Dakshineswar & Kumartuli

July 13, 2025

Today—Sunday, with no school in session—Kim, Olivia, Sharmila, and I had the day to explore Kolkata.

We drove from the southern part of the city—what Sharmila calls the more “posh” area—toward the north, where Kolkata’s older neighborhoods lie. Our destination was the district of Howrah, just across the Ganges.

Along the way, we passed Mother Teresa’s home, an unassuming gray concrete building, and numerous narrow side streets so densely packed with vendors that they appeared nearly impenetrable.

As we drove, Sharmila continued to educate us on Bengali history and culture—especially its deep-rooted reverence for education. It was a fitting prelude to our first stop: Dakshineswar Kali Temple, a site dedicated to the goddess Kali, associated with time, destruction, and transformation. Because of her violent form, Kali temples are always built outside the home, never within.

Sharmila recounted the story of the temple's founding in the mid-1800s by Rani Rashmoni, a progressive businesswomen and entrepreneur, who took on a number of roles unheard of for women at that time (such as commissioning the Kali temple) and worked on a variety of social reforms to improve gender equality in India. Both Sharmila and her sister, Priya, credit Rani Rashmoni’s legacy with paving the way for girls and women to access education today.

And so, it was very special that of all the temples in Kolkata, this is where we would be able to offer our prayers. 

To enter Dakshineswar Kali Temple, visitors must leave their shoes and mobile phones behind, so we stored ours in the car. The first step is to acquire an offering for puja (worship)—small baskets filled with sweets and flowers. Then comes the wait. We moved quickly through the vendors and queued up, aiming to enter before 12:30 p.m., when the temple closes so Kali can be fed. Many worshippers arrive on empty stomachs, not wanting to eat before the goddess. 

Sharmila cracks a couple jokes about her irreverance, not only having eaten before our visit, but also wearing jeans, which her mother was disappointed with. "I wear sarees six days a week!" she cried with a laugh. "This is the one day I get to wear jeans. All that matters is what's in your heart." 

As we made our way into the temple complex, the skies opened up, an "auspicious" sign. Many decided to retreat under the eaves of the smaller Shiva temples, but we stuck it out, huddled under umbrellas as our socked feet waded through accumulating puddles. Inside, we handed our offerings and a small donation to the priest, who blessed them and returned them to us. We had only a few moments to look into Kali's eyes with our prayers in our hearts, before being swept forward by the surge of people behind.

We regrouped in the courtyard, touched the blessed flowers to our foreheads and chests, ate a sweet, and paid respects to a few Shiva temples. We then made our way toward the Ganges. Rather than push through the crowded path to the riverbank, Sharmila preferred to think of the rain that soaked us as water that had evaported from the Ganges - hence we'd already had our fill of the sacred river.