Blog 5 – Agra, Lucknow, Varanasi (India)

Blog 5 – Agra, Lucknow, Varanasi (India)

We have just completed our second week in India and lots of the group reckon that they’re well and truly ‘India’d out’. I think there is a limit to the level of noise and chaos that the average person can take and at times I have almost fallen in off the street and into whatever hotel we’re staying …. anything to get away from the commotion and pandemonium that is everyday life in this country. I genuinely reckon that if I had to relocate to India and live in any of the cities we have visited, I wouldn’t ever reach my fiftieth birthday. (I was going to say my fortieth, but with its proximity, chances are I definitely would!). In saying that, there is something about India that has captivated my attention and my imagination. The Oz Bus has now driven through ten countries and throughout our two weeks in this country and throughout the thousands of kilometers we’ve travelled, I have hardly closed an eye on any of those journeys. Whilst in India, gazing out the bus window is something that I have never tired of and thirty seconds can not pass without seeing something or somebody that gives you something to think about and reflect upon. What has taken me by surprise is the sheer volume of people and it makes me wonder what it must be like to live ones life without any personal space. With a population in excess of 1.1 billion, one would automatically think that the cities and towns and villages would be constantly chock-a-block and indeed they are. But the small country roads between villages are also filled with people on every mode of transport – rickshaws, bicycles, walkers, busses, animals, cars – all vying for their own bit of space to go about their daily business.

Stopping for toilet breaks in the most rural and remote service stations has also been an educational experience for me. It is the most amazing sight to witness the locals gather around and stare at the twenty six white people who have stepped off the bus. What starts of initially as three or four people watching frequently builds to fifteen or twenty people in the fifteen minutes taken between our arrival and our departure. We may as well be aliens who have entered their community such is their level of interest and absolute fascination. Other travellers on the bus have explained that as the bus is travelling outside tourist areas, for many of the locals, it may well be their first time seeing Caucasians and indeed their reaction to us suggest that this could well be the case. Perhaps I’m simply naïve but I had this vision in my head of native tribes in the Amazonian jungle providing such a reaction when they saw white people but not for one moment did I think that our arrival would evoke such a response here in India. I know in my last blog I spoke about the little children I’ve encountered and throughout the last week, they have continued to make me laugh and cry. In Agra, I made friends with one little boy called Biki. He was twelve years old though if he had told me he was seven, I would have believed him. He was so small and so thin but he had the most beautiful little face and had a smile that would absolutely melt the hardest of hearts. He travelled on our rickshaw when we were going to visit the Taj Mahal and throughout the most hair-raising journey, several times he laid his hand on my arm and said ‘you okay lady, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you’. In my own mind I was thinking that one way of taking care of me was if he could get the rickshaw down from the bonnet of the rickshaw behind us ….. or get the driver to indicate over (!) to the rickshaw slow lane or else get the buffalos head out from the back of the rickshaw and away from my left earlobe. The buffalo’s participation in the journey was when we were stopped for thirty minutes in the Taj Mahal’s equivalent to the Headford Road Roundabout traffic jam. In truth he’d have been grand if he just stayed quiet whilst walking alongside our rickshaw – but in his excitement, he became like Pavlov’s dog and drooled and salivated down on my new Visiting Temples sarong and my Visiting Temples shoes. Now that’s all fine if you can bring that same sarong and shoes home and pop them into a Whirlpool 500 or a Miele 1000 washer / dryer, but buffalo saliva is best avoided when you have to try and wash the soiled garments in a leaking wash hand basin, in freezing water …. with Clinic shampoo … and have them dried and on you before the bus departs five hours later.

Anyway, going back to Biki, we had several lovely chats over the course of the few days. He had very good English which he had learned from his years hanging around tourist hotels and selling postcards. He had never been to school because as he said, ‘I am not a rich man’ and he wanted to be a rickshaw driver when he grew up. He asked me loads of questions about what I had been doing at college and we talked about the types of courses he’d like to do if he had the money. It made me so sad to think of what this little boy with charm, charisma and intelligence could actually become if he was given even the smallest opportunity in life. I remember last year teaching a 1st year CSPE class and dealing with the child labour topic and what that might mean for the child who has to work and who never knows the feeling of being able to play and to enjoy life. We talked about how children involved in child labour wouldn’t be able to go to school and what their daily lives might be like. Probably for the first time in my own life, by engaging in conversation with this young boy, I learned a little bit about what it is like to be working since he was four years old – trying to make enough money to give to your parents so that they can rear their other children. In Biki’s case, there were another six children – four boys and two girls.
On our last evening in Agra, when I arrived back from a nearby restaurant, Biki was waiting for me outside the hotel. He gave me the biggest most genuine smile, came over and said he had waited to say goodbye as he lived five kilometers away and wouldn’t be into the city by the time we departed at 7.00 a.m. the following morning. He told me that ‘I was really nice lady because I treated him like a friend and not like the Israeli tourists treated him’. (I don’t know any Israeli’s but I think I’ve gone off them!). Anyway, we had another lovely chat about how we are all equal (and not to take any notice of the Israeli’s). He gave me a little plastic Taj Mahal toy in snow, I gave him a few rupees and we hugged and said our goodbyes. A wonderful little boy who could teach us all a few lessons. I hope he’ll be okay and I hope what life throws at him never makes him lose his kindness, his spirit and his endearing personality.

Several people have sent emails asking how I’m finding the bus journeys and whether I’m still ‘in love’ with the bus. You’ll be pleased to know that despite our odd lovers tiff, we’re still very much an item. We are now almost seven weeks travelling and how little the journeys bother me continues to be the most thing that has surprised me about the whole trip. In truth it really doesn’t make any sense. Anyone in their right mind would say that being confined in a bus for eight, nine and sometimes ten and eleven hours would be unbearable and prior to this, I couldn’t have agreed more with them. I don’t know, perhaps it’s a frame of mind that we have had to adopt that makes the incarceration endurable but the reality is that I definitely don’t dread getting on the bus in the morning in the knowledge that it’ll be evening time before we reach our destination. The bus we’ve had in India has been smaller and less comfortable than the European and Iranian busses and after a couple of hours I generally have to perform a few bodily contortions, and writhe and flex anything that will still writhe and flex ….. in order to bring the feeling back to my limbs.
The days of being able to use your laptop are well gone and the quality of the roads in India have deteriorated to such a poor state that sometimes it’s literally a case of trying desperately to stay rooted to your seat as opposed to affording yourself such luxuries as writing ones blog or journal. Throughout the European leg, we had the luxury of a full seat to ourselves which meant it was possible to stretch out, however, now the majority of us have to share. Each bus is air-conditioned but for the last few weeks, we’ve discovered that those sitting up front have a perfect air temperature and those sitting from the middle of the bus back are almost mummified from the arctic temperatures. There is no happy medium and it is the funniest sight to see half of the people getting off the bus in string t-shirts and shorts and fanning themselves, whilst the remaining passengers disembark wearing fleeces, tracksuits, woolly scarves and gloves. Passengers entertain themselves differently ….talking, listening to ipods, reading, watching downloaded movies, sleeping, window gazing, scrabble, chess. On a personal level, I’ve spent hours and hours looking out the bus windows and reflecting on the fact that I’m actually doing this trip.

I frequently think back to last January 2010 and being in my room in Athlone for what seemed like weeks, seated at the desk, and in the middle of completing a raft of assignments for Maynooth as well as simultaneously preparing lesson plans for classes. I remember feeling quite despondent and downcast and the question kept going around in my head ‘Is this it?? I questioned myself as to what I thought would give me something to look forward to and what would motivate me to get through the remaining five months of the academic year. Unlike practically all of the students on the PGDE course, I knew without doubt that it wasn’t the prospect of a full time permanent job in September. (not that there was any prospect of that!). Having heard about the Oz Bus almost four years ago, and having periodically kept an eye on their website, the idea of signing up for their trip in September came into my head. That afternoon I phoned the UK based company and made the first enquiries about their dates and rates. From that moment on, I had a goal and it was exactly what I needed to give me the impetus to stay motivated. And now I find myself standing in front of the Taj Mahal or visiting The Golden Temple (or indeed The Rat Temple!) or experiencing sunrise whilst boating down the Ganges, and I still almost can’t believe that I’m fortunate enough to be here. Thank god I was pissed off last January or I could well be experiencing the Monday morning blues or the Sunday night depression (a far more painful condition). I know its all ahead of me but hopefully I’ll be more settled and more ready for it when the time comes to get back to reality again.

Speaking of the Ganges, we did that trip a few days ago and it was amazing. We were in the boat by about 6.00 a.m. and as the sun came up, the river side was filled with several hundred Hindus, young and old, bathing in the dirtiest water that you’ve ever seen. One of the group had told us the evening before that she read that two years ago an English man swam in the Ganges and was dead twenty four hours later. Let me tell you, that nugget of information was enough for me to keep well back from the side of the boat. As most of you probably know, the custom in this part of the world is when there is a death, the body is burned and the ashes thrown into the Ganges. It was absolutely amazing to see the ‘Ganges crematorium’ which was about ten metres of open space by the river where the burnings take place. I (and all of the group) almost died of shock when our boat decided to moor in the middle of those ten metres as opposed to any of the other thousands of miles of riverbank. Out we had to get, walk up the steps, where there was one body still smoldering and walk around another body which was just waiting to be burned. It was wrapped in the custom orange blanket and had a necklace of orange flowers placed around its head. The family members were standing on the step ready to set the match and say goodbye to their loved one. There were dogs and cows all feasting on … bones I suppose, and I really felt that it was all so surreal.
At the top of the steps, once I got past the body, an Indian trader told me it was only 100 rupees to get some pictures of the dead bodies and was inviting me into the back part of the building where they must have been lined up. It was sort of like ‘take your pick (or pic) …. literally’. Before I had time to answer him (or clobber him with my camera), three dogs started fighting right beside me …. probably over a femur or a skull! That took me out of my little bubble very quickly. They were going at each other hammer and tongs and to save myself, I almost leaped into the stretcher of another family who were carrying their own much loved orange clad body. My thinking simply was ‘sure whoever’s on that stretcher is already dead and won’t feel dog bites …. whereas I will!’. I think I’m also very conscious of the fact that I skimped on taking the rabies injection before I set off on my travels (it was VERY costly) but I’m convinced that I’m destined to die of rabies because I was so mean and tight. I remember one night in Vienna, I had being having the same conversation with one of the women about injections we’d got for the trip and what we had and didn’t have. (I’m also terrified I’ll get Japanese Encephalitis …. scrimped there too!). I had walked outside to phone Mom and Dad and just as I had hung up, a woman and her dog walked out the apartment door behind me. I had my back to her and didn’t see her come out but she must have shut the door on his paw because he let out the highest pitched howling yelp …… directly behind me. I swear to god, I almost leaped out of my skin …. and in the same move, up the drainpipe of the building in front of me. When I eventually turned around, I was already foaming at the mouth from my self-diagnosed rabies (which I was sure I had contracted …. maybe even from the bark as opposed to the bite ) and the smallest little Chihuahua had his paw in the air and it too was foaming at the mouth … from the pain of the door on his foot. So now that you see where I’m coming from, you can’t begrudge me a space on the Ganges stretcher. No snarling and biting dogs can reach you when you’re five foot in the air. Anyway, the three dogs eventually compromised and settled for the less sought after cuts of meat and bone – fingers and toes I’d imagine. I crawled down from the stretcher, thanked the family who had provided the escape route and made my way through the backstreets to find the rest of the group. In truth, thinking about it afterwards, it was an amazing and incredible day and one that I really will never forget.

Anyway, I’d better finish up now and get out and about and see whatever town we’re in now. It’s actually a place called Pokhara which is located in Nepal and we arrived yesterday evening. Therefore, the next blog will have a Nepalese flavour. Can I apologise to those who are sending me emails – I absolutely love to hear from you but just don’t have a chance to reply individually. (that shouldn’t be any reason to stop you sending them though – I always get a chance to read them, just not to reply). We have very little time in a lot of places and sometimes, it is literally from bus into hotel and back onto bus again in the morning. The internet is so sporadic and in lots of the places, we have no access at all to phones or to wifi connections so you’ll really just have to make do with the few blogs. We have four days in Kathmandu at the end of the week, so I will fill you in then on what Nepal has to offer …. and for what its worth, in my few days here, I can guarantee you that it offers a lot. Until we chat again, look after yourselves. Debbie xxxx

(PS – I never realized so many people hated rats and that a few paragraphs on the small furry creatures would result in such a reaction ….. you wusses!).