sybarites

We forgot to write about the Taj Mahal!

An icon representative of a nation, spectacular to behold and arguably one of the seven wonders of the modern world, and we forgot to mention it.

However, in our defense, the city in which the Taj is located can almost make one forget the beauty of the monument. I’m not going to go off on a rant here but as far as tolerance of pollution and and poverty goes, Agra broke the proverbial straw on our camel’s back.

The good news is that now that we’ve seen it, we don’t have to go back!

P.S.  A little known fact about the inside of the Taj Mahal:  it smells like feet.

Part I: The Family Headshave
In Hampi, we stopped at a tiny barber shop so that Marc could get a shave and a haircut for two bits (literally). I had the camera ready to record the straight-razor shave but was completely distracted by the anxious, little girl sitting in the chair next to Marc.  She had a glossy, black head of pretty hair which, without hesitation or ceremony, the barber wetted and began shaving with a straight razor.   From part to nape, the hair fell away and onto the floor.

Following her, as the youngest, her brother and sister took their turns before their monther and father.  The whole family then went to bathe in the river which, along with the shaving, we were told was part of a ritual pilgrimage.

Part II:  What Is That?
It is a six hour journey by passenger train from Ajmer to Jaipur and for two of us to travel, it was less than $2 CAD.   There are bench seats and open windows and fans for when the heat is unbearable, but those were all turned off, and the windows were closed when we travelled.  The people in the cars were all wearing toques and scarves and were draped with blankets.
There was a friendly fellow that sat across from us who spoke way more English than we spoke Hindi.  He asked where we were from, are we married and is it a ‘love’ marriage, and did we like India.  He helped us to buy chai and told us that, regrettably, we had been cheated when we bought our bananas on the platform: we had paid Rs.20 (less than $0.50) when we should have only been charged Rs.10.   He said he was sorry that we had been cheated.

Shortly thereafter, we pulled our our iPods and the following conversation ensued:
“Oh, FM radio, yes?”
“No, no, it’s an iPod.”
“Oh yes, a cassette player.”
“No, it’s an iPod, like a computer- see?”   I show him my Nano.
“Oh, FM radio.”
“No, look, it’s like a computer that plays music.”
I gave him the earphones and he listened to a minute of music, nodding, but still not really understanding.
“Oh, okay” he says.

Part III: Newspaper
Apart from its primary function of reporting news, a newspaper in India can be so much more.  It is a towel with which to wash windows, a food wrapper, an origami-ed spice pouch, a paper towel, a blanket, a floor mat, a fly swatter, a napkin and a plate.  In a country that hasn’t yet embraced the waste management practices of reduce or recycle, re-use is second nature.

Part IV: The Cleaning
Weeks after this occurance, I am still a bit astonished as to how it occurred.
I was walking down the beach to meet Marc at our hut in Goa, South India.  I was carrying my sandals, walking in the surf and nodding ‘hello’ to the people I passed.  One man, an Indian, stopped and turned when I said hello.  He pointed to the side of my sunglasses and said something in Urdu.  My immediate thought was that there was a bug on me and that he was warning me.  I took off the sunglasses and started examining them but he pointed, again, to the side of my face.  I started feeling around my temple but he approached and touched my ear for a couple of seconds.   When he drew back, he held a tiny, elongated spoon in his hand with something yellowish on the end.  He pushed it off with his finger and said, “Wax”.

Suddenly, I understood that he had quickly scooped my ear for wax.  Before I even had a chance to get over my astonishment, he produced a card which stated that he was a certified Middle Ear Cleaner and he explained that he could clean my ears for 200 rupees.  I was aghast and almost at a loss for words;  how did this man put a spoon in my ear without me feeling it?   I emphatically declined his services and rushed away.

Part V:  ATM
In the one-horse town of Hampi, Marc and I decided to get some money.  We walked 500m to arrive at the only bank in this village of 3000 people.  We weren’t desparate for the cash, and could’ve gone a bit further afield to visit an ATM, but thought we’d give the local branch a shot.
We walked into the offices and asked if we could “get some money”.  The man at the counter said they were closed, yet the doors were open, the lights were on and the office was filled with staff about their business.   We looked at each other, and then back at the fellow, and then Marc asked, “OK, what time do you open tomorrow?”   Immediately, the fellow started talking with his colleagues.  Ninety seconds pass and we are still standing there, so Marc asks again, “What time do you open tomorrow?”  and the man says, “Yes, we are discussing.”
So we wait.  Four minutes pass and he then asks us what we wish to do.  We say, again, that we wish to withdraw some money.  And he says, “OK, sit down.”
So we sit.  Another man pulls out a ledger and asks for a credit card and passport. Marc produces both and the man meticulously copies the details of each into this dusty ledger.  There is more discussion between colleagues.  Tea is served.  The waiting continues.  Meanwhile, a small crowd of people has gathered outside the door of the bank to watch the foreigners.  More and more people accumulate.
Finally, another man appears with a stack of bills which, when he places them on the desk in front of us, measures more than six inches tall.   He explains that he can only give us 50’s and 100’s because that’s all they have.  As the only bank in town.
Without any other option, we shrug and take a fistfiull of cash in each hand, which we “hide” in our pockets as we push past the spectators and make our way as quickly and nervously as possible to our hotel.    Apart from the pig we saw eating a dead cat, no incidents ensued.

After five weeks in India, we visited the small city of Pushkar.  It is known, predominantly, as the home of the yearly Camel Festival during which thousands of people and camels (and tourists) descend on this little place to witness the spectacle of the camel trade on a  massive scale.  The rest of the year, it is “merely” a significant pilgrimage site for Hindus to visit one of only a handful of temples dedicated to Brahma, the highest god of Hinduism, the one and the everything.  So, we decided to take a look.

Unfortunately, and despite our five weeks of experience in India, we fell victim to the “temple tour and priest blessing”.  It’s kind of an awkward situation because upon arrival at this temple, we were quickly instructed to accept the flowers as offerings to the gods, and ushered through the complex at a quick pace, offering our bewildered “prayers” to each god.  Being both atheists, this was a little uncomfortable but we went along with it to avoid having to explain why we weren’t interested in what every other tourist comes to Pushkar to do.

Next, we were led back to our shoes (whew!) and were ushered to the Brahma ghat, the steps that lead down to the edge of the holy lake of Pushkar.  By this time, I was starting to feel really awkward because I’m not Hindu and because if I were a Hindu watching me as a tourist, I would be insulted by this pathetic patronage of one of the holiest of sites.  Regardless, we were both roped into a lakeside ritual which involved touching the water (not something I would have done on my own) and then receiving a bindi before being asked to make a donation.  Our donation was small and the priest, if he was, in fact, a priest, didn’t care and just dismissed us.

Outside the ghat entrance, we tried to be subtle about washing the bindi off our foreheads but a man begging for change caught us and was aghast that we would inflict such bad luck on ourselves and our families.  So, if anyone should experience any bad luck in the near future, it’s our fault and we apologize.  But we regret nothing!

I saw a man working at the train station today.  He is Indian, about thirty years old, maybe younger, and he sells snacks and beverages from a cart on the platform.  We are roughly the same age.  His customers are the people onboard, or who are about to board, the trains that pass by every few minutes from this station in Jaipur.  It’s cold in the mornings and evenings, but the tracks still reek of raw sewage (from the lavatories on the trains which empty onto the tracks) and the platform is never, never devoid of trash and dust and dirt and noise.  People with brooms cruise the platform constantly cleaning but the area remains trash strewn.

While we waited for our train to arrive, I made very brief eye contact with this man a couple of times as he paused with his cart.  And I wondered about him:  Is this a job to which he aspired?  Has he been working this same platform with this same cart since he was fifteen?  Is he selling his masala chips and chai to get through college?  Does he have an MBA already but has to stay in Jaipur to support a family?  Does he have a family?  Is this a job that he has worked towards for years and is now proud to hold?  Does he aspire to do more?  Is he happy?

I wonder, but I’ll never know.

I just cannot leave India without posting two of my favourite pictures of Jodhpur, a city known for its polo and its Brahmin-blue buildings.

Ages ago, the members Brahmin caste in this city painted their homes a vibrant, cerulean blue as a way of distinguishing themselves from the other lower castes, but the others caught on and pretty soon most of the homes were painted the same colour.  It’s a little deceiving of the representation of the highest caste in Jodhpur, but particularly beautiful when seen on high from the old fortress of Meherengarh.

Also, this is one of my favourite photos of the rickshaws lined up to ferry visitors from the fort back to the city.  To say these vehicles are ubiquitous in India is no exaggeration.

Zenana.  This is a new word for us:  it describes the area in which the women of a palace live.  In the more Northern parts of India, that means that the zenana enforces purdah, or the cloistering and covering of the  women of Islam.

What is most interesting about these areas is that though women were shielded from being seen from the outside world by intricately carved wood or marble screens, they could see out of them quite well and were able to keep an eye on the daily comings and goings of the palace.
In Jodhpur, the screens in the zenana were exquisitely carved and we were told that no two are alike.

In Jaipur, the Maharaja erected an entire building for the women of his palace to watch, through screens, the life outside their zenana.  Today, it is an emblem of the city , like the Empire State building is New York, and is a much visited monument.

Five weeks in India requires all males to experiment in growing facial hair, a task which resulted in a beard and then the king of moustashes, Middle America’s version of the FuManchu. The World Beard Championships actually files this under partial beard. I usually call it that-redneck-stache as FuManchu suggests so much more mystery and history than my facial hair exhibits.

It looks better than I could have possibly imagined, not that it looks good. Janet said it best, “you just look like a redneck.” Fortunately I haven’t needed a new wardrobe to make the look work, but I did need a new pair of sunglasses. The last pair looked so terrible that I had to wear Janet’s sunglasses until I could find a new pair. Somehow those feminine curves gave me a look more like the Edge than the traditional redneck. A cowboy hat I tried on at a street stall also looked surprisingly terrible, where as a grubby baseball capped worked fine. I passed on the beer shirt.

Q:  Currently, I am practicing purdah but while I am in India, I wish to travel about the city by car.  How do I travel while still keeping myself hidden from public view?
A:  That’s easy;  use a car converted for purdah, like the 1938 Cadillac Saloon that the Maharana of Udaipur arranged for the Maharani.  All the rear windows are covered by fine curtains so she could travel yet remain unseen.

Q:  I am interested in getting rid of as much of my money as I can in a short period of time; what is the quickest and most efficient way to relieve myself of my funds?
A:  First of all, be as visibly foreign as possible.  If you are wearing clothing inappropriate for the weather or which might be considered a mild affront to local custom, so much the better.  Arrive in a busy city late at night or extremely early in the morning and make certain that you do not have any small denomination bills.   If you know the name your hotel, ensure that the address is not accessible.  Accept the first offer of an auto-rickshaw from the many men that approach you and get into the vehicle without agreeing on a price.  When you arrive at a destination (note: the destination may or may not be your hotel), pay the driver the first price he requests.  As an added bonus, you will be required to pay twice as much for your hotel room for the duration of your stay than if you had arrived without the auto-rickshaw driver whose commission you must support.

Q:  Where can I get my teeth extracted?
A:  Visit any local “dentist” who has set up operation on the side of a busy, dusty street.  Most often, these men can be found near an especially busy intersection.  Take care to sit with your back to traffic and just ignore any bumps or brushes you may feel from passing motorists.

Q:  How do I listen to Hindi music?
A:  Loud or not at all.  It does not sound as good at low volume so turn it up until it is painful to the eardrum and then back it off a smidge.  Do this regardless of the time of day or night and/or the tastes or activities of those around you.

Q: While I am in India, I plan to mount an attack on a neighbouring region;  how do I prevent the elephants of the opposing army from attacking my horses?
A:  Follow the example of the medieval Maharajas: the best method  they had for resolving this problem was to outfit their horses with armour that extended beyond the nose to resemble a trunk.  The elephants will be tricked into thinking that a horse thusly attired is a baby elephant and they won’t attack it.

Q:  Are the pigs that live in the streets unfriendly?
A:  Only if you kick the garbage they are eating, even if it was just an accident.

Q:  I am interested in damning my soul and cursing my family;  how can I arrange this while in India?
A:  First of all, participate in a ritual blessing of your soul and those of your family by a man who may be a priest on the shores of the lake in Pushkar.  When he has completed the blessing (which, incidentally, you may not have requested but been kind of roped into) and asks for money for his supplies/services, respond with skepticism and offer a small sum.  After you pay this sum and are summarily dismissed, hide outside the entrance to the temple and surreptitiously clean the bindi from your forehead.  This should do the trick.

Q: How is cricket played?
A:  No idea, but you best learn before arriving in India or risk looking an ignoramus.

Q:  What do I do when a cow is head-butting me?
A:  If, while walking a street in a city or village in India, you encounter a cow or bull that, for whatever reason, insists on head-butting you, just give it whatever food you are eating.  Then, side-step the headbutting/potential goring by scurrying gracelessly around the side of the cow while perhaps uttering a little shriek of worry.  This will also provide some amusement for the Indians in the near vicinity.

Q:  While in India, I have taken a job digging up roadbeds for maintenance;  how do I go about my task?
A:  First, erect a home-made sign on the road to warn oncoming traffic of the road maintenance ahead; this sign need not be especially eye-catching or visible.  Position yourself on the road in the area which must be excavated, standing with feet shoulder-width apart.  Raise a sledgehammer above your head and smash it down on the flat road surface.  Repeat as necessary until the asphault breaks open.  Next, use a pick-ax to pry apart the asphault and then use a small shovel to dig out the earth underneath.  Some helpful, sari-wearing colleagues will be on hand to haul away the earth using metal bowls perched atop their heads.

Q:  In India, what do cows eat?
A:  The cows that live on the streets of India are free to eat whatever they please.  Their favourite food is vegetable matter but they are not picky and will eat cardboard boxes or plastic bags just the same.

Q:  While in India, can I drive my camels, oxen, elephants or herd of goats through busy traffic in any city?
A:  Why not?

Q:  What do I do if I need to throw up while aboard an intercity bus in transit?
A:  Open the window.  Throw up out said window.
If you are assigned to one of the upper berths on a semi-sleeper bus (the kind that have a row of bunks installed above the heads of the people sitting below), nevermind that the sick may re-enter the bus through one of the windows of the unfortunate people sitting below.  To your amusement, one of those unfortunate people may be a foreigner who will not have the means or opportunity to clean herself up until she reaches her destination after a period of 6 hours.

Q:  As a tourist in India, are there any instructions to follow while shopping at a city’s local bazaar?
A:  Yes.  See below.

Q:  While driving in India, when is it appropriate to use the horn?
A:  Use the horn only in the following circumstances:
1. when you are behind another vehicle that is moving or is stopped at an intersection or a traffic jam;
2. when you turn, or are about to turn a corner;
3. while doing something illegal such as, driving on the wrong side of the street into oncoming traffic.  Note: the horn should remain honking for the duration of the illegal manouever.
4. when you spy a friend, colleague or nemesis on the roadside and wish to attract his/her attention;
5. when the car is moving forwards or backwards.

As if being the actual city where they actually filmed Octopussy (!) wasn’t enough, we have spent many beautiful evenings in Udaipur watching the sunset from our hotel’s rooftop patio overlooking the lake (and palaces) while sipping our G&Ts. We’ve consumed yet more good food and met some new people.

One friend we met, Krishna, was able to arrange for us to learn how to cook real Indian food from a lady who lives here.  Our attempts at making Indian food at home have been hit and miss because we don’t know exactly how to cook things, what some ingredients are and how the finished products should taste.

At least now, after joining Krishna on an early morning trip to the farmer’s market in town…

…and after having joined Hashouna in her kitchen at home…

…we have a much better idea of what to do.   With the exception of the take-out food we had at Dave & Karen’s in Halifax, Hashouna’s was the best Indian food I have eaten.  I look forward to attempting palak paneer again, now that I’ve tasted the best.

Our first stop in Rajasthan was the romantic city of Udaipur.  It is known as one of the most beautiful cities in the country for its palaces – one of which is the largest in the province and another which is a beautiful white island in the middle of the city’s lake; from the shore, the latter looks like a a floating mirage at sunset.

However, what I didn’t know about Udaipur is that it is none other than the setting for the James Bond movie, Octopussy!  Having seen that movie, what- maybe ten times, I was very happy to take note of all things Bond whilst touristing through and around the city.  The Lake Palace is Octopussy’s island;

the Monsoon Palace on the top of the hill overlooking the lake is where Kamal Khan lives;

the Maharana’s 1934 Rolls Royce Phantom, which is on display in the Vintage Car Museum, is Kamal’s car;

the Shiv Niwas hotel is exactly as it is when James Bond is a guest there and when he takes dinner by the pool; the Jagdish temple looks the same as it does in the rickshaw-chase scene; Octopussy’s boat is still moored on the lake.

It was all very exciting for me and I didn’t tire of watching the movie each night as we ate dinner.  Many of the restaurants here show the movie each evening at 7.00pm so that we tourists can appreciate all the sights we’ve seen during the day –  apart from their historic, religious and artistic value, I mean.  It reminded me of how much that movie formed my first impressions of India.