Me: “Father, when was the last time you visited India?”
Father: I left that country around 12 years ago..
Me: Why?
Father: Well, I got a huge job offer in USA and so I came here.
Me: I have never seen that place..Do we have any of my clan still living there? And how is India like?
Father: Yes, of course u might be having many of them there. And about India all that I can explain is ,.,,,,
It is a Half-Baked Land….
Well, this son-father conversation held 14 years ago & I am Anshul who fortunately completed his post-graduation from the New York University a few days ago. And before I throw myself for a 12 hr slavery of a MNC, me and my friends Girish, Keith, Martha and Alya are cruising to India, my homeland. One month of fun and adventure. All of us have our bags packed with summer clothes ( I have heard that India is pretty hot), magazines, maps(both geographical and political),wads of Indian Currency, and the most important..The Jet Airways tickets.
As planned, we are meeting on the New York airport at sharp 10:00.My anxiety to see my country made me to arrive at the air port few minutes early. Sitting on a newly furnished metal chair, I have nothing to do except counting the number of hotties cat-walking around me. At last, after those sexy 1218 seconds (to be exact) out of the hem of butts, my friends appeared, each having an excuse of being late. Without listening to their countless excuses I rushed to aboard the flight.
See Delhi through my eyes-
After a 16 hr long journey we landed at Delhi, the capital of India. The Air Hostesses, made it harder for me to entrench a good sleep. After reaching the hotel we enquired the hotel manager to tell us the tourist spots of the city. The serene man hired us a cab too. Heading towards the Akshardham Temple, my first 60 seconds of experience on the road made me realize that Delhi is quite a busy city. The bizarre streets crowded with chaos wearing frayed clothes with each man applying every permutations and combinations to get any possible space between the other two. Roads having puddles outscoring the valleys on the moon made our destination twice farther. The temples are beautifully carved. The complex truly displays the millennia of the traditional Indian and Hindu culture, spirituality and architecture.
Our tour guide further told us that The Akshardham Temples or The SwamiNarayan Temples are inspired and moderated by Pramukh Swami Maharaj,the spiritual head of the Bochasnawasi Shri Akshar Purushottam Swami Narayan Sanstha whose 3000 volunteers helped 7000 artisans construct Akshardham.
Next comes The Yamuna River whose purity is indeed a blasphemy for The Hinduism. The stench of the soggy dead fishes was unbearable. I wished the God that resides in the soul of the temple must curse those who dip their dumb asses into this Holy River. May Humans save God, I prayed.
After gaping over the carrion, pollutants, and muddy water spewing through the Yamuna, we went back to the hotel. Before the dinner, I strictly ordered all of the four not to order any fishy stuff, in case it is blessed with the Yamuna water.
The next few days, we made our cab to Lal Quila(The Red Fort) , Jama Masjid, Qutub Minar and the King of all restaurants, “The Karim’s”. The Mosque was so large that we could hardly frame it in a single picture. It fantasized me that my taste-buds received the same taste which once was once received by those of The Mughals. Then we hired a motorized rickshaw to The Katputli Colony, an art district. Dozens of small shops displaying beautifully painted handmade puppets. In a shed that first gets a thorough sweep, a blanket is laid out for us. People play music with a drum and two other percussion instruments. The puppeteer makes his puppets dance to the music. The wooden puppets have their faces painted and wear beautiful clothes.
Before we leave India, I buy a Ganesha figurine, one of the most important gods in Hinduism. We will miss India, except for two things: the constant honking in the streets and the constant hawking and spitting.
Unexpectedly, Noida is completely different. You take the streets of the Old Delhi and turn them upside down and you get how this part of city looks like. Here, whatever you see is either a big glass-walled building or a big cube made of bamboos with scaffolding hanging on them. This part of the city is much cleaner and well designed than the rest, I must complement. One thing that I didn’t get is if Indians do really have brains, wouldn’t it be unwise to leave a part of the capital so messy.
When we visited The God’s country-Kerala
After spending a week in the delightfully over-populated Delhi, we now want to breathe in the southern part of India, The God’s Own Country, Kerala, which is located on the Malabar Coast of India. It is famous for its backwaters, yoga, Ayurvedic treatments, and tropical greenery.
When we get on the Kerala Backwaters the landscape slowly changes. Everywhere Palm trees grow on the side of the roads. The people of Kerala are clearly wealthier. This is what I concluded from the houses, roads, cars, and billboards (luxury items instead of first necessities). There are many cell phones, jewelries stores and a specialized business for pet food.
Kochi is a cosmopolitan city in Kerala with a bustling commercial port. It is the financial capital of Kerala with a population of more than 2 million, the biggest urban agglomeration in the state. Nowhere on the roads can cows, goats, and mongrels be seen. This city is built on a “laguna” and we have to cross by ferry. After half an hour we get off the boat and arrive in what seems to be a different city. The luxury has given way to the poorer India. A walk to the Dutch Palace takes us along dilapidated but photogenic buildings.
The route to the synagogue (Kochi has an over 2000 years old Jewish community) leads through a street with on both sides stores with carpets, woodcarvings and bronze sculptures. The quality is better than anything I've seen during this vacation. Very little kitsch and a lot of antique-looking items.
We take a look at the famous Chinese fishnets. These are let into the water with help of a lever and after a while quickly pulled up again. Fish which happen to be swimming over the net are caught. Several men are needed to move the nets. It's a cats' paradise. So much fish is left over that a big population of cats can feed on it. And it looks like a whole lot of crows, too.
The few dogs which are lying in the sun also look well fed. One always has to be careful with strange dogs, but when I cautiously squat, all three rise to greet me enthusiastically.
In Alappuzha we board a boat for a three-hour trip through the Backwaters to a resort on the island of Thrikkunnapuzha.
The surroundings are beautiful. Everywhere are banana and coconut palms. A little farther we see rice fields. The population lives on and in the water. Dishes and laundry are washed in it and men dive to the bottom to mine sand for house construction.
At a certain moment we hear music from speakers. Our resort is unfortunately within their reach. With every break we hope that it's over. The crows which are nestling in the palm trees try to drown out the music with their screeching.
It turns out it has something to do with a temple festival. In the evening there is a concluding celebration. We see a beautifully decorated elephant walk through a corridor of oil lamps toward the temple. Then there is a dance in which a statue on a chair, representing the devil, is chased away by Shiva. The evening ends with fireworks.
A walk through the village gives some insight in village life. The population is extremely friendly; they don't just greet us, but also don't mind when we walk onto their property. Even better, they often invite us to come and have a look everywhere coconut fiber is spun on some kind of spinning wheels into threads. These threads are used to braid cocos mats.
We take a few paths, which usually have a dead end. We are separated by a wide ditch from some women who invite us to come over and have a look. We have no idea how to get there. A little girl runs toward us through a field of coconut palms. We take the same route and arrive at what looks like a local restaurant, where we are invited to sit down.
We are invited in by a Muslim family. Bananas and soda are put on the table. We are not afraid to eat bananas, but we politely refuse the soda. If it was made with tap water, it can make us sick. It bothers us that we have to refuse.
By the end of the afternoon we take a ride with a punt on the narrow canals of the Backwaters. It turns out there is an electricity plant close to our resort.
In the evening we watch a ceremony in the Meenakshi temple in the pilgrim town of Madurai in which the Shiva deity is led to the bedroom of his wife Meenakshi with much pomp and circumstance.
Next day we return to this stunning temple compound, which has no less than 12 towers. There are four entrances: north, east, south, and west. Every tower is decorated with colorful sculptures, thousands of them. There are also two golden domes.
The size of the complex means one has to be at a high-lying spot to have some kind of overview. Some of the souvenir shops have these viewing spots and one is shrewdly led there.
In the afternoon we take a rickshaw tour of the city. We go through the narrow streets of Madurai along a banana market, an onion market, and a pots-and-pans market.
We visit the Gandhi museum, which has many original photos and a lot of information. It helps if you know a little about Gandhi's life.
At 6 AM we leave our hotel for the long train ride to Mamallapuram. We travel second class, which means sitting on hard benches which seat three people each. Fans on the ceiling and open windows are supposed to bring some cool. The doors remain open for the greater part of the trip. People stand in the doorways and now and then lean out. It is no longer allowed to travel on the train roof since some trains now run on electricity.
Vendors walk the aisles with coffee, tea and food. Unfortunately over half of our group are sick, nauseous and/or have diarrhoea.
On arrival at our station we have only two minutes to get our luggage (and our selves) off the train. It just won't wait any longer. Vans take us to our resort.
Even though all temples are within walking distance, we rent bikes. The Shore Temple is a must.
It was built in the 7th century and has two sanctuaries, one for Shiva and one for Vishnu. Unfortunately most of the sculptures are weather- beaten, but we can see how impressive the temple must have been.
A group of squirrels (that's what I call them, because that's what they kind of look like) lives in the temple. The animals are adroit at climbing the stone walls.
While we're biking, we pass other temples. The landscape is rocky. Sometimes rocks were used in the construction of temples.
In one of the streets of Mamallapuram stone statues are made. Hammers and chisels are used, but also square grinding machines. On the other side of the street, in front of the shops, the finer work is done: filing, polishing, painting, and decorating.
On our biking trip we see a field full of water buffaloes. We want to take a picture. An opening in a cactus fence offers a prickly passage. One of the bulls keeps an “Bull’s eye” on us and tries to sniff our scent. We're not completely at ease, but as long as it keeps its distance we dare to stay.
Almost back in the village we see a group of men enthusiastically beat drums. We're curious and decide to take a look. It turns out not to be a festive occasion, but part of a mourning ritual. On a table in the street an old woman lie in state; she died this morning. The family sits around her in mourning. We are still welcome to watch.
Arjuna's Penance is a gigantic bas-relief, carved in rock. We see Krishna's Butterball, a huge, almost round rock which seems about to roll down any moment.
A young student forces himself on us as a guide. After the tour, he invites us to take a look in his school. He turns out to be an art student and shows us his drawings. There are carved stones against the walls.
When Alya asks him about the prices of two sculptures, the amount he gives is so high that negotiating is useless. When we leave, he follows us with two smaller carved stones. He says they're 50-75 Rs each, but when Alya picks two, all of a sudden they're 350 Rs.
We've had it and decide to give him only 50 Rs for his (unsolicited) tour. Even now he's not satisfied and wants at least 100 Rs. We make it clear that we don't like him anymore and that he can get 50 Rs or nothing. Eventually he accepts the 50 Rs.
Next day we are asked to join an excursion which is still being developed. We are supposed to fill out an evaluation form afterwards.
It's a scorpion and snake hunt. Nearby live people who belong to the few who are allowed to hunt snakes. When a snake is caught, its poison is milked. It is used to make an antidote.
Snake are found by digging up their nests with a machete and a crowbar. After some searching and digging they find a black scorpion, followed by a nest with young. Later, a snake is exposed. The poisonous snake lashes out at its attacker, only to withdraw even deeper into its hole.
After this we visit the ITWWS (Irula Tribal Women's Welfare Society)
They show us the "house snake." We get a cup of masala tea (not everyone's taste). The ITWWS strives to preserve the traditional knowledge of the women here and use it as a basis for development.
We see how medicinal herbs are grown and visit a village in which the traditional way of life is preserved, while at the same time conditions of life are improved.
Our arrival at the Pink City:
Jaipur is known as Pink City. A maharaja once ordered the complete inner city painted pink. Even though it is dilapidated and the pink has faded to orange, it is still impressive.
After breakfast and some shopping we take a rickshaw to the Amber Fort, 10 kilometers outside the city. On the way we see beautifully painted elephants with loads on their backs. It's still weird to see elephants as traffic participants. There are also lots of camels, all of them with pretty decorations.
The Amber Fort is an enormous complex, remarkably well maintained. It was built in the mid-sixteenth century by Raja Man Singh, a so-called Rajput officer in the army of Great Mogul Akbar. The Jai Sigh maharajas expanded the fort in later times.
It's very hot outside, but in the rooms of this fort it's cool. Beggars are sitting everywhere on the road up, and there are also monks who, even though I don't understand them, will wish you a good life for a few Rupees.
The walls are covered with beautifully inlaid panels with shiny mirrors and stones. You have a great view from the fortification walls. An almost 20 kilometers long wall runs from the fort around the city and from here I get a good overview of it.
Camel Safari:
The next morning, after a delicious breakfast with lassi, a yoghurt drink that is made with all kinds of fruit, a bus takes us to the hunting lodge of the maharaja. There we leave for a camel safari.s
It's very hot and we have to bring lots of water and a hat. There are little flat carts that are pulled by camels, but you can also sit on camels themselves.
The School children sang for us:
On the way we visit two villages and a school. The school children sing Frère Jacques for us. Not sensational, but they are happy with the cookies our guide brings them, and they all want to be in our pictures. We get a guided tour of the village and get an impression of how these people live.
After visiting another village we return to the hunting lodge for a wonderful lunch.
In the afternoon we visit the Monkey Temple. Supposedly around 20,000 monkeys live here, but I don't see that many. I also keep my distance, because I don't want to get bitten by a monkey. I pay a Rupee to take a picture of a Sadhu, they are so-called holy men who live on alms.
Back in our hotel we spend the rest of the afternoon around the pool.
The Aag-ra is really hot:
Because of the drought few birds are left in Keoladeo
We leave early for Agra. On the way we visit Keoladeo, a bird sanctuary near the town of Bharatpur. A few rickshaws take us into the park. There has been a serious drought over the last couple of years, so there are hardly any birds left of the over 300 kinds that used to live here. It's also hard on the rickshaw riders, because hardly any tourists visit here anymore.
Near Agra we visit Fatehpur Sikri (16th century), the former capital of Great Mughal Akbar.
This city was built with red bricks as well; according to our guide they once were covered with precious stones, but like many Indian art treasures, they were taken apart by the British and shipped to England.
The sovereign had three women live on his property: a Hindu, a Muslim and a Christian. For each of them he built a residence. Almost everything imaginable is sold within the walls of this complex, but the vendors are pushy and I am getting fed up with them.
When I take a picture of a twelve-year-old kid, who jumps into a water basin from an impressive height, he immediately comes up to me and asks money for the picture. I give him 5 rupees, but that's not enough, as he loudly insists.
No one does anything about these pushy people. Once on the bus, we have to ask the driver to send the venders off. They follow us on to the bus and ignore our protests.
After another hour on the bus we arrive in Agra, where we spend the night in Hotel Amar, an excellent hotel with pool.
Taj Mahal is at its most beautiful at sunrise
We leave at 5:45 AM for the Taj Mahal. When we arrive in our bicycle rickshaws, there already is a line of people waiting to get their tickets. It is already light, but the sun still has to rise, so we are on time to see Taj Mahal at sunrise, when it is supposed to be at its most beautiful.
After walking a hundred meters or so, I get a full view of the Taj Mahal: its beauty is out of this world. Great Mogul Shah Jahan commissioned the construction of the Taj Mahal as a memorial for his wife Mumtaz. The construction of the white marble mausoleum took 17 years in the seventeenth century. The building is completely symmetrical.
On the outside this is the most beautiful building I have ever seen. Inside, where the tomb is, it's rather austere, which of course is appropriate.
When we leave Taj Mahal, our rickshaw is waiting for us and we decide to visit another Red Fort; boy, do they love red in this country...
I feel like wandering on my own, without a guide. But when I sit down a little later on a marble stoop in the shade, one of the guards sits down next to me and before I know we are having a cozy conversation.
On a walk in the city we pass a rather big musical instruments store. Inside an Indian is sitting cross-legged, playing the tabla, two small cone-shaped drums that are played with the fingers and the palm of the hand. He is willing to teach me how. Fun. I sit down beside him and get my own tabla.
After practicing a little, I get the rhythm, and drum away. The owner sits down with us as well and the three of us play a little concert.
The Maharaja's Palace is fairy-like: Mysore
After this adventure and coffee in Sultan Bathery we get on our bikes - later than usual. We decide to cut the 110 kilometers leg to Mysore in two, as we expect to be able to find a lodge in Gundlupet.
It's a beautiful ride. The first thirty kilometers lead through the national park. We see deer and a large squirrel again and also many birds. The second part of the ride takes us through a hilly area with small-scale agriculture: beets, tomatoes, and potatoes. But also more exotic crops like chilies and cilantro.
Our evening stroll in Gundlupet - we have now arrived in Karnataka - takes us through unpaved streets with often cheerfully colored houses. Women do the laundry at a communal tap; children play a board game with beans.
Cows try to find something edible in the heaps of garbage that are scattered on the street. Two men sit on the shaft of a buffalo wagon and discuss climate change.
Mysore is a lively city with the Maharaja's Palace as its main attraction. Until Independence in 1947 this region was ruled by a maharaja. The palace is fairy-like: colorful, onion-shaped steeples, richly colored interiors and many paintings that picture the pump and circumstance of the rulers of the olden days.
And an extra free attraction is to sit on a bench and watch the hundreds of Indians who also visit the palace with its many annexes.
The icon of India as a technologically developed country: Bangalore
We ride to Bangalore in two days. The region is beautiful and lively, great to cross by bike. We stop at little roadside stalls for food and drinks. We meet a man who proudly shows us what he grows on his land.
We meet an approximately twelve years old boy that drives the oxen that draw his cart to keep up with us, because he wants to talk to us, with hands and feet.
And then we arrive in Bangalore, the icon of India as a technologically developed country. The ICT is center of the world. Apart from the by now familiar city scenes, we also see a district with chic stores, trendy bars and young men with impressive cars and credit cards.
And don't forget the many soldiers behind sandbags near large buildings and the fact that our backpacks are scanned when we enter a chic hotel. The November 2008 attack in Mumbai hasn't been forgotten yet.
We bicycle to the train station at 5:30 PM. We already bought tickets in Mysore. But we still have to make arrangements for our bikes. Contrary to what we expected, we can only retrieve our bikes at the final station in Chennai when we travel on this express train.
With that, we have rounded the circle and at the end of the afternoon we arrive at the point where we started our tour of Kerala four weeks ago.
It's harder to describe our impressions. It's an endless series of images and scenes: cow dung between our toes after an evening walk in a badly lighted shopping street; a funeral procession with music, fireworks and a sedan chair decorated with flowers on which the body of the deceased sits.
Temple priests with their hair in a bun, long pointy nails, and earrings, who perform complicated rituals. 120 school children in uniforms crammed in a bus; housewives bent over twig brooms to move the dirt from their properties to the street.
The traffic mess to which we undoubtedly contributed by not heeding the tradition that bicyclists swerve to the roadside. That our mission in South India hasn't passed unnoticed, is clear from an article in the Hindu Times yesterday, which said that the government wants to create more facilities for bicyclists.
India, you love it or you hate it. That was the response of some people when we told them we were going to bicycle in South India. It turns out you can do both. But the scales tip to we love it.
This is our last day in India. In the evening we are taken to the airport. Back to the chaos in New York.
TODAY,
Father: So how was your holiday?
Me: Well, my journey is a tale of two Indias. From darkness of the village’s life to the “glittering” urban cities. Where one side I saw the poorest of the poor lying naked on the roads while the other side displays how fast is this country developing.
I must say most of the people of this country can read and write but they don’t get what they read. They know what is right and what is wrong, they know how their corrupt and uneducated politicians snatch the money of the people, they know how much democratic their country is-but no one do anything about this. And yet they entrust their glorious parliamentary democracy. That’s the whole tragedy of this country.
You said right father, India is a half-baked country.
