Saturday, November 21, 2009

Agra, Dheli and Weddings, Oh My

We step off the sleeper train at 7am exhausted, sticky and dirty. Tulsi feels sick. Our mission in Agra is to see the Taj Mahal but first all we want is to clean up. We ask the rickshaw driver to take us to a 5 star restaurant where we figure we can use the restrooms to change and freshen up. He tells us frankly such a restaurant is not in our budget. So I hop out at various mediocre spots to fain enough interest in breakfast to check if the bathrooms are up to Tulsi's cleanliness standards (which are higher than mine ).

We find a place with a relatively clean western toilet, cushy booth seats, and no other customers. Tulsi sleeps until her lemon ginger tea and my parathas come and then again afterward. I eventually nod off over my Hindi book. The proprietor doesn't seem fazed that we have spent only 300 rupees and 3 hours in his restaurant and gives us advice on how to get to Dheli that evening.

Around 11am we make it to the Taj Mahal where there are thousand of tourists snapping photos and wander through the surreally symmetric complex. The marble is inlaid with semiprecious stones from all over the world and the tricks in the architecture make the building both more impressive and durable.

We take the bus from Agra to Dheli, its driver honking shrilly like the horn rather than the engine is propelling us past rice patties, women carrying firewood in fabric bundles, stacks of cow patties stored for construction, a farmer on an elephant, families making bricks, and small crossroad towns that line the road with food shops, chai stands, tables of produce, and rickshaws.

Arriving in Dheli, we shower and meet with friends of Tulsi's from her study abroad stint here. The city is sprawling with wide, busy streets and a lot of green. The next day we go to a famous market and meet more friends for lunch in P.C., a huge complex of shops built by the British.

We venture into an old, mainly Muslim area of the city to visit the orphanage where Tulsi used to volunteer. The neighborhood looks much more like the rest of the country than most its metropolitan capital, we pass a wholesale market where things are being carted away by cow and camel. The staff at the children's shelter is happy to update us that nearly all the kids who Tulsi had taught were now reunited with their parents. (Many run away or are lost in the metro or at the train station and, having no way to contact their village or relatives, end up at such drop-in centers indefinitely).

The mood is a bit somber until leaving the metro we find a group of young people stopped at the bottom of an escalator, fascinated but scared to test these moving stairs. Each of us grab one by the hand and steady them through their first ride, everyone laughing triumphantly at the top.

On the upscale express train back to Ahmadabad we feel pampered by the cleanliness and meals provided. Further pampering follows as we prepare for the next week full of weddings with eyebrow threading and facials.

To warm up we hit two receptions of Tulsi's father's business partner's sons. These are formal affairs with lots of catered food on grassy party plots. 500-1000 people eat off plastic plates and line up to take pictures with the bride and groom. We'll be part of the whole week long string of events for 4 childhood friends and 1 neighbor. We dance with one family, rise early the next day to accompany another bride to the beginning of her 5 hour day at the salon , return to the first girl's house for a mandy function where henna is painted on our hands, then go back to the in-laws of the second's. In all of this there is eating, lots of it. The next week will continue this way until we go to Mumbai.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Rajastan 2


After a few days in Ahmadabad we are back on the road again, this time driving with Tulsi's parents and snacking on homemade goodies.


Our next tour of forts and palaces, much grander and older in this part of the state, starts in Udipur. Called the lake city, it is situated around two lakes with one palace in the city, one high on the overlooking hill, and one in the middle of a lake. We arrive at night, walking through a few gardens and stopping at a large traffic circle to rent a paddleboat on the manmade pond in the middle. The next morning we visit city palace, which is again divided into a museum, a hotel, and the royal family's personal residence. As we leave, our guide points out the prince (25, unmarried, and an engineer, as we've already scoped out) speaking with some men on a balcony a floor above us. Tulsi waves and he waves back. We put him on the top of the perspective husbands list.
Our next stop is Nathwara, a pilgrimage town for followers of Shree Nath Ji . I learn the story as we drive up winding roads, further into the mountains. The statue of the god is not manmade but rather was found on a mountain near Dheli so no 3-d replicas can be made. The growing group of followers keep only 2-d representations of the god come from all over to make offerings and pray to the god in this small town where the statue was moved for safety during Mogul rule. We walk through narrow streets lined with shops selling pictures of Shrinathji, sweets to offer the god, saris, toys, rajistani jewelry, and At the temple, we wait with hundreds of others for the opportunity to see the god. Once allowed in, people run to the small area where the god is housed, pushing and struggling against the press of people to have one or two minutes in front of the statue.


Back in the car, we are dodging trucks carrying huge blocks of marble, Tulsi and I jumping out of the back seat to push when we stall out on a hill. We visit Ajmer's famous mosque whose press of people has much the same feel as yesterday's holy place. We drive to Pushkar where there is the only temple to Brahma, the world's creater. It is a small town where there are thousands of temples and many foreign tourists. We continue on to Jaipur, a big city with shopping malls and movie theaters alongside ancient gates and palaces.


Jaipur's fort has the third longest surrounding wall in the world and saw most of its battle action before Mogul presence. We take an elephant ride up to the Amber Palace and bond a bit with Lukshmi, our elephant, who is 40 years old and can take your tip with her trunk. That night we go to Chokidhani an all inclusive place with all you can eat rajistani food. It turns out to be quite a ways out of town getting further away each time we stopped to ask for directions, but is worth the trip.


The next stop is Kota, where Tulsi's mother grew up. The house where the 3 generation joint family lives feels like am Indian soap opera set. Everyone is warm and welcoming. After dinner we go for a spin with Tulsi's 18 year old cousin listening to Hindi hits and Michael Jackson on the way to get crushed ice drenched in sweet syrup.The next day we pile 6 in the car to drive around Kota. We visit the palace (relatively small and rustic) and the lake and cruise past the hostels where thousands of students stay while taking test-prep classes. We return home to be stuffed full of parathas and soup before Tulsi and I get on the train to Agra.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Rajastan 1


Nov. 6
Boarding the 3-tier sleeper train to Jodhpur feels like my first step into foreign surroundings but manage to sleep until we arrive in the morning. Jodhpur is an introduction to tourism in Rajastan: we visit the fort, palace and marketplace. All are grand because the Marharaja is one of few who has retained his wealth. He has an unmarried polo-star son who, after seeing his picture, we put near the top of Tulsi’s list of potential husbands. We follow the advice of a local contact of Tulsi’s cousin who runs a handicraft export business. He and his family are an excellent example of the hospitality for which Rajputs are famous, having us over for dinner, conversation and delicious food.

Welcome to the Jodhpur-Jaisalmer bus. Although you may have paid full price for your seat, others have not so they will be squeezed five to a sleeper compartment above and anywhere else they can find space. Please note that the windows are your emergency exits so feel free to spit, throw trash, buy water bottles or fried snacks through them. In the aisle, veiled aunties lead to uncles in loose cotton robes, these lead to more uncles in tight bellbottoms and heavy mustaches. We will be stopping at every small town along the way and announce ourselves with a honk that sounds like royal entrance horns each time we pass in the opposite lane. Also, please be prepared for further delay, as we will inevitably experience a flat tire about 15 km from our destination.


At the hotel in Jaisalmer , we meet a Bengali couple as we plan our trip to the sand dunes. We join them to tour the fort and make friends at a local cafĂ© before heading into the desert. We ride camels to the dunes where we can see the sunset. We grill Salim, our camel’s owner, about himself and his village and find out that although he looks almost 30 years old he is only 18. We continue to make friends, first with some teenagers selling cold drinks to the tourists, then with the hotel’s driver and his cousin who owns a small shop nearby. There is a cultural program with music and folk dance, then dinner, then a stroll on the dunes under a full moon. In the morning we take the hotel’s open top bus to the nearby village where our friends live, visiting the tank where women in bright saris and children are drawing water in metal jars to carry home on their heads. On the way back to Jaisalmer in the taxi we have shared with the Bengali couple, we catch up with the safari bus and switch over for the rest of the ride waving royally to kids along the highway.


We end up with tickets for the general compartment on the train to Bikaner but there are few riders so it is not the dangerous, stifling, packed-full affair this compartment usually entails. But, as we chug through the desert everything is covered in sand even with the windows closed. Pulling out my Hindi book starts a conversation with the family across from us who are traveling to visit a sister married into a small town on the way. They think it will be funny to feed me the spicy vegetable they have prepared for the trip so they stack pudis onto newspaper for Tulsi and me. We are hungry and the vegetable is not spicy for me at all, but it doesn’t seem to ruin their fun. We say a warm goodbye before the train begins gathering dust again.



In Bikaner we stay at a hotel owned by a retired army man who is extremely enthusiastic about the history and sites of the town. We visit the palace but skip the recommended restaurant there for a local all-you-can-eat place our rickshaw driver suggests. The next day we wake early to visit the famous rat temple and the fort, since we are cutting it close to return to Jodhpur and catch our train. At the temple I am prepared for the floor to be covered in rats (and you have to take your shoes off, of course, before entering). Apparently, many of the rats have been dying so they were numerous but one could walk easily without touching them. Tulsi was excited to go initially but after seeing the first rat I practically carried her through our quick visit.


Our bus to Jodhpur is the picture of haste speeding through the desert. Honking shrilly, we overtake a camel cart and swerve back in time to miss a cargo truck going the other direction. I can just catch a glimpse of a small concrete house, mud huts, scattered goats, a figure in a bright pink sari with a silver water pot on her head and children on each side.

Here is our route, well, more or less:

View Larger Map

India!


Oct. 25-29
My first week in Ahmadabad falls between Dewali (new years) and the peak wedding season. For those of you that don’t know, I am staying here with Tulsi, a good friend from college, and her family. Most of our days are filled with meeting people for meals, visiting or receiving visitors and running back and forth to tailors and fabric shops. There are alterations to have done, old saris to be made into Punjabi suits, matching fabrics and laces and scarves. As expected the traffic is crazy – cars, rickshaws, motos, bicycles, cows, and pedestrians compete for the road. Days begin and end late, they start with masala chai and are punctuated with delicious meals.

We do make a day trip to Nadiad and Baroda passing tobacco and rice fields on our way to the 12th birthday of a cousin. Back in Ahmadabad, we prepare bio-data to submit to the marriage bureau for Tulsi’s brother-cousin in the US who is trying to find a suitable Indian bride. Marriage, weather love or arranged, seems to be everyone’s favorite subject.

Next, Tulsi and I strike out on our own for a week in Rajastan!