11/30 Pushkar
Mr. Singh takes us to Pushkar - the land of Brahman and the hippies. We are in desert country. The quick story is that Brahman was so upset that he lost Savrati (see Oh My God) that he started crying. Brahmans tears fell to the ground and produced three lakes. Today, it is customary to go to Pushkar and throw some pink lotus flower petals into these lakes.
There are so many friends around here that welcome us to Pushkar and try to Pawn their lotus flowers for some quick rupees. To be honest, I can't shed a tear right now. I'm sorry, but Brahman is going to have to wait another day.
Another quote I hate is the "Where you from?" quote. If they were really nice people, they wouldn't come up and barge into the middle of my conversation. Today, my answer to this question to the upcoming vagabond is "Very far, far away." The vagabond leaves only to try his luck on another tourist.
There is a great hike that Lisa and our Swedish friends - Johanna and Rangard - follow. Savarti, Brahmans first wife got all upset about the wedding (see Oh, My God) and decided to move up into the hills. It's only a 30 minute walk, but you can see for miles in any direction.
The all you can eat Indian buffet is a bad idea, especially when nobody else is around. Lisa and I survive with some mild indigestion.
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12/1 - Udaipur
We get back in the car with Mr. Singh, as God's compact vehicle takes us 6 hours south to Udaipur. Along the way Mr. Singh gets a flat tire. This guy changes to the spare in 5 minutes flat. I believe he may have done this before.
We pull into a tire 'shop'. There's no AAA out here. After banging the spare tire off the wheel, the mechanic patches up the tire and crowbars it back on to the hubcap. Flies are sputtering everywhere. There is a famous joke about how many people does it take to change a lightbulb. The same could be said about how many people it takes to change a tire in India. I say 3. One to change it, one to make tea, and the other one to sit cross legged and stare incessantly.
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We finally make it to Udaipur. Known as the lake city, there are a handful of lakes within a span of 10 miles. After resting that night, we wake up and walk through the old city through the city palace. It was the home of the Mewar Dynasty - the longest running dynasty in the world. The Mewar today is still honored and respected in Udaipur, if even only as a figurehead position.
Walking back through the old city, Lisa sees some spices she wants to buy. We get stopped by a well-dressed Indian lady whose name is Rochi. She speaks English very well, and makes us feel comfortable. We find out that there are also cooking classes available. Being a great eater of Indian food, I have no option but to give in to temptation. Lisa and I go back to Rochi's house and arrange the times, dishes and details of the operation.
It turns out we have an hour more of 'free time' before our driver, Mr. Singh, is supposed to pick us up. After getting something to eat, we see Mr. Singh passing by. After explaining that we are going to be out longer to take this cooking class, Mr. Singh's usual smile turns into a scowl. He doesn't really say much to me after that, only that we should take a rickshaw back to the hotel and that he will continue our tour tomorrow morning. As he leaves, Lisa and I are baffled as to what we did or said to anger him.
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Lisa and I walk the 1/2 kilometer back up the hill up to Rochi's house. We take off our shoes and are greeted by Rochi. Rochi is also a teacher - teaching high school students english as well as other subjects. We get right down to business. Lisa has brought her pocket notebook as we make Saffron Lassi, chipote, bangain bharta (eggplant curry), aloo palak (spinach and potatoes), and vegetable curry (the base for many Indian favorites such as Chicken Tikka Masala). Lisa is writing frantically as both her and I try to take turns at shaping the dishes.
What is interesting is that for all of these dishes, there is one kitchen the size of a closet. There are 3 pots and a couple of metal spatulas and spoons. There are no revolving doors, fancy cutting boards or steamers for rice. Everything is either boiled or sauteed. Rochi and her mom have this down to perfection. All the ingredients are cut for every dish immediately. All the ingredients have been bought fresh before. The regrigerators are smaller than most Television units.
Two hours later, we are eating. The food is delicious. I'm glad that Lisa and I have had the experience to enter an Indian home and see how life is really lived inside. We later learn that the amount of food we cook is not normal. Most Indians eat what is comporable to simple rice and curry plates most nights. Rochi and her family have been most hospitable. We thank them for not trying to rob us of more money, or trying to poison us with their food, or trying to sell twenty-five other products we have no interest in buying.
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12/3
Mr. Singh loads us up bright and early today at 8 AM. I feel like a 10-year old ready for day camp. We have our lunches packed and the itinerary set. For today's journey is to Jodhpur, the blue city with a stopover at the jain temples in Ranakpur.
The Jain religion is a minority religion these days in India, but has a long history. Similar to Buddhism, there is a path of enlightenment. Like the Buddha man, the Jain founder Mahariva gave up family life earlier, got rid of all of his possessions, and started his own religion. The idea is that they are looking to be spiritually perfect. They do this by preaching the big concepts: non-violence, truthfulness, don't steal, don't be possessive, and no sexual relations. The Jains believe that by doing this, their souls become pure and achieve a better life the next time around. To be honest, there is no way that I could follow this regimen (especially the last rule), but I applaud their discipline.
For every religion, there are dozens of temples that enshrine them. Jainism is no different. We visit a temple in Rankapur called the Chaturmukha Jain temple. It is supported by 1444 carved pilars, not one of them the same carving. It looks like a child used some ginger bread cookie forms and laquered the print in marble. But a second look shows the holy Mahariva in all of his forms. The Jain temples get Travelling Sherman's nod as the cleanest and most welcoming temples. No one hounds you for donations, the marble floors are spotless, and there is no camera fee. We stay long enough to take some pictures of the carvings and have a proper look around. It's time to get back in the SikhMobile of Mr. Singh. Still another 300 kilometers to Jodhpur.
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So Mr. Singh, for the first and only time on this trip, is upset at us. He's not outwardly upset, but you can tell he is not his usual jolly self. The conversation turns back to last night. He asks how much we paid for the Indian cooking classes with Rochi. After telling him, he retorts with the fact that the amount of money we paid her could suffice a family of four for one week. I want to state my case, but I'm in no position to do so. I just nod willingly and try to steer the conversation in a different direction. Mr. Singh is more worried that we could had been poisioned or kidnapped or the like. "This is India", he says, "People will do almost anything for money." While the concept could be true, I believe that a brief paranoia has struck him. Moments later, he comes to his senses. He says, "My friend, that's over. Let's go get some tea."
Taking tea at a local highway stop is not like it is back home. First of all, you pull over to the side of a dusty road and you see no chairs. Instead, there are rubber like cot fixtures, where the customers take a seat in cross-legged fashion. While waiting for the tea, Mr. Singh reads the Hindustan Times - India's largest newspaper. He translates the local headlines for me, and then procedes to work on Sudoku. Milk tea is the beverage of choice in India, but since my stomach has failed me from time to time, I do without the milk. Flies hover around us as they want in on part of the action. I've grown accustomed to their presence by now. I take the customary sips as I look out on the Indian highway. Local villagers wait for busses not on benches, but in squatting position with both heels on the ground. Old, young, man and woman have no problem squatting for long periods of time. My legs become sore from just looking at them.
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Jodhpur
We are in Jodhpur, the blue city. The old city of Jodhpur has apartment buildings covered with faded blue paint. Founded by Rao Jodha of the Rathore clan back in the mid 1400s, the Rathores controlled much of western Rajasthan. Jodha was paranoid that neighboring clans would attack, so he moved the Rathore city capital to Jodhpur in a hillside spot. On top of the hill, the Mehrangarh fort was built. Overlooking the city, the Mehrangarh fort still sits high above the city. The fort is over 6 miles long and has ten gates. Never once was it penetrated by its enemies. Lisa and I take the audio guide tour. For once, no one hounds us. Just myself, Lisa, and a piece of electronic equipment. The Prime Minister of India has declared this a Historical Landmark and thus has invested in maintaining its luster. I thank the Prime Minister as this has been the best spot on the India tour thus far.
Mr. Singh is waiting for us outside as we finish the tour. We buy some teas at the local "Lonely Planet" reccomended shop just outside the fort. We get to our hotel and take in some dinner. The rooftop overlooks the fort, which illuminates at night. Lisa and I hear calls to prayer from all over the city, as the 15% Muslim population gets ready for it's 4th of 5 prayer sessions of the evening. Everything from atop is cam as the music from the chanting is dreamlike. Not to worry, for we will be back on the ground in no time avoiding the touts, cows and street beggars. Tomorrow, Mr. Singh promises us the best Lassi in Rajasthan at a local shop. I fall asleep gathering my strength for another day in India. I pray to the spirits above for hot water.
Travelling Sherman
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