I'm finally in India

I Remember when we were in Africa, I wrote that when I was in Zambia I felt like I was finally in Africa…Certainly all we had done on the continent prior to that time had elements of Africa but it was mainly in tourist areas with lots of Europeans doing the same thing we were doing, but Zambia felt like the real deal…So it was in Indore…but first we had to get there. After three hectic days of road angst, we arrived at Allepy where we booked the essence of Kerala., a backwater cruise on a “houseboat.”…they are large 50-75 foot wooden boats, thatch roofed, with bedrooms if you want to do overnighters. The waters are a sleepy, slow paced life on the water place where everything slows down and becomes very leisurely. Our “cruise” was a five hour jaunt on a boat where we were the only passengers which meant that we could totally unwind and just enjoy the scenery. We slowly motored down the channel, in places several hundred yards wide and others less than 100 feet across. Life on the water here seems very out of place in hustle-bustle, noise-filled, people everywhere India….the backwater lagoons are filled with long, narrow boats which look like they were Venetian gondolas who have come here to die which people use to get across the water to go to market, to the mainland, or just to go visit neighbors on the other side… Men, and women too, fish from them or from the banks, children play in the water, women wash clothes and clean the dishes, pots and pans on the steps which lead from the water to their humble abodes There are 1200 of the houseboats which ply up and down the lagoons, but they do so in a very unobtrusive style which doesn’t at all take away from the tranquility of the cruise.. We moored along the bank where a nice lunch was served…all vegetarian, of course, with the exception of the fish that came from the lagoon waters, but very pleasant. Soon another boat pulled up about 50 yards from us that was filled with Indian nationals who waved and shouted back and forth: “Where are you from?” “America,” I replied…lots of oohs and aahs followed. There were two boys who were particularly interested in talking and I managed to pull the boat up to the shore where I could walk down and talk to them…they wanted me to come on board, the dancing was about to begin, but I declined….nobody wants to watch me dance. They had their meal and we pulled away back down the canal. That was the end of the leisurely day because then we had two hours of rush hour, hair raising traffic to get to our airport hotel for an early morning flight to Mumbai or Bombay, depending on who you talk to…it’s officially Mumbai now, but lots of people here still call it Bombay. We only had seven hours of daylight in Mumbai and so we booked a car for a fast tour of the city..it was the only way to see the sights in such a short time with the totally over-the-top, in your face, fast-paced city of 20 million. I can’t form any legitimate opinions or impressions of a place where in a blink of an eye I’m here and then gone, but it was never high on my list of places in which to spend time. In over -crowded India, Mumbai ranks at or near the top of that scale. However, there were some indelible and memorable moments….first of all was the “public washing” site. It is comprised of hundreds of square bathtub sized, concrete tubs where thousands upon thousands of laundry items are “cleaned” and hung to dry…It is laundry on and industrial scale, literally, because hotels, restaurants, and businesses with uniforms farm out their laundry and on a given clothes line there may be 30-40 shirts, dresses, and other items all lined up like they have all been cloned. It’s truly an amazing sight. The whole thing is about 5-10 acres in size and it’s just a mind blowing thing to witness.

Sunday in the park means cricket…the national passion. Huge public parks are venues where organized teams meet to test their skills while school boys in flip-flops and shorts play pick-up games with tennis balls…More formal games are held on the many cricket pitches across the city.

But the highlight for both was the Gandhi house and museum…it was a look at his life from childhood to South Africa to leading the independence movement. It is a solemn place and all visitors seem to feel his presence and be in awe of this little man who brought the entire British imperialistic Raj to an end. It was just incredible to be in his home. At the other end of the human experience was our drive through the slums of Mumbai where “Slumdog Millionaire” was set. I won’t go on about except to say that it breaks your spirit to see such human degradation and the enormity of the situation…It’s not just one area, it several and all are appalling and unsettling to the spirit.

On a practical note, Mumbai has an enormous traffic problem which they have dealt with in a seemingly class-ridden method, but also one that serves all purposes…They have banned the rickshaws from south Mumbai which makes for easier flow of traffic and less noise. There are the usual billion, give or take a million, in north Mumbai and the hum of lawn tractors on steroids and their little beep-beep horns fill the air. I thought this was really a class thing, and it probably is, but the truth is that north Mumbai is where the economically strapped people live and they need the cheap mode of transportation where as wealthier south Mumbai wouldn’t use them anyway. So, it’s one of those class driven directives that has a practical side in addition to being a telling item of Indian society. Then after our day there, it was on to “India.” An early 3:30 wake-up call got us up and off to the airport by 4:30 for our flight from Mumbai to Indore where we would base for a couple of nights to visit some Hindu shrines. Reaching Indore we taxied to the hotel past some of the trashiest parts of India I had witnessed up to this point. We passed dozens of cattle and the assortment of ever-present dogs, but the real surprise were the dozens of feral pigs rooting in the garbage for some morsels to eat. They looked more like wild boars rather than some future breakfast meat and they rooted next to small children doing much the same thing in the garbage. Block after block was the same. Piles of garbage scattered in empty fields and up against buildings with people walking oblivious to the scene because it such a natural, everyday occurrence. Generally speaking areas around the airports are always really poor areas in India…High rent district it certainly isn’t as the noise and inevitable congestion of cars and people definitely are areas to stay away from if it is avoidable. After a short nap due to our early rising, we proceeded to book our driver and car for the day. We have done this several times by now and although it seemed strange at the beginning, we have come to understand that this isn’t just a fat cat tourist thing, it’s what Indians do as well. The drivers know all the ins and outs of an area and the price for an all day driver and car runs about $40. I’ve ragged on Indian driving ad nauseum and won’t continue except to say this driver was the worst of all…Still can’t figure out how we didn’t kill some motorcyclist family because we continually pass whole families on one small motor cycle..several had 6 people on them…mom, dad, little boy in front of dad, two small girls in the sandwiched in between parents and the eldest child riding behind. It’s quite a scene. To paraphrase Yogi Berra, 70% of the Indian population ride motor cycles/scooters and the other 70 % ride rickshaws. Ujjain, was just a short one hour ride where over and over again, I said to myself: “This is it. Somebody’s gonna die.” I don’t really worry about myself, although these cars often don’t have seat belts which attach, it’s really a worry about wiping out an entire family through no fault of their own. The trip was further enlightened by several screeching halts for a calf which wandered into the road and later a full flock of a couple hundred sheep and goats being herded down the road… But no crunching of metal or wailing of agony and grief was to be heard and we safely made it to our destination, the temple to Shiva and one of the seven holy sites in Hinduism. Muslims make their hadj to Mecca, Christians may go make pilgrimage to Jerusalem and Hindus come to Ujjain. Like all holy sites it is a mixture if kitsch and sanctity. Hundreds of hawkers sell all the wares to pilgrims and in Ujjain, that means flower offerings to Shiva, milk to be poured over the shrine, red and yellow powders which were sprinkled over the shrine and then rubbed on their foreheads as well as all sorts of trinkets which may or may not have some significance. No purses or bags can be taken in and cell phones and cameras are verboten and we had to remove our shoes as well…Since we were the only Caucasians in the thousand or so pilgrims, our pasty-white, Washington - never see the sun in the winter - feet stood out as being really out of place with the darkened feet of the Indian pilgrims. The pathway was littered with pigeon poop, dropped flowers, spilt milk, other assorted things I don’t want to think about nor want to know. The pigeons obviously roost on the 400 feet of handrail and left reminders that they too make their own pilgrimage each night. All this and then we had to put on our shoes afterwards. Carol said that her feet would never forgive her for what she put them through. And of course, after we did all this, socks had to be put back on them…Naturally, tonight is a laundry night. The line was long and tortuously slow… It took over two hours of inching along then stopping for several minutes before inching yet further…back and forth through the Disneyland-type serpentine queue. It was curious to me that the class of pilgrim was definitely skewed on the lower end of the economic scale…possibly 20% of the people would be considered middle class and the rest were what Gandhi called, the “real India.” Their darkened faces were weathered from the sun and many obviously had never had dental insurance. Their bodies showed the ravages of time and the toil of a hard life. Clusters of women began softly chanting as they slowly made their way closer and closer to entering the shrine…Of course, since it is India, lots of people jumped the cue by darting from one section of the serpentine into the other and thereby making their wait time considerably shorter, and, of course, since it is India, nobody objected. I was very curious about the make up of the crowd and at lunch afterward, a man of some means was sitting at a near table and smiled generously. So, taking that as an opening, I approached him and asked if he spoke English. He replied with impeccable English and I was in. “Did he mind answering some questions about the shrine’” I could also have added “since I can’t ask my “English speaking driver,” anything that requires more than one word in English.” I told him of my observations on the pilgrims seeming to be from lower economic class and he explained that this was a work day and the people who could come to the shrine on a day like today were the poorer ones and so that didn’t surprise him. If we had come on a weekend or holiday, I would see a more complete range of society. That was interesting and good to know. These are the kind of clarifications that can only come with contact and questions. I probably intrude sometimes, but I gain so much more insight than otherwise just looking and deciding what things are like There was a family of several generations directly in front of us in line and, they fit the 20%. Mom and teenage daughter nicely dressed in colorful saris, hands and feet with henna designs, and the dad looking like a government worker, nicely dressed and with a level of education superior to the norm of the line. The pee-wee of the family was 6 years old and I started playing with him as I would Alex or Max when they were that age…It made the long line more tolerable. He sat on my lap and loved the attention. Our presence was a curious sight to the pilgrims…most smiled pleasantly and seemed pleased that we were there while others met our eye with either indifference or seeming “What the hell are they doing here,” hostility. This is obviously not on the tourist track. As we got closer and closer, the women’s chanting became louder and more joyful. It was obviously the fulfillment of a very important aspect of their spirituality. Eventually, you make your way into the little shrine room which is about the size of a child’s bedroom in a tract house in a modern development and could hold about 40 people all crowding their way to reach the shrine itself from all sides…two hours of waiting to reach this and a couple of minutes at best in the shrine. But the depth of emotion in the pilgrims was very moving. It was a very personal and also communal experience for them and I think it is difficult to be in the midst of it and not be moved and affected by it. So, it was a spiritual experience for me today as well. Although I am not Hindu, I found my own place in their deep devotion to Shiva. It was a fascinating day for me..It really was the first “Indian” day we’ve had…We’ve done touristy things and there have been lots of tourists doing many of those same things…But today this was something special that I got to enjoy seeing and being part of. It seemed unspoiled, like many of the experiences I had when I was here 53 years ago….I don’t often get to experience that same feeling in today’s modern, world traveling mobile society. 

Day two was a continuation of this feeling. We visited Maheshwar, a holy site similar to Varanasi, but on a smaller scale. The ghats (steps) are filled with people bathing and washing clothes on the river Narmada instead of the Ganges. It wasn’t festival time, so it was not overly crowded, but still the sense of spirituality was evident. The Rehwa society is a local weaving cooperative where the money earned through the sales of shawls, scarves, and saris support local schools and underprivileged, but talented local students…Naturally, Carol was in heaven to be surrounded by 20 or so looms, and we dropped a few bucks there, which is no surprise. . These two days took me back to my youth and experiences. Life is good. Headline of the day: ” Elderly man found dead from heart attack in express train bathroom” No, it wasn’t me 