In early 1982 Terry and I spent a couple of months in India and Nepal. We were in Calcutta in late March and already it was almost unbearably hot. During the midday hours the sun reflected off the dank streets and it felt like you were being baked and steamed at the same time. While we were there Terry was suffering from a stomach bug, so I explored on my own for a few days. To avoid the worst of the heat I'd leave our cheap funky hotel room very early, 5 or 6 in the morning, and return by 8 or 9. And I'd go out again at dusk when the heat started to dissipate slightly. During most of the day, we camped in our room and drank Orange Fanta and lemon soda and read. The room didn't have AC but it did have a large ceiling fan that was either poorly mounted or broken; it swayed precariously from side to side and groaned as it rotated and circulated the hot air. The fan was right over our bed and we were almost certain the long blades were going to fly off and chop us to pieces, but it was just too stifling to turn it off.

One advantage of being up and out so early was that I got to see the city wake up. Literally. At the time there were estimated to be about 300,000 "street sleepers" in the city, people who lived on the sidewalks in makeshift tents made of canvas or cardboard and rope. Many of them got up at regular hours and went off to jobs and returned to the same spots in the evening. Public water spigots served as the morning bath, often 10 or 20 people sharing one fountain, and food was cooked on tiny coal burners. Despite the poverty and the awful smells and the utter lack of privacy, there was a vibrancy that was palpable and urgent. As an outsider wandering the streets I felt like I was privy to the intimate routines of many thousands of people whose lives were completely exposed. I'd never seen anything quite like it and haven't since.

On one of my early morning wanderings I happened upon a group of wrestlers. They were part of a long tradition called Kushti, a subculture devoted to yoga, bodybuilding, wrestling, spiritual discipline and celibacy. No drinking, no smoking, no sex, a rigorous life of devotion. Apparently there were a number of similar "akharas" (a sort of ashram) around the city, and the groups would have wrestling competitions. When they saw me watching them through the fence surrounding their compound, they invited me in. I watched them train and took pictures respectfully and my presence seemed to be license for them to show off and have a good time. It was decided that the older man, who was the guru and trainer, would be covered with mud in my honor. Despite the lack of a common language, much laughter and warmth ensued.