Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours!)

All You Ever Wanted

I am sitting curled up in my little sleeper bus compartment with Emily. We just argued with the bus wallahs about extra "luggage charges." I am not one to want my luggage stolen, but I lifted half of the luggage myself, and dont buy into that crap.

Chotou showed us a great day. We met him yesterday when we were dragging our huge luggage from the train station. We blew him off for a good ten minutes, but he was persistent and we gave in, eventually letting him drive us to the tourist office. While Emily went inside and called a guest house, Chotou and I talked about tons. His family, how he drove Michelle around for a month in Jaipur (she was a writer for lonely planet), past girlfriends, and it ended with me explaining the holocaust (he spoke breifly about how hitler stole the swatstika, a hindu symbol). We tried to explore that night, but found it next to impossible on our own, and ended up pouring sweat in our hotel room eating pizza (bad) and watching Blood Diamond (good).

This morning Chotou was waiting outside our hotel room. We hired him to show us around all day, and went to a lassi wallah to get the best lassis and samosas in the city. I hate yogurt, but the saffron lassi I had, served in a ceramic, unglazed glass, loaded with sugar and bursting with flavor, was the best beverage I have ever had. Chotou and his driver Ishmael then took us to the Maharaja Gaitor Crematorium, whiched overlooked all of Jaipur.

The huge mosuleums of the Rajputs of the area were astounding, inlaid with carvings from indian mythology and history; the pouring rain had no effect on dampening the mood of this magical place. And the rajput history is interesting as well; apparrently one king, over 7 feet tall and 4 feet broad at the shoulders, was "too big" (wink wink) to have children. Another had 114 children in total from multiple wives, but all died from cholera or malaria, the oldest living to the age of 14.

Next we were taken to a textile factory emporium, where we were seated on comfortable couches and served piping-hot chai. The "owner" started to take bedspreads nad lay them out in front of us. It started at 100 rs, then proceeded a few hundred higher and higher, no pressure to buy of course. All of a sudden, we are looking at multi thousand rupee pure silk, hand sown bedspreads. While the factory emporiums are much cheaper than a street wallah, at some point you're being ripped. Eventually we left, but not before spending a couple thousand rupees on bedspreads; at least we'll sleep like rajput kings (or so we were told).

A few samosas and cups of chai later, we found ourselves in the maharaja's observatory; one raja was very interested in astronomy and had a huge playpark of astronomical toys built for his pleasure. Climbing huge staircases and peering down ino red hemispherical wells made of sandstone, it felt like visiting a 300 year old skatepark. We had no idea what each instrument calculatedm, so we snuck up to a tourgroup to hear the description; we were confumbled upon discovering everyone was french, or at least speaking it.

It was a festival day for some reason; a huge royal parade was going on. Huge painted elephants paraded the street, with their riders elegantly and brightly dressed. Women in beautiful dresses danced in the streets, and indian marching bands paraded in uniform. The two hour affair was the coolest parade I have ever seen. After wandering around the town center for a while, we stumbled upon an indian outdoor concert; one of the most bizaare things I have ever seen, it was amazingly similar to a free outdoor concert back home. Hopping back in the rickshaw, we went and got some beers before dinner.

Now I have to say indian beer is terrible; kingfisher- the main brand- isn't bad, but because of poor water supplies glycerin is added to all the beer batches. However, we found the one stand that sells an indian black stout beer. While probably considered watery and weak in comparison to other stouts, this one tasted like liquid gold.

Anyway, we pull over outside a resturant and are talking to Chotou and Ishmael when a couple of guys our age, slickly dressed, approach our rickshaw. Only a few moments earlier, Chotou had tought me some hindi slang, and these unwelcome guests received my first hindi presumptions about their mothers and sisters. More shocked that I spoke hindi than being insulted, we stared talking (mostly because they wanted to hit on emily). These guys were well educated, and we spoke english, hindi, spanish, and italian for about an hour.

We grabbed some excellent dhaba dinner, wolfing down orders of egg cury, mattar paneer, and chappati, along with plenty of sliced raw onions and tomatoes, with a few green peppers. Chotou and Ishmael drove us to the bus, and we said goodbye to our awesome helpful rickshaw wallahs, promising to call them if we are ever in Jaipur again; we still haven't met their families.

Kids with Guns

Right now I am sitting perched atop the Yogi guest house in the old city of Jodhpur, a dense maze of blue painted cubic buildings amongst the rise of mosque and jain temple spires and telephone towers. It must be nearing one am, and the stars overhead are illuminating the monstrous Mehangarh Fort on the rock outcropping only a few hundred feet to my right. Sipping on a fanta and watching the streets below (my only comrades in vigilant duty of wakefulness are the white, brown, and black steer wandering the allies; I don't think they sleep). I am coming to realize my time here in india is about to come to an end.

Walking home from an indian dinner, which was delicious and one day I will regret taking daily food for granted, I realized all around me had become a normality. Passing men sleeping in the street, having teens calling out to you, and not noticing the "filth" or buzzing street traffic was suddenly shocking. It was then I noticed that in the roundabout of a four way intersection there was a traffic light. It was not hanging from wires, but rather perched atop an ancient town-square gazebo. Also another not on functionality, only foreigners use raincoats. Today Emily and I explored the huge fort-castle overlooking the town. It was pouring rain and so we spent an hour under a gated archway, and when it rains, it really rains, no sissy sprinkle crap. Eventually we decided to see the fort-we didnt have all day- and got soaked through our raincoats in seconds. It was then I noticed all indians didnt even bother; stopping the rain was futile, and enjoying it a must. It was at this point we joined in the carefree attitude. Goofing off is fun in india; em rode rode a barricade cannon and i took back massages under falling gutter watter. All this accumulated in me seeing if our rickshaw driver was ticklish, and he didnt understand english in the slightest.
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Awkward moments having past, I have pressed my luck enough and wont be touching anyone else. Tomorrow-another visit to the famous Omelette guy of Jodhpur, and we are waking to see the sunrise over the blue city. Aujo!

Everyone's a VIP to Someone

I've been packing all day, and am somehow leaving india with way more stuff than I arrived with. Em and I are going traveling in a few days, and we are going to be hauling huge rolling suitcases through little allies and lifting them onto the tops of buses; the square shape of those suitcases is an inconvenience for once. Em and I just spent the weekend together in Mumbai (Nadeem was busy wrapping up his Imam report, at last count over a hundred pages), and we're at the brother and sister stage- we both bug each other for fun.

We haven't known how to thank Assef, Doussef, Neelu, and Yakub for all their hospitality. Night after night they have fed and entertained us, housed us, and cared about us. We couldn't have asked for a better home away from home, and I will miss them (especially Yakub, who has been a grandfather or uncle figure to me) all dearly. Eating with forks and knives instead of fingers and chappati will be a poor replacement; like wise I no longer know how to eat over a table, but rather on the floor. And Ishal; what an amazing 15 month old. She had changed so much over the course of the three weeks I was traveling, becoming more energetic, balanced, and playful. I will miss having a toddler around; it reminded me of how far we have all come and how to laugh at the little things. In an attempt to thank them, we are making a fish shaped pinata for ishal to break; there is nothing to truly give nadeem's family, so hopefully this memory will do.

Mumbai was....hectic. Its a huge city on a peninsula, but with little sites and few sit-down resturants. Emily and I spent it walking around and sitting on the rocks by the crashing arabian sea. We visited the tomb of a muslim-afgani mystic, which was in a mosuleum set out on the rocks of the sea, only reachable at low tide. The walk there and back was full of beggars - children, women, and the horribly crippled. Its heart wrenching to have poor children following you the whole walk, begging for change; the low school fees in india are still too much for many lower class families.

The white-washed tomb with multiple piercing spires and domes was less impressive up close, but the fresh sea breeze and view of cargo ships and the coast made it a relaxing place to spend some time away from the rotterdam-esque bazzars and backstreets of Mumbai. There was a blind man standing perched near the mosuleum, wailing some beautiful arabic or hindi tune. His whole body shook and trembled as he held his arms across his chest, his eyelids fluttering over their hollow sockets. This devout blind man was given a gift, even when another was taken from him. His singing image pierced my soul, and the meloncholy, never-ending vocalizations made me think of the sad and beautiful realities of being blind, much less being blind in India.

Cherish every gift you get; not everyone gets a seeing-eye dog.

Midnight Voyage

We've been watching the television all night at Assef's and Neelu's house; this is the first time since I've been here the house television has been on, and this time there are no cricket finals. At 6:45 pm today, bomb blasts started going off in the city. All throughout dinner, we stayed glued to the TV and watched the counts rise. As ofright now (9 pm), there have been a reported 17 blasts and 18 deaths; the political parties are pointing fingers at each other, and various ministers are asking not to point fingers, hoping to quell the possibility of any retalitary attacks.

Less than a week ago, there were 7 or 8 blasts in Bangalore, and two people died. Rithi and her family are just fine; it is still yet to be determined if these attacks are related. We were going to leave for Mumbai tonight, having one more weekend in the city. Needless to say, we aren't leaving.

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I have spend the last few days inside. Doing crosswords, watching the news, sleeping. Im going nuts. Again. We are going to leave for Mumbai tomorrow night, and when we get back, we will be going to Jodhpur and Jaipur a few days after.

There were a total of 17 bomb explosions and 49 deaths; two bombs were planted outside of hospitals to cause even more terror. There seems to be little motive for these blasts; what has been stated refers to the history of tension between hindus and muslims, especially with the 2002 riots in Ahmedabad not that faded into history.

Anyone Else But You

Well, I'm back on the train; 14 hours from Delhi to Veranasi, 4 hours in town, and now 26 hours sitting right where I am. Funny thing - I have not seen or met any Korean people in India until yesterday; the last train ride and this tgrain ride I am in a car surrounded by them. And on the way here, I asked if they had a travel book (I lost mine, if you aren't keeping up), and they did - in Korean.

Veranasi is one huge head trip. It is said Shiva gave puja here (prayed) for twenty years, and so it is a very holy place. The river ganges especially, because it is the source of life and subsistence on the dry, incredbidly flat indian plateau. It is said if you are burned along the banks, you will escape reincarnation and go straight to heaven.

Knowing I would only have a few short hours in town, I stashed my bag in the cloak room and hired a rickshaw wallah who spoke english to show me around. We went first to the Ghats, and to get there one must weave through narrow city streets where women are washing clothing and dishes, men are sitting and spitting paan, you can buy anything one needs for urban life from a 100 different vendors, and cows and water buffalo roam the streats munching on garbage.

The ghats themselves are simply steps leading to the bank of the river, many atimes with a temple or shrine roadside. To truly see the ghats, you need to rent a boat with a guide and some rowers. First leaving shore, you send little floats crafted of leaves afloat, armed with flower petals and butter candles, serving to bless your family upon mother Ganga. As you row upstream, you see women and men washing and little boys diving and swimming, enjoying the water. Among all this are tops of buildings and temple spires; its monsoon season and the lower banks are flooded over 50 feet.

And then it starts to smell wierd, something I can't describe. Giant flames leap from stacks of wood; it was a burning ghat. From 100 feet ashore you can see everything, including the ceremonial positioning of the body on the pyre. After cremation, the ashes are put in a pot and dumped in the river; charred bits of wood and flower petaals had been floating downstream the full boat ride. Not everyone is burned on wood; it is very expensive because after hundreds of years of traditon Veranasi has run out of wood and forest, and so has firewood shipped in. Also, holy and pure people are thrown directly in the river, rather than burned. This includes Sadhus, cildren under 10 (dont know the difference between right and wrong yet), animals (same), and lepers, all have a stone tied to them and thrown in the water. Lastly, those who die by cobra bite are put in the river, but are tied to a banana tree so they float. The cobra is a holy animal because it hangs around Shiva's neck. To be a true Sadhu, one must find a cobra stricken body downstream, and say montras over it. If this is done within 21 days of death, the person is supposed to turn to life.

The holiness of this place is overwhelming, but it is not all Veranasi is famous for - also silk. There is a neighborhood where hundreds of silk handlooms run, it takes 20 days around the clock to make one silk sari. So now I'm broke and headed back to Ahmedabad. I guess I will work for IAVN doing research and putting together a future travel guide, and hopefully learn how to cook something. After that, Rajastan, Delhi, and NY!

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8 pm. I'm going crazy, and there are 20 more hours on this train. I shift between shuffling cards and reading Moby Dick. About an hour ago I hung myself out the traincar door cursing like a pirate at the rapidly passing countryside. Pretending I was at the bow of a ship and claiming to bury my treasure on the remote island of Sri Lanka, this kept me entertained for a good half hour. Ya har!

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11am. Being onan indian train is like going to a chinese resterant for dim sum. Thgere are way too many people, all crammed together wanting a seat. And then people walk up and down the isles all day yelling the food products they are pandering. So maybe its more like a ball game, except you have to share your seat with an unwanted friend. And this too shall pass.

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5pm. The train is running about four hours late; this severely upset me. Im so sick of all this bullshit, this hustle and bustle, being asked by blind men or starving children for change. I miss the comforts of home, and the ignorance to the world's problems that comes with the american way of life. I wonder if Ill ever be able to enjoy it the same way. I think of resturants and grocery stores, and all the luxury and unfathomable service they provide. And I think of water fountains, clean streets, and completely paved roads.

I once asked my parents if we could stop mowing our front lawn. We pay someone alot of money to mow it, and waste alot of water keeping it green in the summer. The answer is obviously no; despite the fact that we use the front lawn only as a farther distance for the mailman to walk or the paperboy to throw, the lawn must be kept in perfect condition. Property values, I was told. It would decrease the value of our neighbors houses, and they could bring up a legal objection. I got it, but it just doesn't make sense. Grass can be cut if a neighbor decides to sell their house. What kind of petty bullshit does suburbia engage in? I think suburban america was invented to occupy the middle class with petty problems; to ignore the larger questions that a meaningful existence asks. Well, its not anything a trip to Home Depot or Bed Bath and Beyond can't fix.

I'm sitting in the doorway of the traincar, with my legs fighting the wind. Its really the simple things that make you happy; the sun beating down on me and the endless fields of crops that zoom by seem like the perfect background to ending my three week lone travel. When you feel like crap, soak up the sun and try to be with the ones you love.

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11pm. Now we aren't getting in until 6 am tomorrow, how long have I been on this train? I passed up dinner thinking I would be in Jamalpur soon. I was near an open door getting some fresh air and being pissed at the 14 hours late train when two policemen (armed with M1 rifles - what americans used in WWI) approach and ask me to return to my bunk. I look around, seeing people scattered everywhere, laugh, and plainly say no.

I don't think this went over well. Alot of conversing in hindi later and looking at my ticket, they left me alone. When I did go back to my bunk, I found out the policemen stopped by and moved the stray man out of my bunk. I was kindof bummed that they walked away and didn't return; I had my cell phone out waiting for them, so I could pretend I was busy. I was going to say I was talking to his mother, and she said to leave me alone. I was really hoping that one would be translated right.

What More Can I Say

I'm back in Delhi, specifically at the Red Fort. I hope to make it to the Jama Masjid and then find some non-indian food before I return to Ahmedabad tonight.

I took an all night bus from Manikaran, and talked most of the time to Matan, my seatmate from Israel. We talked mostly of American politics and foreign policy, and he thinks the upcoming elections are rigged for Mcain. Honestly, a black man named Obama can't be president, he said.

His brother is a conspiracy theorist, and beleives 9/11 was planned by the US government to support a war for oil - and all the paperwork and evidence was destroyed in building 7 of the world trade center complex - apparently not very close to the towers, but it fell anyway. He suggested viewing a documentary called Loose Change, which points to alot of inconsistencies surrounding 9/11.

All I know is that while 45oo US soldiers have died in Iraq, over a million Iraqi civilians have also perished, and the US government tends not to care or acknowledge this. We are selfish assholes, and the world should hate us. Oh wait, they do.

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I'm still in Delhi. I was told at the train station yesterday I need only show up an hour before the train comes, and buy my ticket. So I waste the entire day, taking long meals and drinking beer; I also went to the red fort and jama masjid, but it was fast sightseeing since I had been there before.

Well, I slept in a room about the size of a cot, plus a foot to one side to get in. I slept pretty well, I guess skipping a nights sleep will do that. Today I bought my ticket to Varanasi and went to the zoo. The zoo was pretty good - there were beautiful jaguars and cheetahs. So there was no train to Ahmedabad today, so I could not go until tomorrow and get there the day after, or go to Veranasi for a half day and spend about 42 of 48 hours on a train. This will be a good test of my solitary sanity, because I have been dreaming of company or familiarity for a while now.

I talked to a street vendor last night for a long time; Lakush was selling maps, and for some great reason he decided to sit down and talk instead of continuing to pester people. He was a really great guy and like alot of the not-dirt-poor but not well-off people, he lived elsewhere and traveled to tourist locales. I gave him 50 rupees at som point, and we continued talking. When he got up, he said, "No one just gives me money," and in friendship gave me a map a half an hour before he tried to sell me for 400 rupees.

Really, less well off people don't want your sympathy or your money, they just might want someone to talk to.