City in a mouth hugli

When the plane came on planting, under us have floated quarters of the big city. Through grey to a smoke, hung over it, their outlines seemed unsteady, as in a Mirage. It was Calcutta-most a large city of India.

From the airport of Ladies-ladies on a brand new highway with an one-way traffic, carrying a name of known Bengalese poet Nuzrul of Islam, we promptly rushed to a city. It has begun unexpectedly, without suburbs. Speed has fallen at once. Having appeared in narrow street, our car has been compelled to obey to a rhythm of the general movement. The huge red buses painted with advertising, mixed automobile motor vehicles, volovi teams, velorikshi hardly crept in narrow and stuffy city gorges. Average speed of movement of a municipal transportation in Calcutta fluctuates from 11 to 20 kilometres per hour. We have appeared there at o'clock of transport peak by the end of the working day. By buses and antediluvian, creaking and rumbling trams clusters the people who have solved at any cost to reach the house hung. At stops in almost hopeless expectation were exhausted in turns of thousand people.

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