The sadhu turned his elephant in my direction. He had seen me watching from a distance and now had caught me taking his picture: he wanted payment. That seemed fair, so I stepped up to the 10 foot (3 meters) high beast and offered it a ten Rupee note.
Have you ever looked into an elephant's trunk? There are two large nostrils and something like lips around the outer edge. With that trunk the elephant gently picked the banknote from my fingers and handed it over his head to the sadhu on his back. I wiped my now wet fingers on my trousers and stepped back from the giant, waving trunk.
"For luck," I heard a voice next to me say. It was the owner of the shop I had stepped into. "We offer the elephant and his holy man Rupees for luck. The elephant is associated with Ganesh, the Hindu God of luck." So that's what the sadhu and his elephant were doing in this grimy, commercial district: collecting donations. They now moved off down the street looking for more and I continued my walk.
This moment, more than any other, characterizes India for me. Like most tourists, I had come to see India's great monuments: the Taj Mahal, the holy city of Varanasi and the forts and palaces of Rajhastan, but it was this kind of unexpected encounter that I'll cherish most.
Delhi, February 16
The two back-to-back 8 hour flights from Detroit, through Amsterdam, to Delhi were a mind/body altering experience. It was 24 hours from the time I left my house until I checked into the hotel at 1:30 A.M. I had pre-booked my hotels with Travel Corporation of India (TCI) and was met at the airport by one of their representatives. This saved me the headache of having to deal with Delhi's notorious airport taxi drivers. He then escorted me to the Ambassador, a wonderful old hotel just south of the commercial area in Delhi. I stayed there at both ends of my trip and loved the place: the rooms were large, the food good and the staff friendly.
At this point, the smart thing to do would have been to take the day off, but no, I had ambitiously scheduled a tour for the morning. When the guide arrived at 8:30 A.M., I was still in a daze.
I usually don't use guides. I like to do my research ahead of time and then just dive in, but I was advised - wisely, it turns out - to have a guide in India. Especially in India where life is so different, a guide will take you places you would never think to go, explain what you are seeing and introduce you to people you might never meet. He will also want to take you shopping, but that's just a minor irritation.
I explained to my guide, Sharma, that I wanted to see Old Delhi and the Mughal monuments. The Mughal were the Muslim conquerors who invaded northern India in the 12th century. They built some of northern India's most notable monuments, including the Taj Mahal.
After a short ride our driver dropped us near the Red Fort and from there we walked into the old city. It was early and the day's activity was just getting started. The streets were full of people, bundled against the cool morning, going about their business. Food was being cooked and eaten in small shops. Men were washing at a fountain in the middle of a dirty street. There was a barber sitting on the sidewalk shaving a man. And a fortune-teller with an owl who could pick a card with your fortune on it.
Our first stop was a Sikh Temple where morning prayers were just getting under way. We were warmly welcomed by one of the priests and offered a little sweetened rice as a greeting. In the center of the temple was a small structure: a raised platform with a roof over it. Here the Sikh holy book was being read. I looked around the temple, took a few pictures and we headed on.
Outside, Sharma and I jumped into a couple of bicycle-rickshaws for a short ride through the teeming streets to the Jama Masjid, Old Delhi's congregational mosque. It is built in the standard Friday mosque style: a large paved court yard with a fountain in the center, surrounded on three sides by colonnaded walls. On the fourth side, the one facing Mecca, there was a prayer hall.
Friday mosques are designed to accommodate the large congregation that comes to pray on Friday, the Muslim holy day. This mosque is noteworthy for it's large onion-shaped domes and the use of contrasting red sandstone and white marble. This truly magnificent mosque was built in the 1650's by Shah Jahan. There was also much activity here as morning prayers were just finishing up. We took off our shoes, as you do in almost all Indian holy places, and walked around admiring the architecture. (33k picture)
We continued our walk on Chandni Chowk, the main street of Old Delhi, back to the Red Fort where we met our driver. Then we headed south to visit more Mughal sites. Our first stop was at Humayun's Tomb built in the mid-16th century. It has many of the stylistic elements of the Taj Mahal and, like the Jama Masjid, it was constructed of red sandstone and white marble. It is surrounded by a garden that was full of Indian tourists. I don't know why this should have surprised me but it did: everywhere I went, I saw more Indian tourists than Western ones. And they are just as camera-crazy as we are, posing in front of almost everything to get their picture taken.
The final stop was the Qutb Minar complex. This is one of the earliest Mughal monuments in Delhi and dates from when the Muslim's first invaded. The complex is comprised of a series of domed tombs but the real jewel is the Qutb Minar: a 200 foot (65 meters) tower built in 1193. It tapers from a diameter of 45 feet (15 meters) at the base to just 7 feet (2.5 meters) at the top. There are five distinct stories, each with it's own balcony.
And now for a commercial break: "Did you want to look at carpets?" Sharma asked. "You don't have to buy," he quickly added the standard disclaimer. "Well, why not," I thought. I had been warned that this would be part of all the tours. We stopped at a shop in the Haus Khas Village, an upscale Indian shopping area. I won't bore you with the details, suffice to say I wasn't going to but a carpet my first day in India - but it was fun to look.
It was about 2:00 P.M. when I was dropped at the hotel. The tour over, maybe I should rest? But no, after grabbing something to eat in the coffee shop I was off again. I wanted to check out Connaught Place, a large commercial area between Old Delhi and New. I took a taxi to the Imperial Hotel and started walking around. It being Sunday, many of the shops were closed but there was still enough activity to hold my interest.
As I walked, I was accosted by beggars, vendors and fortune tellers. At one point a guy came up wanting to shine my tennis shoes. I did my best to ignore him - a mistake as it turned out. As he was walking next to me, another guy started walking on the other side and just as quickly was gone. Then the shoeshine guy started pointing to my shoes and saying, "Shit, shit." I looked down, and sure enough, there was shit on the top of my shoe. My guess is the second guy did it. From then on I kept a close watch on the people around me. And yes, I cleaned my own shoes. No way was I going to reward this guy by paying him to clean my shoes. Another of those memorable India experiences.
That evening as I was sitting in the hotel bar writing in my journal, I fell into conversation with two Indian men. They were accountants from a cell-phone company in Delhi for a business meeting. I had seen many cell-phones during my day's outing. Yes, they were very popular in India they told me, owing to the poor state of the land lines. Later, I was to notice that everywhere I went in India, city streets were being torn up. Was it to add water or maybe sewer lines? No, new phone lines I was told each time I asked. India is getting wired.
THE COW LADY
I met her at the airport. She was a gray-haired English woman in a bright green sari. She was going to Varanasi, she told me, to buy a cow.
Her husband had died a few years back. "He fancied having his ashes scattered in the Ganges," she said. So she had made a trip to Varanasi, hired a guide, and set off for the river with her husband's remains. When the guide found out what she was going to do, he suggested she wait until the morning. Next day in the pre-dawn gloom, they hired a boatman to row them out into the river. When she prepared to pour the ashes, the guide stopped her again. They sat waiting on the gray water. Soon the sun broke over the horizon bathing the boat in soft, yellow light. "Now," said the guide.
"It was the perfect moment, the river was quiet and the light was just right. The guide knew exactly what he was doing," she told me. "I was so appreciative. I wanted to do something special for him, not just give him a tip." Later when she visited the guide's village, she discovered they needed a cow. She decided to buy them one.
Now she was back again. "The cow really helps the village: they get both food and fuel from it." So she was going to buy them another one. It was all arranged: the cow was selected and the price was settled. There would be a little ceremony where she would present the village with its new cow. She smiled at me, "They call me the cow lady."
Varanasi, February 17
It's only about an hour by air from Delhi to Varanasi. Again, I was met by the TCI rep and escorted to my hotel. I don't usually travel in this style but I was beginning to like the transportation to and from the hotel: it was simply one less thing I had to think about.
It was in Varanasi that I actually met India: the teeming bathing ghats, the crowded, narrow lanes and the traffic. Ah yes, the traffic: I have never seen anything like it. At first I was convinced it was pure chaos, but after a few rides I began to see the pattern. It is really quite pragmatic. Pedestrians give way to bikes, who give way to motor scooters. They in turn give way to cars, who give way to trucks. The king of the road is the cow: everyone avoids the cows. It's a size thing, small gives way to large. What could be more obvious?
The traffic flows something like fish swim. Each vehicle is aware of its immediate neighbor and, reacting to it, moves away to avoid hitting it. Yes, it was like two long, thin schools of fish swimming next to each other. Sometimes one of the "fish," usually a scooter, would stray into the oncoming school. No problem. With much honking of horns and ringing of bells, the other "fish" make room. Eventually the errant "fish" finds its way back into it's own school.
At first I was terrified: I was injured in an auto accident last year and am still a little nervous. Then I noticed that all this seemingly frantic activity was actually taking place at a relative slow speed, maybe a maximum of 20 mph (30 kph). There is also the obvious fact: everyone really is trying to avoid contact. "If I hit him," my driver told me, as a bicycle abruptly pulled in front of him, "even if it's his fault, I still have to pay him." I heard a variation on this from most of the people I rode with.
After I settled into the Clarks hotel, a modern five-star place north of the old city, I met my Varanasi guide, Onkar. Our first stop was the Durga Temple. It's a striking, blood-red building in the form of a spire. Here, as in most temples in Varanasi, only Hindu are allowed to enter. You can, instead, view the activity from the wall that overlooks the temple. The first thing I noticed was a large bell just inside the entrance that worshippers ring as they come in. "To greet God," Onkar explained. In the temple proper there was a statue of Durga that the visitors worship.
From there we visited the Benares Hindu University, south of the city. There, in the large, open campus with its straight, tree-lined roads, is the New Vishwanath Temple. It is one of the few in Varanasi that is open to non-Hindus. The temple is dedicated to Shiva. You see his image everywhere in India. He's the one with trident and a necklace of snakes: you can hardly miss him. Once again there is a giant bell just inside the door that visitors loudly ring. Deep inside the temple is the lingam, a phallic-shaped stone that represents Shiva. It is constantly bathed in milk from a vessel that is suspended above it. The faithful touch the lingam and then touch their foreheads in reverence to Shiva.
Just outside the temple there was a little café where we stopped for tea and samosas. The tea was Indian style: brewed with milk and sugar. The samosas are fried goodies, filled with potatoes and other mysterious vegetables. They were delightfully spicy. The samosas were served on little plates formed from pressed leaves. Onkar and I sat on one of the benches in front of the café and talked for awhile. He told me he used to sit in this very café when he was a student, many years before.
Next morning Onkar picked me up at 6:00. It was still dark as we headed into the old city to visit the ghats - the steps that lead down to the Ganges. This is what Varanasi is all about. Hindus make a pilgrimage to bathe and pray in the river at first-light. The tourists also make a pilgrimage, of sorts, to watch the morning activity. When we reached the ghats we quickly found our boat and started down the river.
On the steps the morning prayers were just starting. Men and women were facing toward the soon-to-rise sun with their palms pressed together in prayer. Some were standing on the steps and some were in the chilly water. Others were washing themselves or their clothing. On the river in the boats were loads of photo-clicking tourist, me among them. Also among the boats were vendors hawking trinkets. It was quite a scene. Then the sun rose above the horizon and transformed the ghats from dark gray to golden yellow. It was a magical moment, one of the best of the trip: dawn on the Ganges.
We turned around and headed back toward the "burning" ghat, where bodies are cremated. Hindus believe that if they die in Varanasi the cycle of birth and death will end and they will go to heaven. Consequently, dead bodies are a common sight in Varanasi. Trails of smoke were rising from the fires, which seemed to burn around the clock. Onkar called my attention to a boat farther out in the Ganges. Two men were lifting a pallet which clearly contained a body and easing it into the river. "Must have died of a snake bite," he commented. "They don't cremate them if they die of snake bite." The body quickly sank in the murky water - it must have been weighted down with something heavy.
After about an hour we docked and turned our attention to the old city. It is a warren of small lanes, some so narrow that you can reach out your arms and touch both walls. These are full of people going about their business and, of course, cows: everywhere cows. This makes watching ones step important. While the cow patties are quickly collected to be dried for fuel, you still see patties with foot prints in them. Watch out.
(31k picture)
Our goal was the famous Vishwanath Temple, sometimes called the Golden Temple because the roof is covered with gold. The original temple was destroyed by the Mughals and a mosque stands in its place. The current temple was built in 1776 and is closed to non-Hindus, but you can still look in from the second story of the shop across the street. They will, of course, try to sell you some silk - a product for which Varanasi is famous.
The area is swarming with soldiers and the mosque and temple are fenced off. This is to prevent a reoccurrence of what happened in Ayodha. There, Hindus, in a single hour, destroyed the mosque that stood on the site of another important temple. Onkar told me a friend of his has a piece of that mosque as a souvenir. The guards and metal detectors reminded me of the military separation in Jerusalem that keeps peace between the Jews, Christians and Muslims.
That evening I took a stroll in the area around my hotel. It is in the lights of the on-coming cars that you can see how bad the air in Indian cities really is: it's thick with dust and diesel fumes. I shudder to think what the pack-per-day equivalency is. On the other hand, it's one of the realities of India that you quickly become accustomed to. Well, you either become accustomed to it or you will never really relax in India.
Next morning I headed back to the ghats, but not so early. I wanted to visit the Dharhara mosque which sits above the river north of the main ghat. To get there, I took an auto rickshaw. It's an enclosed, three-wheeled motorbike that's the standard cheap transportation in Indian cities. If you take them, make sure to agree on the fare before you get in - and then don't let them hit you up for more when you arrive. Also, on the way they will probably try to get you to stop at a craft shop or two: oh well.
It is at the ghats that you see the life of India: men exercising, wedding procession, holy men giving blessings and dead bodies being carried to the burning ghat. Farther down the river are the laundry-wallahs washing cloth, which they then spread on the steps to dry. In the afternoon, when school lets out, the ghats are taken over by kids playing cricket. I could have spent days just wandering around here: Varanasi was the most interesting place I visited in India.
I eventually found my way to the mosque. It was up a steep set of steps from the river. I had to wait a few minuets for the caretaker to show up, as it's not a place often visited by tourists. Although the mosque isn't open to non-Muslims, I was allowed to climb on the roof for 20 Rupees. There I had a splendid view of the old city and the river. As I was looking out over the city, I heard a voice calling to me, "Hello, hello." When I looked in that direction, a young woman on a nearby roof threw me a kiss. I have no idea why. It was another of those totally unexpected, and delightful Indian moments.
From there I headed back to the main ghat and wandered in the old city for the next few hours. In it's narrow lanes shops sell everything from incense to toilet paper. You see various foods and sweets also for sale. And here are the ever-present betel nut shops. They are the source of the red splashes you see on almost every wall in India. It's a mild stimulate, I'm told, that many men chew, and when they are done, spit out.
Farther along, I walked into an older commercial district where the streets were wider and the traffic thicker. There I found a new hazard: most stores have an electric generator sitting in front belching diesel smoke into the street and making a terrible racket. This is protection against the frequent power outages. (Every hotel room I stayed in had candles and matches for the same reason.) The smoke and noise made walking in this district a challenge.
Walking, in general, was difficult in India. I just love to wander around, but it wasn't so easy here: first you must keep an eye out for holes in the road, piles of trash and animal waste. Then you must navigate around and through the masses of pedestrians and cows. The cows, in particular, gave me pause: these guys have horns. Sidewalks, if they exist, were usually occupied by vendors. This forced foot traffic into the street to compete with the bikes, scooters and cars. Then there is the dust, diesel fumes and constant noise of horns. Finally there are the touts trying to get you into their shop, beggars hitting you up for Rupees and kids who just want to talk. And, of course, the snake charmer: he will open his basket and lure his cobra out when he sees you coming. All and all, a difficult place to just walk: difficult but very interesting.
Later that afternoon I decided to go to Sarnath where Buddha first preached. It's about 15 minutes outside the city and removed from the noise and dust. There was a taxi stand near the hotel and I had talked with a few of the drivers earlier. There was one guy I liked - he spoke good English - so I went looking for him. After bargaining for a few minutes he agreed to take me to Sarnath, wait an hour and bring me back for 200 rupees.
The first thing I did when I got there was to take a quick look at the museum. The most interesting piece is the marble capital from the Ashokan pillar. It a sculpture of four back-to-back lions: you see a picture of it on the Indian currency.
When I got out of the museum, the driver had a guide for me. I was thinking I would just walk around on my own: I was getting really tired of being guided. But it was the usual Indian soft hard-sell. The Indians I met were amazingly polite and kind, even the vendors and touts were persuasive in a gentle-kind of way. In almost all cases after I said no a few times they gave up. With both the driver and the guide working on me, I decided to take the avenue of least resistance. As it worked out, the guide, who was a Buddhist, did help make sense of the ruins I was looking at: he was worth the 20 rupees he charged me.
Agra, February 20
To get to Agra, I had to back track to Delhi, spend the night, and then catch the morning train: all because the airport was closed. I arrived about 10:00 a.m. and was escorted to the Trident Hotel. It's a modern low-rise place with rooms organized around the flower-filled garden. It was the most comfortable place I stayed in India.
I had lunch at the hotel buffet and then met my driver for a trip to the Itimad-ud-daulah, sometimes called the baby Taj. It's a couple of kilometers north of the real Taj, on the opposite bank of the Yamuna river.
Agra is, of course, the home of the Taj Mahal. It's what most people think of when you mention India. I was planning to visit a couple of the monuments that pre-date the Taj - to follow the architectural development - and then see the great monument itself the next day.
At the Itimad-ud-daulah, as at most tourist sites, you must run the vendor-gauntlet. Did I want some postcard, only 20 rupees? Or maybe a hand-carved statue? Well, how about a guide? Surely, I would like to see the mongoose and cobra fight? I don't think so, no thanks. Having safely passed them, I purchased a ticket and entered the grounds. Inside was a garden with a white marble tomb in the center. It was a lovely and peaceful place to visit.
Next we drove to Sikander which is about 6 miles (10 km) northeast of Agra. There I visited Akbar's Tomb. The gardens surrounding his tomb are home to a band of black-faced monkeys. They are quite tame and, in fact, expect handouts from the tourists. I was so delighted by their antics that I just wanted to sit and watch them - we don't have many monkeys in Michigan. After I visited the tomb, I decided to head back to the hotel for a beer.
If only I could get a really cold one. Kingfisher, the most common Indian brand is usually served at "English" temperature. While it will cut the dust from your throat, it doesn't taste very good when warm. Like it says on the label, "Most thrilling chilled." They ought to know.
Next morning, I met Ali, my guide for the next two days. Our first stop was the long awaited Taj Mahal. Parking is limited in the immediate area so we walked in though the gardens to the west. The first thing you see is the enormous red sandstone entrance gate. Here you must leave all tobacco and food stuff - they are trying to keep the grounds clean I was advised. Next, you pass through a metal detector and then there it is in front of you: the Taj Mahal. (39k picture)
It looked so bright and clean in the early morning light. On the steps of the entrance all the tourists were lining up to have their pictures taken. Next you walk down a pathway by the reflecting pond. Finally you come to the platform that the Taj sits on. Here you must remove your shoes before you go inside. There is the usual shoe keeper to mind your footwear for a few rupees.
Probably the least inspiring part of the visit was going inside. This being Friday, the free day, the place was packed. What with the dim light - you need a flashlight to see any of the inlay detail - and the lack of air, I decided to made my visit brief. Back outside, Ali and I found a place where we could sit and watch the Taj as we talked. It really is an incredibly magnificent structure. As large as it is, it doesn't overwhelm you, as some churches do.
After we left the Taj, Ali agreed to take me to the Jama Masjid - the Agra's Friday mosque. It's near the Agra Fort, our next stop, but not a place often visited by tourists. In fact, Ali admitted that he had never taken any tourist there. It, like most mosques in India, is surrounded by a lively market area. That's how many mosques make a living: they rent out space in their outside walls to vendors. The mosque itself is somewhat rundown, but still worth a visit.
We next visited the Agra Fort. It was built by Akbar (started in 1565, I think.) Two things caught my attention: first the view of the Taj is great. Second, there is a lovely, small white marble mosque on the fort. If you go there, don't miss the mosque.
About 1:00 P.M. I was dropped back at the hotel. I had lunch and then sat by the pool to write in my journal. At 4:00 P.M. Ali came back and we went for another visit to the Taj. If I thought it was busy earlier, I was in for a surprise: the place was really packed now. The walks were full of Indian tourists. The most interesting were the groups of school kids walking along in lines, each student with his/her hand on the shoulder of the student ahead. When they saw me, or any westerner I suspect, they started yelling, "Hello, hello. What's your country?" In India, there is always someone to talk to.
Ali and I again found a place to sit and watched the Taj change color in the setting sun. He kept apologizing for the Friday crowd. I, on the other hand, thought it was marvelous. India, after all, is people and the Taj Mahal grounds are large enough for all. I like to think of the Taj that way: jammed with all those Indian tourists.
Ali, was the most engaging of the guides I had in India: he was young and interested in the world. We discussed my country as much as we did his. Also, he didn't sound like he was reciting memorized lines when he was showing me around, like some guides do.
In the morning, Ali, the driver and I left for Jaipur. On the way we stopped in Fatehpur Sikri, a 16th century city built by Akbar and then abandoned after only 15 years. It's a fascinating combination of Islamic and Indian architectural styles. The most interesting building was the mosque, which was actually just outside the abandoned city. There an India film company was making a movie. Surrounded by Indians watching the action was the star of the movie. This was someone who Ali admired - he called him "the hero." While we were watching, Ali asked me to take the hero's picture and send it to him - which I was glad to do. There was also a lovely white marble tomb in the court yard of the mosque. (33k picture)
Here Ali and I parted company. He planned to watch the movie-making for a while before he took a bus back to Agra. My driver and I were heading on to Jaipur, about 3.5 hours to the southwest.
It was a perfect day for a cross-country trip: it was warm and the sky was clear. The fields along the road were full with bright green mustard plants. I sat in the back seat of the car and admired the view. I was amazed by all the activity along the road. There was hardly a place where there wasn't something going on: people washing themselves, men lounging in front of small cafes, women in bright saris with copper pots on their heads. I also saw 5 or 6 foot (2 meter) high piles of dried cow-dung patties, which are used for cook fires. One guide told me that food tastes better when cooked on a cow-dung fire. I'll have to defer to his judgment on that.
Indian traffic follows the same general rules on the cross-country roads as in the cities: small gives way to large. If you are motoring along and - as often happens - a truck decides to pass a scooter as he meets you, your driver will stop and/or pull over. He's not stupid: he doesn't want to get hit by the truck. On the other hand, if your driver wants to pass a cart as a motorcycle is in the on-coming lane, the motorcycle will stop and/or pull off the road: he doesn't want to get hit either. All this is done without the rancor that you would find in the west. It is simply the expedient thing to do: survival of the fittest.
One curious thing I saw: when a truck or cart breaks down, they don't pull it off the roadway. Instead, they leave it where it is and make a kind of fence around it with stones they get from the roadside. I suppose this marked-off area is to warn away other traffic but, in fact, it only added to the hazard. As there are many broken vehicles, you frequently see these curious little fenced off areas on the roadway.
Ann Arbor, MI
May 1997
Part two - Rajasthan: Jaipur, Jodhpur and Udaipur
Making Indian travel arrangements
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