Improbable India
Door: Tim
Blijf op de hoogte en volg Tim
27 Januari 2012 | India, Jaipur
My trip to Jaipur started off rather uneventful. I know, I know. That's not the kind of gripping opening sentence you've come to expect from me - the kind that has you enthralled, perched on the edge of your seat, dying to find out more ("How!?" you would scream, tears in you eyes. "How was it uneventful!? By God, tell us this tale!") - but it wasn't. The bus station wasn't the slice of insanity I had imagined, it was actually quite neat and organized, and the bus didn't have a single form of livestock on it. But then those of you more used to instant gratification may have pricked up your ears at the use of the words "started off", implying this plot thickens. Indeed it does.
About two hours into the trip I was roused from a pleasant doze by a loud shrieking noise. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a herd of cows on the road. The bus, driving at full speed, swerved to avoid it, hit a ditch beside the road, sending several passengers flying through the windshield and landing under the wheels of the bus which, unbelievably, continued careening wildly towards the edge of a nearby cliff until it plummeted, screaming and bleeding, to its fiery death.
And all I kept thinking was: why, why, why would they show this on a bus...?
For the sake of dramatic misdirection (sorry about that incidentally), I left out the best bits of this cinematic gem that woke me. I didn’t mention, for instance, that the aforementioned gruesome bus accident rudely interrupted the choreographed song and dance number the characters on the bus had been performing, because they had just gotten married. Nor the fact that the main character, having been thrown from the bus, managed to latch on to something on the bottom of the bus and nearly succeeded in bringing the bus to a halt using his sandaled feet as breaks, only to hit his head on a rock, rendering him blind for the remainder of the movie. (This apparently being a common way for people in India to lose their eyesight)
Bollywood. You gotta love it. Or you might as well, because it’s everywhere.
I came to Jaipur looking for something different. Moving states seemed like a good bet because India is said to have huge cultural diversity and every state it’s own customs, cuisine and, more often than not, language. The state of Rajasthan in particular. The state enjoyed a relative autonomy under British rule and managed to hold onto it for a long time after independence. This makes Rajasthan one of the more authentic, less westernized parts of India. But sadly also one of the poorest. The maharajas of Rajasthan to this day enjoy fabulous wealth while their people starve. Suddenly, colonialism doesn’t sound so bad.
A little bit of that wealth I got to sample yesterday. I visited the Hawa Mahal, or “palace of the winds”. Insert flatulence joke here. The Hawa Mahal is an ornate structure in Jaipur’s trademark pink, with courtyards closed off from the busy streets. Even more impressive was the City Palace, where the maharaja’s huge collections of weapons, buggies and textile are displayed. Unfortunately, these were the only moments of peace I had yesterday. My plan was to spend the day wandering the streets of the old city (or “Pink City”, for its ubiquitous color) but while the endless procession of cars, rickshaws and the occasional cow was intriguing to behold at first, it quickly wore me down. It’s the same as Delhi. There’s just no getting away from it. There are no squares, no public parks, no promenades or boulevards. Nothing to break up the constant flow of traffic. It is exhausting.
That is why today, I’ll be scaling back again. From 12 million inhabitants in Delhi to Jaipur’s 3 million to the 14.000 of Pushkar. Pushkar. A little town around a lake. A site of pilgrimage for Hindu’s with what Lonely Planet describes as an “authentically mystic” feel to it.
It sounds wonderful.
But wait! Before fading to black on yet another hopeful-but-ultimately-negative note, the day was not without it’s rewards. One thing I love about Asia is there’s no escaping the odd touch of the bizarre.
Like the flock of goats I ran into in the streets (is it a “flock” of goats? A “herd”? I don’t know animals…), most of which were wearing shirts or sweaters. It was like something out of fairy tale featuring an evil witch. Do goats get cold easily? I don’t know animals.
Or the fact – and I only noticed this today – that Rupee coins indicate their value not just in Sanskrit and the Arabian numbers that we use, but also in a picture of a hand, doing for instance a thumbs up for one, a peace sign for two. A stroke of genius for a country with so many illiterates.
Or the guy who hit on me by complimenting my genitals while standing next to me at quite possibly the most disgusting public toilet I’ve ever seen. (Actually, what he said was “sexy!” with a meaningful look - and then, presumably feeling he was being too forward, “nice pants”.) I wasn’t offended by the come-on as much as by the setting. “Dude!” I wanted to yell. “Location, location, location!”
That’s better isn’t it? End on a joke? Yes. Better. OK, now. Cut to last dance number. Fade to black. Credits roll.
About two hours into the trip I was roused from a pleasant doze by a loud shrieking noise. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a herd of cows on the road. The bus, driving at full speed, swerved to avoid it, hit a ditch beside the road, sending several passengers flying through the windshield and landing under the wheels of the bus which, unbelievably, continued careening wildly towards the edge of a nearby cliff until it plummeted, screaming and bleeding, to its fiery death.
And all I kept thinking was: why, why, why would they show this on a bus...?
For the sake of dramatic misdirection (sorry about that incidentally), I left out the best bits of this cinematic gem that woke me. I didn’t mention, for instance, that the aforementioned gruesome bus accident rudely interrupted the choreographed song and dance number the characters on the bus had been performing, because they had just gotten married. Nor the fact that the main character, having been thrown from the bus, managed to latch on to something on the bottom of the bus and nearly succeeded in bringing the bus to a halt using his sandaled feet as breaks, only to hit his head on a rock, rendering him blind for the remainder of the movie. (This apparently being a common way for people in India to lose their eyesight)
Bollywood. You gotta love it. Or you might as well, because it’s everywhere.
I came to Jaipur looking for something different. Moving states seemed like a good bet because India is said to have huge cultural diversity and every state it’s own customs, cuisine and, more often than not, language. The state of Rajasthan in particular. The state enjoyed a relative autonomy under British rule and managed to hold onto it for a long time after independence. This makes Rajasthan one of the more authentic, less westernized parts of India. But sadly also one of the poorest. The maharajas of Rajasthan to this day enjoy fabulous wealth while their people starve. Suddenly, colonialism doesn’t sound so bad.
A little bit of that wealth I got to sample yesterday. I visited the Hawa Mahal, or “palace of the winds”. Insert flatulence joke here. The Hawa Mahal is an ornate structure in Jaipur’s trademark pink, with courtyards closed off from the busy streets. Even more impressive was the City Palace, where the maharaja’s huge collections of weapons, buggies and textile are displayed. Unfortunately, these were the only moments of peace I had yesterday. My plan was to spend the day wandering the streets of the old city (or “Pink City”, for its ubiquitous color) but while the endless procession of cars, rickshaws and the occasional cow was intriguing to behold at first, it quickly wore me down. It’s the same as Delhi. There’s just no getting away from it. There are no squares, no public parks, no promenades or boulevards. Nothing to break up the constant flow of traffic. It is exhausting.
That is why today, I’ll be scaling back again. From 12 million inhabitants in Delhi to Jaipur’s 3 million to the 14.000 of Pushkar. Pushkar. A little town around a lake. A site of pilgrimage for Hindu’s with what Lonely Planet describes as an “authentically mystic” feel to it.
It sounds wonderful.
But wait! Before fading to black on yet another hopeful-but-ultimately-negative note, the day was not without it’s rewards. One thing I love about Asia is there’s no escaping the odd touch of the bizarre.
Like the flock of goats I ran into in the streets (is it a “flock” of goats? A “herd”? I don’t know animals…), most of which were wearing shirts or sweaters. It was like something out of fairy tale featuring an evil witch. Do goats get cold easily? I don’t know animals.
Or the fact – and I only noticed this today – that Rupee coins indicate their value not just in Sanskrit and the Arabian numbers that we use, but also in a picture of a hand, doing for instance a thumbs up for one, a peace sign for two. A stroke of genius for a country with so many illiterates.
Or the guy who hit on me by complimenting my genitals while standing next to me at quite possibly the most disgusting public toilet I’ve ever seen. (Actually, what he said was “sexy!” with a meaningful look - and then, presumably feeling he was being too forward, “nice pants”.) I wasn’t offended by the come-on as much as by the setting. “Dude!” I wanted to yell. “Location, location, location!”
That’s better isn’t it? End on a joke? Yes. Better. OK, now. Cut to last dance number. Fade to black. Credits roll.
-
27 Januari 2012 - 08:47
Hand Signals On Coin:
WOW...I learned something new! I never knew that the Rupee had hand signals on it! Very cool!! :-)
I am glad it as not YOUR bus that swerved to miss the HERD of sheep! :-)
Be safe intrepid traveler! -
27 Januari 2012 - 09:50
Mark De Boer:
Herds, flocks? You sir just touched on something which in the English language is, compared to our Dutch, maybe just as bizarre as goats wearing shirts or sweaters. Luckily here is your friendly neighborhood biologist to anwser your question and probably make it more complicated. According to wikipedia this bizarre naming of groups of animals originated due to their hunting tradition. Very well. The definition of a flock is a congregation of animals of one kind, especially sheep or goats herded by people, and to any congregation of birds, especially when on the ground. It is also applicable to people who form the membership of a church or to people under someone's care or supervision (The last two are in my opinion the same). A Herd is used of a number of animals, especially cattle, herded by people; or of wild animals such as antelope, elephants, and zebras; or of whales and seals. So? If you actually read this you will notice that both of your anwsers are in fact correct. However for goats the word herd is used the most. Ironically, the mysterious 'Hand Signals on Coin' tried to help you and say "the HERD of sheep" but unfortunatly those are found mostly in flocks.
This is by far my longest reply ever on a traveling blog and I actually didn't even start on the bizarre part of 'the naming of groups of animals in the English language'. So I will continue underneath another post of yours. And as you will be away for almost a year (you bastard) there will be enough blogposts to cover this very intricate subject. -
27 Januari 2012 - 16:36
Kadelij:
Ik wil ook geitjes! Herd or flock, who gives a shit!? Vind ze gewoon lief! -
28 Januari 2012 - 15:08
OpaA:
Hallo Tim, dit is de vijfde keer dat ik met deze reaktie begin. Krijg seeds het bericht dat de pagina is "hersteld`, maar dan wel zonder mijn inbreng.
Dusw nu nog een keer. Ondanks alle overpeinzingen heb je de reis dus toch volbracht. Alleen je eindbestemming was niet naar je zin. Hadj e toch wel zelf gekozen, dacht ik.........=.
Je bent in India al aardig begonnen. Als ze jouw daar net zo graag hebben als jij er naar toe wilde, zl je wel niet gauw terukomen, dacht ik zo. Mocht je van plan veranderen, geef dat dan even door.
Vel succes.
OpaAa -
28 Januari 2012 - 16:48
Bringer Of Mayhem:
Your task for the following weekend is: shout at everything pink, pinkish, or used to be pink. -
29 Januari 2012 - 21:59
Praise Geebus:
Im guessing this is the comment box? (since I can't read dutch)
Sounds like a great time Tim! how exciting it must all be to throw yourself into such new adventures! Thank gawd you are staying away from creeps in the bathrooms- as much as possible anyway. You are a great story teller, takes me far away from Albuquerque, for sure. :) stay safe- Kitty
Reageer op dit reisverslag
Je kunt nu ook Smileys gebruiken. Via de toolbar, toetsenbord of door eerst : te typen en dan een woord bijvoorbeeld :smiley
