Things have changed at the Oberoi.

Well, not inside particularly - apart from a faint sniff of the cage. Everything looks exactly the same. Outside it’s a very different matter. I guess we all know why.

The first sign, just after the limo guy makes that ‘he’s imminent’ call on his mobile, is the double line of yellow crowd control barriers outside the hotel and the large numbers of policemen. Those great black wrought-iron gates are closed these days. The car slides in between the barriers to be halted by the politest security guards you ever saw. They peer in.

I salute.

Ahhh – the celebrated Mr. Dogster has arrived.

They salute back and search some more. Open the doors, check around the paws for ammunition.
Apparently I’m not about to explode. The dogmobile is allowed to advance another three feet.

More peering. More saluting. Two more guards open the gates. We drive in. Opposite the front entrance is a sentry box – sandbagged to chest height, with a sweet little green roof. Inside three not-so-sweet looking soldiers in full riot-gear sprouting very big guns. I didn’t wave gaily and salute. Lordy, I was thinking – sandbags. No time to dwell on the armed soldiers – as we drive along to the front door I’m aware of a welcoming committee. It appears to be for me.

It is.

This is my fifth or sixth visit over the last 18 months. They know who I am. They also know who I used to be. I’ve totally forgotten who that youthful puppy was - but my past follows me in cyberspace. I guess I’m not the only one with that problem. Mercifully my extensive criminal history seems to have disappeared, leaving only minor notoriety. Sometimes that notoriety translates into free limos, a welcoming committee, floral arrangements and an upgrade from the cheapest possible room to what is known as a ‘Classic Suite’. Well, in Kolkata, anyhow.

So when that limo door is opened, when Dogster tumbles out, he’s met with a wave of the purest Oberoi spirit, a manager or two or three – or four; various glamorous personal assistants to ease my way up to the room, to whisk my luggage away. After the handshakes and the smiles, the ‘welcome back’s’ and ‘hello, again, sir!’, I’m dutifully scanned by a saluting man with a hat and a small black tennis racket. No strings. Perhaps it’s not a tennis racket. He’s getting awfully personal with his probe

I appear not be carrying weapons, but my lethal cigarette lighter is discovered, as is the foil in my fags. Thank God I decided against the steel penile implant.

Nothing so vulgar as checking in at the front desk. Ptoooey. I’m carried bodily past gawping, deeply jealous tourists. I can see gimlet sets of British eyes. Why is HE getting all this attention? Well, quite frankly, I’m not sure either…

‘You’re so friendly,’ said Umme Honey, the Oberoi’s airport rep, ‘most tourists are very quiet.’

I mention Ms. Honey just because I like her name. Umme, honey. Kinda sexy.

‘That’s because they’re scared,’ I replied. ‘they think you’ll eat them.’

She blinked. I smiled broadly to assure her that I wasn’t a complete lunatic.

She nodded enthusiastically – but then, I had the feeling that was her job.

‘They think if you touch a bit of India they’ll die.’ Some do.

I’m not scared of India. I’m more scared in down-town Melbourne on a Saturday night.

But, as it turns out, I do talk to everybody. It’s apparently very unusual. They notice. They remember - not just the ones who are PAID to remember, not just the ones who are PAID to be nice – but all of them.

I went out for a walk round my favorite block in the entire world. The wrought-iron gates clanged behind me. I hadn’t gone ten feet before it began.

‘Hey, you came back!’

‘Hey, Austraya-a-a-a!’

‘I know you!’

If ever a place is pure karma it’s India. They give it straight back to you – double. They remember everything about you. Well, maybe not everyone – but they sure remember me.

‘You know me,’ I say, shaking their hand, ‘everything is business – don’t waste your time.’

So they don’t.

It’s taken me a long time in Kolkata to achieve that simple feat. Even the beggar children just say ‘Hi Uncle!’ and move on.

I had a Jimmy call to make.

Supplies.

But that’s another adventure.

Welcome to Kolkata.

I needed my laugh for the day! Happy Travels!

And welcome back to blogging live from India!

Ah, a new tale! Thanks for getting us started on your new adventure.

Yay! You're there! Can't want for more...

Hey - another dogster saga - fun time.

[Can I interrupt to ask a question? Are the cheaper places, the Fairlawn, for instance, also surrounded with new defenses?]

Sigh. I hate not being able to edit. Should have said, "can't <i>wait</i> for more". On the other hand, what more could I want either, but a new Dogster tale? ;-)

You're right, Kristina, the phrase "can't want for more" is appropriate here too...afterall, with writing style like this, it's almost as if it's a movie...
I will be watching ( and waiting) for more, even as I contemplate going out in the 22 degree weather here.

Please interrupt all you like thursday - and anyone else.

Despite my periodic dogologues it's a conversation - not a speech. I'll go check the Fairlawn tomorrow if Maha Shivratri doesn't get in the way. Or this lag. Somehow I think Sudder Street will be just the same. Everybody I've met on the street today says they have noticed a big downturn in tourists - Oberoi guys say a slump was on in Jan/Feb but now it's kicking back into gear in March. Too early to get my eyes around it.

Slumdog Millionaire is all over the news in anticipation. It would be simply great if it won Best Picture. For India.

Now I gotta sleep. I really want to hit the ghats early tomorrow if I have energy. If I was smart I'd go now [midnight here] but I'm fading fast. Gawd, I love this town.

Thanks. I thought Sudder Street might be in your plans. But I had to look up Maha Shivratri - seems you should be fasting...

Great to hear from you Dogster. I think India's on my next trip list thanks to you. Let me know how some of those 600-baht-tip-equivalent massages go over there, lol.

Looking forward to more...

Hi Dogster, so happy I found your post here! (it's been a tough week adjusting to the new forums, but it's getting all better now).

Dogster--You are there for Maha Shivratri--day of fasting!
Wondering what all you have eaten or did you follow the rules and not eat until evening.
Remember Kolkata has the best rosgullas. Definitely try some if you haven't.
My mouth waters for the freshly made rosgullas. You are lucky Dogster.
We are waiting for the Oscars and hoping that Slumdog Millionair wins a big one.
All work will stop and all eyes will be focused on the Oscars tonight.
The young cast from the Mumbai slums are supposed to be attending the grand affair.
Do report what you are seeing first hand about Slumdog's nomination/win.
Have a good rest tonight, so you are charged up to find some hidden corners of Kolkata for all of us sitting thousands of miles away.

Dog - thanks for doing your part to stimulate the world economy. Jeane and I did our part by finally going to see Slumdog (any relation?). We're also rooting for a win at the Oscars tonight.

Can't wait to read what else the dog will tap out!

Ileen is right! Bengali sweets are the best, especially Rasgulla and Rasmalai. Please have some for us and let us know how wonderfully delicious they were!

Slumdog Millionaire won Oscars in a big way. So Dogster eat a plateful of Rasgullas. You celebrate for all of us here.
In India any celebration calls for eating sweets especially a laddu or rasgulla. You are in a city of Rasgulla--go for them!
Please report how this big Oscar win is being celebrated by Kolkata natives.
Have a great day exploring.

Are you sure your reception wasn't because you were the only guest at the hotel? That would have been my first assumption.