Merry Christmas From Jodhpur

To all our friends and family, we wish you a Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, Season’s Greetings and Namaste.
Our friends Jonathan and Cynthia have joined us and we are continuing to have a wonderful time. Yesterday we explored the magnificent Meherangarh Fort which stands high above the city rising up and chiseled from the red rock face itself. We continued on to the far side of the fort to the heart of the old blue city. Outside of the more touristy central Clock Tower area of Jodhpur things start to move back in time to that sleepy, friendly village feel that we love so much. As we come back around to the main marketplace the buzz returns. The narrow alleys are lined with colorful shops beneath delicately latticed walls. The smells of spices and urine, flowers and cow dung sting our nostrils. Motorized scooters, motorbikes and bicycles intertwine, honking, splashing, somehow managing to avoid each other by mere millimeters. Old men squatting by the road, women in colorful saris smashing rocks and sweeping steps, carrying children whose eyes light up behind long dark lashes. Shops selling pieces of metal, bamboo, artifacts, fabric, sweets, fruit and vegetables, baskets, toys, kites, chai, oil fried snacks, clay pots of all sizes, rugs and dhurries. Barbers and astrologers, temples and havelis, colorful advertisements, movie posters, shrines, and utter chaos. And then, of course, the animals: cows rule, roaming wherever they please. But there are also donkeys carrying broken gravel in sacks, water buffalo, ox-carts, camels, grizzled dogs, monkeys, elephants, goats. The streets are full of life and color. This is the city where Elizabeth Hurley got married and people are quick to tell us of visits by Prince Charles, Richard Gere, Mick Jagger, Bill Murray and Elton John…”Come to my shop, I show you picture of me with Prince Charles.”
We have been eating marvelous food every day. This is truly a vegetarian’s paradise. We have tried writing about the food but it is so excitingly varied that we don’t know where to begin and once we start we can’t stop. The thali is a wonderful buffet on a plate to include several different taste treats often served in a tray of small stainless steel bowls. The breads include naan, chapatti, roti, parantha, puri. These all can be used as tasty utensils to scoop up the saucy, spicy dishes. We enjoy eating with our fingers. Anybody want to buy our silverware?
Today we visited Mandore Gardens in the old capital of the region. Hanuman monkeys ran around freely, babies frolicking and young adults swinging from the trees while other adults climbed the temple walls.
We are staying at Yogi’s Guest House. A truly delightful place where Yogi takes good care of all his guests. Tonight he is throwing us a Christmas party and he just arrived at our door to bring a gift to Cindy of a beautiful silver bracelet. The rooftop restaurant has a great view of the fort (see previous post) and is a great gathering place for the guests.

जोधपुर - The Train To Jodhpur

Now we are headed into Western Rajasthan. Into the lands of desert forts (dessert forks?). A six hour train ride turned into an all day event, but not an unpleasant one. This was our first experience of the Indian railway system. We traveled 2nd class a/c sleeper. As the train eventually pulled into the station at Jaipur the crowds were evident stuffed into the third class carriages and looking quite ragged after the train’s overnight journey from Varanasi. Memories flooded back of the many long train rides that we took thirty years ago, always traveling on the cheapest class available, bodies strewn around and across us sleeping in any available space. Our sleeper section was relatively empty and we were lucky enough to be seated by a lovely newlywed couple from the Punjab. Their English was great and they made excellent companions for our journey. They shared their food with us and Cindy got to try on one of the new bride's wedding gift saris and looked quite elegant in pink silk with gold sequined trim.
Jonathan and Cynthia are on their plane from London as I write headed to Jodhpur (above)where we look forward to a joyful reunion with old friends.
They say that India brings you back to yourself. That you are coerced into asking yourself important questions about what is most treasured in life. This process is discomforting. There are not always ready answers. Still, the burgeoning life in India reflects all those inner workings leaving us satisfied, longing, melancholy, enthralled, disheveled, enraptured, hopeful, engaged. Torn apart and cobbled together again. Integrating all the stimuli cannot be rushed and adds up eventually to the totality of who we are.

जयपुर - Jaipur, the Pink City

Jaipur is known as the Pink City and is the capital of Rajasthan. It seems clean, well laid out and well organized compared to Delhi. The Old City houses palaces and museums including the pictured Hawa Mahal or Wind Palace. This is the one room deep rose-colored façade from where the women of the Palace could look down unnoticed at the activity in the streets below while benefiting from the cool cross-breezes.
We are staying at the wonderfully funky Pearl Palace Hotel in Jaipur where for $20 a night Mr. Singh provides a unique environment for his guests. On each door is the motto “You are precious to us.” The rooftop restaurant offers a variety of home cooked meals including the Chef’s Thali a gourmet selection of vegetarian taste delights for just over two dollars. The restaurant is a whimsy of painted murals in a garden setting featuring animal-shaped seating fabricated in iron and overlooked by a huge metal peacock.
Tomorrow we will be met at 8am by Anil who runs Four Wheel Drive India, the company which provided us with our car and Bramesh our driver from Udaipur to Jaipur via Bundi. Anil offered to bring us to his home to meet his wife and have breakfast there before taking us to the train for our first railroad adventure, a six hour journey to Jodhpur.

Around Every Bend

The road from Kumbulgarh Fort to the exquisite Jain temple at Ranakpur winds through narrow valleys of woodland dotted by primeval villages inhabited by man and beast in a cauldron of fairy tale life. As we turned another bend along our route our driver came to a sudden halt as we faced head-on a barrier of five pitch black water buffalo lolling their way gently to their destination guided by a stick-brandishing, skinny farmer dressed in white dhoti and brilliant red Rajput turban. Every bend seems to reveal secrets of former times when simplicity structured the day. These are scenes that we dream of, that we watch on TV; but these are also daily rituals and routines of the very people of this land, kind and open, living their lives.

Along the road we see:
A woman in a red sari crouching to pick onions in a lush green field.
Brilliantly painted trucks sporting sparkling tassels and advertising only praise to god.
Intricately carved stonework or wrought iron on the oldest and most dilapidated buildings.
Flowing multi-colored saris seeming to float along roadsides worn by women effortlessly and gracefully carrying huge loads of wood or metal water containers.
Fields of yellow mustard stretching for miles.
Tractors on the highway with white-turbaned men unwavered by the ride or the fact that they are clustered to overflowing.
Half-naked toddlers stumbling to catch up with their mothers.
A family bathing with water drawn from a well and warmed by the midday sun once the coolness of morning has passed.
Overladen vehicles carrying unimaginably huge sacks of hay that blossom like billowing turbans over the sides.
Wooden carts pulled by two oxen driven through narrow alleyways.
Camels pulling cartloads of rice sacks as vehicles pass at breakneck speed.
Whitewashed temples set into nooks and crevices in every village we pass. Devotees sitting around chanting, chatting, communing.
A saddhu, or holy man, pacing gazelessly through the turmoil carrying only his iron trident.
Bright yellow, blue and red advertisements painted on walls offering backdrops for the melee of activity in each small town.
Tiny tea shops large enough for one crouching chai wallah, his stove, a pot, and a crowd of thirsty squatting villagers.
The cows teach patience as they wander across the road unperturbed by the onrush of humanity. Everywhere patience.

बूंदी - Bundi - Back In Commission

We drove some seven hours over bone-rattling roads to Bundi. Large-scale construction.seems to be underway throughout Rajasthan as the infrastructure of India tries to keep pace with other technology and prosperity. We have been in Bundi for three days and internet has not been available.
Also we have been hit by Delhi Belly (C) and the flu (M) which has slowed us down a bit. Nevertheless, there are many photos to post to the Flickr site. We have had many opportunities to experience the wonderful hospitality of people here in India. As our driver Anand told us: “In India the guest is seen as god and we treat our guest as if we are serving Krishna.”
In Bundi we stayed at the Bundi Haveli Hotel which was opened three months ago by Lulu, an Australian woman, and her business partner. It is a delightful place furnished with the ultimate blend of traditional design and modern conveniences. Highly recommended!
The people of Bundi are not yet overwhelmed by tourists and remain open and warm as if they are honored by our presence. We are indeed the ones who are honored.

Udaipur - Palaces and Temples

Each morning we eat breakfast at one of the many rooftop restaurants in Udaipur. Latte and croissants are sometimes available there. Today we were perched high above the buildings between the City Palace and the Jagdish Temple.

Usman was our tuk-tuk driver today. He picked us up at 2:30 and took us to the Monsoon Palace, set on a mountaintop high above Udaipur and offering breathtaking views. It was here that Roger Moore’s helicopter landed in the James Bond movie ‘Octopussy.’ Osman brought us to his family’s miniature painting shop and we were shown the intricacies of this traditional art medium of the Mugal style. The drivers know the secrets of the city and when I told Osman of my friend Mike’s love of monkeys he took us to a temple where a family of Hanuman monkeys lived. They are quite friendly as people feed them Gluco biscuits (“the most popular biscuit in the world”). Before the sun set I wanted to meet one of my goals for this trip and see if I could find a temple that Jonathan and I hung out at 30 years ago. It was a very significant place in my memory and I thought that I might still be able to locate it. Things have changed radically in the ensuing years and very little is recognizable other than the main monuments. The place is much more crowded, sprawling and touristed. They are even building an international airport here. Nobody was able to identify where my little temple might be and we were given a couple of leads that did not pan out. Down towards the lake from Sunset Point, however, the road began to look familiar and we hugged the lakeside until the water dried up. I remembered the temple being in a secluded corner of the lake, and as we followed the now dried-up lake bed I saw a small abandoned building back in the woods.

We walked through the now overgrown bramble until we came to a deep well with a concrete wall behind it and perched atop was the old temple in a state of disrepair but still with some of the old relics around. Looking inside through the metal gates brought back a thousand memories of times around the holy fire grates with saddhus (Indian renunciates, holy men) chanting, ringing bells and being drawn up into the ecstatic atmosphere.

At sunset we went within the City Palace walls to a fine restaurant, the Sunset Terrace, set right across from the Lake Palace. We had a gourmet light dinner with bansari (flute) and tabla (drums) being played in the classical form next to us, in the shadow of the largest palace in India, surrounded by mountains in the gently cooling twilight. It truly doesn’t get much better than this!


Here is one of the stories from my memoirs from the time that I was last in Udaipur with my friend Jonathan. It talks about a saddhu named Bhagwan Giri who adopted us when we were young seekers open to anything. He showed us many things for which I am very grateful. The temple in this story is the one that I re-discovered today.

ON BEING A GENTLEMAN

One day Bhagwan Giri told us that he was going to take us to meet his own guru, who lived in a small temple down by the lake. As we approached by the deserted roadside, the mild-mannered Bhagwan called out a loud greeting, as if to announce our arrival: “Hare Haar!” The call was immediately responded to, as if by echo. We were greeted outside the temple by a group of men surrounding a timeless, stick-thin, white-haired-and-bearded guru, dressed in black robes. His eyes told stories from ancient times and his body seemed to float across the floor. Soon he was showing us impossible rajah yoga postures, all performed with a beneficent smile and an unwavering dignity.
Our own Bhagwan told us that he served this great old guru as a disciple and a general errand-runner. Jonathan and I were enthralled by the stories and by the atmosphere surrounding the old man. The events of the past weeks since our arrival in India had seemed synchronous, beyond coincidence. We felt as though we were being led by a force greater than us along an invisible but undeniable path. Both of us harbored ambitions to be seen as holier-than-the-average-tourist. We hoped that there would be such an honor bestowed upon us, at the will and insightful knowing of a great sage, somewhere along the way. I imagined that one day the guru’s guru would look deep into my eyes and recognize a brother-spirit; that he would utter the words that I had been expecting, “I have been waiting for you, now I will teach you the deeper knowledge that you will need on your path.”
One day when we came upon the older guru’s temple he was offering chapatis to a school of fish which apparently would visit him at feeding time. On another occasion, this amazing, charismatic man was feeding a group of wild red monkeys who surrounded him, waiting patiently for their food. These were the same unruly monkeys that we had previously seen unashamedly stealing bags from passers-by and causing all kinds of clatter and confusion near the bazaar and around the temple of Hanuman the monkey god.
At night we would go to the sage’s temple and sit amongst an alert and attentive group of disciples who crowded into the small room to sit around a central fire and to partake in ‘darshan,’ a process which can only be understood in Western terms as an osmotic transferring of energy from a greater source to a lesser vessel. In this case the disciples were able to benefit from the presence of a great spirit in their midst in the form of their teacher. This old man would sit majestically, straight-backed and poised, on a deerskin. In the firelight the swami exuded an other-worldliness, an unfathomable wisdom that drew all around into his web of enlightenment. The guru mostly remained motionless. However, on occasion, he would hang on to a chain suspended from the ceiling and swing to a distant corner of his temple; perhaps to impart a secret word of advice to one of his disciples; or perhaps to share with them some bread, the same communion that had earlier been accepted by the fish and the monkeys.
He would tell stories from the great Hindu epics. These stories were graciously translated by the indomitable Park-Ranger-wallah, a nightly regular at the one-roomed temple, and the only English-speaking member of the group. The stories rambled and interwove. I suspected that the venerable Park-Ranger would edit and extrapolate, or perhaps make up his own versions to fit the questions we had about the inconsistencies that we perceived with our Westerner Science-is-everything, linear thinking minds. On one occasion the indefatigable Park-Ranger was explaining the inter-relationships between the main characters of the Ramayana, when our own Bhagwan Giri’s eyes glazed over. He began to point back and forth between Jonathan and myself, repeating the names: “Rama, Luxman; Luxman, Rama...” It seemed that he was trying to bestow Indian names upon us. And these, the names of a major god and his courageous brother. This would be it! An indication that we were truly on the disciple’s journey; at last we could cast off our histories and go forward into a life of spiritual discipline, renunciation and, god-help-us, celibacy.
As Bhagwan and the dauntless Park-Ranger attempted to iron out the ‘small print’ in this celestial contract, Jonathan and I sat in our straightest semi-lotus posture, waiting excitedly with a great vulnerability to the life changes that were, in all certainty, upon us. At that very moment from beyond the fire grate, there came a small shadow which spread to loom large upon us, as the Great Guru swung across the room to appear, eyes ablaze, and inches from my own. He glanced around at our little party of four in the corner. Then looking directly into my eyes and pointing a long skinny finger at me, shrieked, “You!!” My heart practically stopped. This WAS it then!
“You!” (his second English word was the same as his first). “You are no sanyassin.” My heart fell deep into a lost canyon. It was NOT to be. I was not on the path after all. A mere imposter. Another Westerner more concerned with the materialism of spirituality. And then the final cut. “You...a gentleman.” He laughed an eerie laugh and swung back to his spot, continuing as if nothing had happened, and yet I had been devastated, cut to the quick, discovered for what I was. In India a ‘gentleman’ would be equated with all that was evil and greedy: the Raj, the stiff upper lipped Englishmen who felt it their duty to show the little wogs the ‘true meaning of class.’ I limped away that night, one of the walking wounded, demoralized.
In the years that have passed since that incident took place, I have come to discover a little more of ‘what I am.’ It is indeed a spiritual path to travel toward the goal of truly being a gentle man. Like all other paths there has been sorrow and joy, comfort and struggle. It’s probably not for me to judge how far along that particular road I may have come, but one way or another, the truth was spoken that night.

Elephants, Camels and Monkeys, Oh My!...

Today we explored Udaipur in Jamil’s tuk-tuk (motorized scooter). During our journey we saw a multitude of incredible sights. We also saw a young elephant,

camels,

and Hanuman monkeys.

We visited Sunset Point Gardens affording us a beautiful view of the Lake Palace, Jag Mandir and the City Palace. From there we went to Mandi Chowk vegetable market..
Next stop was Ahar, the site of over 300 cenotaphs of the maharajas of Mewar. It was here that three large black-faced languor monkeys ran past us being warned off by a pack of dogs who seemed to be protecting the monuments but were probably more interested in defending their territory. We saw a memorial to Pratap Singh and his superhorse Chetak. We visited the Garden of the Maids-of Honor, Sahliyon-Ki-Bari and were taken to the obligatory craft emporium, Royal Arts and Crafts. We have enjoyed the colorful traditional saris, kurta, and salwa kameez worn by many people. We have been sorry to see many of the traditions seeming to disappear as young people especially are increasingly influenced by Western values and this is reflected in their clothing choices also. In order to bring about a little balance, we bought some made-to-measure traditional clothes which were delivered to our room later that night.