Blog 4 – India (Amritsar, Sri Ganganagar, Bikaner, Jodhpur, Jaipur, Delhi)

Blog 4 – India (Amritsar, Sri Ganganagar, Bikaner, Jodhpur, Jaipur, Delhi)

Hello to you all from India. We took a flight from Tehran to Amritsar on the 29th of September and will be here until the 14th October when we arrive into Nepal. That gives us a lot of time to experience India and throughout that time, we’ll be staying in nine different cities throughout the country. Lots of the group have been to India before but this is my first time. We arrived into Amritsar airport at 2.00 a.m. and therefore saw very little between the airport and arriving at our hotel. However, when a few of us left the hotel the following morning to take a walk around the city and into visit The Golden Palace, it felt like I had entered a different world and the initial experience literally took my breath away. The rickshaws, the motorbikes, the bicycles, the cars, the crowds, the noise, the pollution, the smells, the dirt, the poverty, the emaciated animals, the stifling heat …. I could go on and on. For the duration of the walk to the Palace, I walked to the back of the group, completely dumbstruck. I couldn’t decide if I loved it or hated it. In fact for the first few days in India, I struggled with that exact question – is it the best place in the world I’ve ever been to or is the absolute worst? Going outside each hotel door means entering a world of chaos and commotion and it is probably that which I have found most difficult to get used to. One of the girls summed it up perfectly one evening recently when she returned back from an evening walk and when I asked her how she enjoyed it – she simply said ‘I crossed seven roads and I’ve almost got killed seven times’. I knew exactly how she felt as since we’ve arrived in India, I myself have found myself on the bonnet of a few rickshaws.

However, in the mayhem and madness of this country, we discovered that there is at least one oasis of calm. When we arrived in the city of Jodhpur, we were greeted by all of the family members of the family-run hotel. The children had made each of the passengers a garland of fresh flowers which they placed around our necks as a welcoming gift. From that very moment, we were aware that we were in a very special place. The accommodation consisted of fifteen individual huts – simple but spotlessly clean and delightful in their own unique way. They were built in a circular shape and the mid courtyard section, surrounded by trees, had hammocks, comfortable seating areas, single beds to lie out on and tables with white starched linen cloths. That first evening, we were all invited into the kitchen to assist in the cooking of our meal. (I made sure that I was tying my shoe when they were looking for volunteers …. I hope no one spotted that I was wearing flip flops!). However, at least a dozen of the group were chomping at the bit to stir and sieve and shake and they had a ball preparing the most scrumptious vegetarian Indian meal that I have ever tasted. It struck me during my time in Jodhpur that language truly is no barrier when genuine friendliness, goodwill, and good humour all feature in the equation.

The children in India have stolen my heart and each time when they shyly approach me, with their beautiful brown eyes, the widest of smiles and little grubby hand extended out to shake hands, I feel myself simply melting. It’s the most amazing of experiences and sometimes I think I could just burst with love for them. I’ve always felt that same for Makenna and Keelan, my two beautiful nieces, but this is the first time that I’ve experienced such strong feelings for little children that I’ve only just met. Perhaps it’s due to that fact that they have absolutely nothing, their clothes are always so dirty and ragged and I feel a powerful desire to just mind them. In Bikanar a few nights ago, a little four year old boy came down the street carrying what I’d imagine was his little baby brother on his hip. They joined the group of about a dozen children already up talking to us and shaking hands. The baby was approximately 18 months old and wore a dirty white vest, was barefooted and had no nappy. The sight of those two little boys almost took my breath away – a baby carrying a baby. But the more I looked at them, the more I realized that despite how impoverished and dirty they were, both had the most beautiful smiles that I had ever seen and looked like the happiest children on the planet. Whenever anyone made any gesture towards the baby, he’d giggle and snuggle into his brother’s shoulder and the boy would protectively place his hand over his brother’s little head. I remember Matt, one of the American passengers on the bus saying that when he worked in Africa in very poor villages, very often the villagers themselves never realized that they were poor until the white man came in and told them they were. So I keep trying to remember this when I see those little kids and hope that they don’t realize that children all over the world have so much more than them but I also know that I’m simply trying to put my own mind at ease. And in saying that, those little children look to be so happy, so well-behaved, so close to each other and so excited by the simplest of gestures like taking a photograph, shaking their hand, rubbing their head or doing absolutely anything that indicates that we notice them.

But unfortunately I’ve noticed that in Jaipur, a city that’s far wealthier and more tourist-oriented than any of the other cities we’ve been to such as Amritsar, Sri Ganganagar, Bikaner or Jodhpur, the children seem to be absolutely impoverished and destitute. I’ve seen so many women begging with the tiniest of babies in their arms. When I asked our Guide about them he said ‘in most cases those babies don’t belong to those women – they’re just professional beggars and should be ignored’. But thinking about it afterwards, (when I should have been listening to his history of the Fort or the Palace) whether they do or they don’t belong to the particular woman who is holding them, each child is someone’s baby. And isn’t there something very much wrong with our society when the most vulnerable of little babies and children can be kept out in scorching heat, in thick pollution, unbearable noise and honking of vehicles, rags on their backs and are absolutely helpless to do anything about their plight. And isn’t there something also very wrong with our society that we as adults can see those neglected and suffering babies and still continue to walk past them because they are not our babies and they are not our problem? I know there is no real answer and I know that I’m just sounding off but I just wonder about the quality of life of so many of those children that I’ve seen and whether they will ever make it adulthood and indeed, if they will ever experience their first day at school.

Anyway, that’s the end of nostalgia for this blog … you’ll be glad to hear. Three days ago, I did one of the silliest things I’ve ever done and have absolutely no one to blame but myself. One of the stops on the bus between Bikanar and Jodhpur was a trip to a Rat Palace. Now the Tour Guide divulged very little to us as she hadn’t been there before so we were a bit in the dark as to what it actually was. However, whenever the bus stops, it is a cardinal sin not to get out of it as it may be three or more hours before it stops again, so any opportunity to get off is gratefully accepted. We walked five minutes down the road in 40 degree heat and then we were instructed by a robed man to remove our shoes before we entered through the white gates. I paid the man 40 rupees to take and mind my flip flops (that could have been 40 pence, 400 pounds or 4000 pounds worth … I’m useless but all I know is that I paid for the privilege of walking barefoot on the filthy and roasting gravel). Anyway, I then was accosted by a man who pointed to my camera and said ‘you must pay money for taking photos’ so I opened up my money wallet and he helped himself to a bundle of notes and coins. And in I went not knowing if I was going to see a cuddly toys exhibition, a puppet show or at the very worst, some white fluffy caged mice running around a hamster wheel.

As I entered through the gates, I was busily chatting to Helen when all of a sudden, I spotted a huge brown rat asleep on the ground …. a mere two foot from my two feet. RIGHT THERE and then I knew it was not a puppet show! And then, I saw them;- thousands of rats running wild all over the place. There was a huge pan of milk on the ground and about fifty rats circling the pan and lapping it up, stopping every sixty seconds to give their whiskers a little wipe. Other rodents were having mid-afternoon siestas, others sauntering around the courtyard nonchalantly, other younger rats racing around like mad things! And the smell, oh my god, the smell! One of the locals sidled up to me and told me that the rat is an animal that is worshipped in India and I ‘had no cause of fear’ (and could I please not vomit on his turban when I was getting out of his arms!). He explained that many people travel great distances to pay their respects and offer gifts to the rats and it is important that one goes through the Temple itself to make their offering at the Rat altar.

Now, wouldn’t you think that right there and then I would have made my retreat and tip-toed backwards to the bus, but something took over me – in truth, it was the feeling of ‘I am a tourist who should embrace each new experience’. One of the Oz Bussers, Helen, must have been in the same delirious state because she looked at me and said ‘if you go in, I’ll go in’. The next thing, we were both in the lengthy Temple queue along with people bringing big platters of food to offer up as their gifts to the rats. Now, before I go any further, can I explain that we quickly realized that the queue was a one way single-file queue. It was too late and there was no going back – one narrow entrance, one narrow exit. We tentatively walked through the doorway and the walls (within touching distance of our hands) were COVERED in rats. It is also worth noting that they were the sickest looking rats I have ever seen. Some were bleeding, had eyes missing, had ears missing and had tails hanging off. Now rest assured, it’s not because I inspected them so closely that I know that information, but rather that their missing limbs and bits were scattered all over the floor! They were running back and over our feet and I swear to you, I thought that I was going to die there and then in the Rat Temple. All I kept thinking was ‘oh god you eejit, you feckin’ eejit, you stupid feckin’ eejit’. I looked down at my beautifully nail-varnished BUT bare feet as I stepped through tangles of rat fur, rat faeces, rat urine and rat itself and I wondered if Weil’s Disease was a painful death. Would I die slowly ‘Michael Joe and Mary, we monitored Debbie’s pain closely – she didn’t feel a thing at the end’ or would it be sudden ‘Michael Joe and Mary, it was so quick that she really didn’t know what was happening’.
Helen was walking directly in front of me (in floods of tears at this stage) and as opposed to comforting her, I sized her five foot one frame up and wondered if I could leapfrog her to get to the exit. I don’t think I have ever felt such a sense of absolute panic in my life – being confined in this tiny Temple with no way out. Meanwhile the locals ahead of us were making our escape EVEN SLOWER because of their bloody bowing, genuflecting and curtseying when they put their platters of cheddar cheese (or whatever) on the rat altar. I wondered whether the insurance company would pay out my death cheque to Mom and Dad if they discovered that I had contacted Weil’s Disease but I had contracted it by removing my shoes and entering a Temple which contained 20,000 rats. One would imagine that there would have to be some percentage deducted because of contributory negligence on my behalf.

At this stage, I was only half way through the Temple, and by now I was hyper-ventilating, heart was racing and sweating pouring down my body and I was seeking out anyone who could offer me a brown paper bag. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted one particularly rough looking rat sprinting straight at my left foot and I swear to you, I did the whole set of Riverdance ….. IN THE AIR! Jean Butler on her best day ever never lifted her feet and legs as high as I did. I almost knocked Helen (who was still crying) unconscious with my knee in the back of her head and directly behind me, Rahul, who had travelled a great distance with his silver platter, witnessed his offerings of mozzarella and grapes being put to the sky …… with the sole of my foot … as I was coming down.
I decided there and then that I had to get out and couldn’t go any further. Although we were barricaded in each side by a four foot barrier, I spotted an open doorway over the other side of the barricade. I swear to god, I’d have been drafted in to perform in the Delhi Commonwealth Games if any scout had spotted my high jump vault …. without a pole. From a standing position, and with back arched, I flawlessly executed the move and landed the other side of the barrier. It would have been a perfect 10.0 if I had waited for the judges’ scores but I was in mid-sprint when I landed. I was the Oz Bus’s own Forrest Gump in my eagerness to exit the Rat Palace. I paid another 40 bits to get my flip flops back, paid another 40 bits because I still had the unopened camera case around my neck, paid 400 bits for cleansing wipes and sanitizer and made it back to the bus. Five minutes later, as I was in the process of removing the outer and inner epidermis and the malpighian layer of skin from my feet, when a red-eyed Helen came onto the bus and looked at me with ‘rat deserting sinking ship’ eyes. She slouched into her seat and three days later, is only starting to talk about the experience … in fact talk at all! We were both absolutely traumatized by it and I have no doubt but it’ll bubble to the surface for us both on some red velvet counseling couch at some time in the future.

Anyway, all good things come to an end and it is time to put an end to this epistle. I must apologise to all those who have emailed me and facebooked me regarding not being able to make a comment on the blog page. Despite my blaming the Blogger website for weeks, I think it was actually my fault – something to do with the settings – but I think I have it sorted now and you should be able to make your comments without it requiring a million passwords. My blog was actually set with a higher security setting than The White House website … probably no need, d’ya think?? Anyway, to-morrow we head to Agra for two days, during which time we’ll be seeing the Taj Mahal in all its splendour. Will write again over the next few days if I get a chance. Love to you all, Debbie x