, praying. If I was their God I'd be looking at them thinking ‘Guys, come on now. Can you please contribute? There's starving kids and all that. You made the same prayer yesterday, you're golden- I'll be waiting here with open arms for you, but you know, could you just help someone?’ I might be totally off the mark and some might find that disrespectful, but if I turn religious, that's where you'll find me. Maybe somewhere cooler than Kolkata though. 

I hail a cab back to the Indian Museum, it's even warmer now and I'm not even entertaining the idea of walking there. Before going in I stop for sweet lime soda from a street seller. He speaks good basic English and we chat so I end up buying two glasses of soda from him. I ask to take his photograph. I hold the camera expecting the usual straight face. I get the opposite. He smiles and brilliant wide, happy smile. I walk away smiling. Indians seem to have this way of smiling that takes over their entire face and their eyes sparkle. 

The museum is disappointing; similarly to the Mumbai museum. I've seen most of the artefacts in places in wonderful locations all over India. With one exception- where we have Rex at the Natural History Museum. They have an enormous elephant skeleton! Two of them! In a row, like a caravan. I must have stared at these skeletons, open mouthed like a child for a few minutes. All the locals walked by. Clearly, elephants are old news for them. I was only in the museum for half an hour in the end. 

I turn left out of the museum and head back to the hotel hoping to find a café. En route, I stop at a book seller on the street. Again, he has one of those lovely smiles that makes me stop, even if it is to entertain his hope. It's only 11am still. I bought Bops ‘The Alchemist’ for Christmas just gone and had hoped to steal it off to her to read but she hadn't had time to open it yet and there in plastic wrapping was The Alchemist for 200 rupees. The seller picked it up and said because it was early in the day and I was his (potential) first customer, he would sell it to me for 150 rupees. I agreed, his smile grew even wider. Indian people seem to follow and respect omens and I remembered that when money is handed over with the right hand it is good luck, so I use my right hand and leave with my new purchase. Apparently, redeeming my good luck early, twenty strides later and on my left ‘Café Coffee Day’ appears, with my two new books I enter the café. 

The Alchemist is all about fate, luck, your chosen path, lessons and omens. I find it strange because buying the book was the first time I had considered Indian traditions when making a transaction. Three hours later I leave the café. Book finished. 

I head back to the hotel, watch movies in bed, order room service and sleep.