So there we were at the ghat. I can't remember this in very much detail or in the correct order but the never to be a priest ex Brahmin monk took me though a ritual involving asking me to think about certain things, in particular family. He would ask questions and I would supply the answers and I would then have to have water from the lake poured over my hands and then I had to gently throw things into the lake. These things were the somethings that the dispatched person had got. I am sure there was some grain (rice?), sugar, milk, flowers, thread, coloured powders(?) and maybe some other things.
During all of the "ceremony" I am sure I was not kneeling or sitting. I couldn't have been standing. I must have been crouched in the Indian style. I was getting thinner. The diet and the exercise was having a beneficial effect. The camel safari had certainly improved fitness and suppleness so almost without thinking I could adopt the squatting pose.
My host was giving me all the patter explaining about all the ghats and how much they cost to maintain on a daily basis. I was trying to take it all in but to cap everything when I threw the grains into the lake out of the early morning mist swirling on the surface came this enormous fish. This was very distracting.
It soon began to dawn on me that this was not going to be free. I could see that it was a variation on my audience with a Guru in Delhi.
There was in fact quite a complicated formula for calculating exactly how much the puja cost based on the number of members of my family on behalf of whom I had said a prayer and made an offering. Then, of course, there was all the stuff I had thrown into the lake and the thread tied around my wrist which was my Pushkar passport (allegedly guaranteeing no further hassle to make puja).
The Parvati Chars (from Himanchal Pradesh) was excellent but the intense high was now subsiding and I was coming a little to my senses. I realised that this could be costly. Having spent money in Jaisalmer on items that I still have to this day and that are very dear to me even now, I had hoped that I would be able to spend a relaxing couple of days in Pushkar and get the budget back on track.
Nahin! No. Not a chance of it. I did haggle and I did try to ensure that if what I was giving was to be used for maintenance of the ghats it should at least be donated to someone who worked on the ghats, or was in a position of responsibility regarding them.
It did seem like quite a lot of money then, but even in 1990 terms Rs180 (about £5.50 then) was excellent value for an hour that included some of the most intense and mystical experiences I have ever known. I can't complain because, of course, depending on the exact date and the phases of the moon, I could also have quite accidentally passported myself to heaven without having to be reborn ever again.
Having initiated me at the lakeside and extracted the price I was taken back to the Sai Baba guest house. It was about 9.00am and I had the whole day ahead of me!
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Surreal
And off we went, across the inner garden and out into the narrow street. I think the Sai Baba Guest House might have been tucked away just off the main street. Anyway, within a minute of leaving the doorway of my room, we emerged onto a larger street. Literally at this junction the young ex Brahmin monk stopped and drew up two chairs. He motioned to me to sit down and some chai was rustled up. Someone was dispatched somewhere. I was being congratulated again for arriving on this auspicious day and getting a torrent of facts about the ghats and the lake. The ex Brahmin monk then sparked up the adulterated cigarette.
While I think on, I should mention before I forget that the cigarettes at that time were reassuringly old fashioned like the Premier and Ambassador cars. I was probably smoking Wills' Gold Flake or James Bond's choice, Chesterfield.
It was not only James Bond who endorsed Chesterfield. Here's Bob Hope. Given the circumstances I think it would have been fitting if a Chesterfield had been used to make the smoking of finest quality "Bob Hope" in the street less conspicuous.
It was conspicuous, though. I didn't quite know what to make of this brazen behaviour. We were in a market type street with people passing by in the general early morning bustle and this guy had lit up something that could hardly be mistaken for what it was: not a cigarette at all, despite looking like one, but a joint, and a very strong one at that. The way the smoke came off it and the strong scent of the hashish gave it away. The oil in the resin immediately turned the paper a translucent brown.
The someone who had been dispatched somewhere returned with something which was handed to the ex Brahmin monk who passed me the cigarette. What do you do? I had not checked the etiquette in these circumstances. I had a puff both as surreptitiously and nonchalantly as I could and asked whether this was really OK? Wasn't it against the law? Yes, it was and the penalties for those unable to pay enough by way of a bribe were very severe. There was apparently someone arrested from a neighbouring Guest House languishing somewhere for that reason. This was far from reassuring but there wasn't time to dwell on it. The dispatched person arrived back with something else and was sent away again returning very shortly with something else and we were all set, it seemed.
I had already divested myself of all offending things that are not allowed on the ghats such as a leather belt or any other leather items and (given that I do not have any photographs) I figure I must have left all unnecessary paraphernalia in the room. We went to the lake.
As we came through from the street to one of the entrances the sight is quite something to behold under any circumstances but at 8.30 (maximum) in the morning the better (or worse) for a couple of pretty pungent hits of Parvati Chars (from Himanchal Pradesh and not, I was assured, "drugs") it was positively mystical. I felt like i was having an out of body experience,
I have no pictures but pictures do exist. I would refer any reader to the following site, for instance, which has two pictures accessible which give something of the scene.
http://www.panoramio.com/photo/7003091
If you click the link it will take you to the page. Click the arrows to see the previous or next photos.
That mist on the water was there, perhaps more so, as we went to waters edge. As a gazed around my young former monk host and guide waved around at the 52 Ghats and pointly vaguely in the direction of one where Queen Mary is supposed to have visited the lake. At one of them Shiva is supposed to have appeared in the form of an animal of some kind.
The reason for all the errands that had been run while we sat in the street openly smoking finest quality Chars then became clear. I was to make puja.
For the following information I have relied on a website called naturalnirvana.com which has a page on Pushkar in their Spiritual Guides. This tells us that in the Mahabarata Pushkar is mentioned. the quote given is much longer but part of it is that "Simply taking a bath at Pushkar-tirtha destroys sins of both men and women, including the sin that caused their birth."
The naturalnirvana.com site says "It is believed that to bathe in Pushkar Lake on Kartika Purnim (full moon day in Oct/Nov) gives one salvation. The full benefit of taking bath in Pushkar Lake is said to be available during the last five days of the month of Kartika. Those who take bath at this time are said to be relieved of all sins and promoted to heaven when they leave their bodies."
www.pushkar.4t.com says "The man who bathes in the Shukla Paksha of Karitha month and has the Darshan of varah will not take rebirth on this earth and enjoy the bliss of heaven. The people who have a holy dip at the lake on karitha Purinama, gain the fruit equal to do the Jap and Tap for one hundred years". That's got to be good, whatever it means.
In the Indian national calendar, Kartika is the eight month of the year and begins on October 23 and ends on November 21. I arrived on Sunday 18 November 1990. So perhaps my young ex Brahmin monk host and guide was not having me on about the time of my arrival being auspicious.
The naturalnirvana.com page sets out the story of Pushkar as follows:
"It is said that while Lord Brahma was passing this spot he dropped a lotus flower. From the places where the petals fell, water sprang up and lakes were formed. There is a rectangular lake in Pushkar surrounded by temples. According to the Padma Purana, Brahma, the lord of creation, killed a demon with a lotus flower in this place. The lotus was dropped to kill the demon. Petals fell in three spots, thus forming the three lakes.
Brahma wanted to perform a yajna (sacrifice) on the full moon day in Kartika (Oct/Nov), and he was in search of a suitable place to perform the yajna. The lotus from his hand fell down, rebounded, and fell at three places, from where water sprang. Thus Brahma decided to perform the yajna at Pushkar. The yajna, however, could not be performed without his wife, Savitri, by his side, and she was late. Brahma therefore had to request Indra to arrange a marriage for him so that he could fulfill the religious obligations. The priest manifested a daughter called Gayatri. Because she was an untouchable, she was put into the mouth of a cow and removed from the other end, which totally purified her. Gaya means “cow” and tri means “passed through.” When Savitri arrived, she saw that Brahma had married without her permission, so she cursed him that he would be worshiped only at Pushkar.
Enraged, Savitri went and established a temple on top of Rathkagir, the hill a little south of Pushkar. It is said to be due to Savitri’s curse that Brahma is worshiped almost exclusively at Pushkar."
There are some Indians, many in fact, so many indeed that they may be counted in millions who are fundamental believers in Hindu scriptures. I have already mentioned the Ram Temple/Babri Masjid troubles going on at the time of my visit to India. Rama is believed to have bathed in the lake. The same kind of fervent believers clearly must also believe the purification of Gayatri happened in the way it is written. It does sound to me to be a little unlikely but I wouldn't rule it out as being impossible. It is no less possible that the explanation for the springing into existence of the lake (and two others) being because a lotus flower was thrown to the ground by Brahma. Then again, if you recall the fish pool in Sanliurfa, South Eastern Turkey is believed to have sprung into existence when Abraham was catapulted onto a pile of fire wood, a pyre, which itself turned into fish. Hinduism is not the only religion with stories that take an effort to believe.
[continues]
While I think on, I should mention before I forget that the cigarettes at that time were reassuringly old fashioned like the Premier and Ambassador cars. I was probably smoking Wills' Gold Flake or James Bond's choice, Chesterfield.
It was not only James Bond who endorsed Chesterfield. Here's Bob Hope. Given the circumstances I think it would have been fitting if a Chesterfield had been used to make the smoking of finest quality "Bob Hope" in the street less conspicuous.
It was conspicuous, though. I didn't quite know what to make of this brazen behaviour. We were in a market type street with people passing by in the general early morning bustle and this guy had lit up something that could hardly be mistaken for what it was: not a cigarette at all, despite looking like one, but a joint, and a very strong one at that. The way the smoke came off it and the strong scent of the hashish gave it away. The oil in the resin immediately turned the paper a translucent brown.
The someone who had been dispatched somewhere returned with something which was handed to the ex Brahmin monk who passed me the cigarette. What do you do? I had not checked the etiquette in these circumstances. I had a puff both as surreptitiously and nonchalantly as I could and asked whether this was really OK? Wasn't it against the law? Yes, it was and the penalties for those unable to pay enough by way of a bribe were very severe. There was apparently someone arrested from a neighbouring Guest House languishing somewhere for that reason. This was far from reassuring but there wasn't time to dwell on it. The dispatched person arrived back with something else and was sent away again returning very shortly with something else and we were all set, it seemed.
I had already divested myself of all offending things that are not allowed on the ghats such as a leather belt or any other leather items and (given that I do not have any photographs) I figure I must have left all unnecessary paraphernalia in the room. We went to the lake.
As we came through from the street to one of the entrances the sight is quite something to behold under any circumstances but at 8.30 (maximum) in the morning the better (or worse) for a couple of pretty pungent hits of Parvati Chars (from Himanchal Pradesh and not, I was assured, "drugs") it was positively mystical. I felt like i was having an out of body experience,
I have no pictures but pictures do exist. I would refer any reader to the following site, for instance, which has two pictures accessible which give something of the scene.
http://www.panoramio.com/photo/7003091
If you click the link it will take you to the page. Click the arrows to see the previous or next photos.
That mist on the water was there, perhaps more so, as we went to waters edge. As a gazed around my young former monk host and guide waved around at the 52 Ghats and pointly vaguely in the direction of one where Queen Mary is supposed to have visited the lake. At one of them Shiva is supposed to have appeared in the form of an animal of some kind.
The reason for all the errands that had been run while we sat in the street openly smoking finest quality Chars then became clear. I was to make puja.
For the following information I have relied on a website called naturalnirvana.com which has a page on Pushkar in their Spiritual Guides. This tells us that in the Mahabarata Pushkar is mentioned. the quote given is much longer but part of it is that "Simply taking a bath at Pushkar-tirtha destroys sins of both men and women, including the sin that caused their birth."
The naturalnirvana.com site says "It is believed that to bathe in Pushkar Lake on Kartika Purnim (full moon day in Oct/Nov) gives one salvation. The full benefit of taking bath in Pushkar Lake is said to be available during the last five days of the month of Kartika. Those who take bath at this time are said to be relieved of all sins and promoted to heaven when they leave their bodies."
www.pushkar.4t.com says "The man who bathes in the Shukla Paksha of Karitha month and has the Darshan of varah will not take rebirth on this earth and enjoy the bliss of heaven. The people who have a holy dip at the lake on karitha Purinama, gain the fruit equal to do the Jap and Tap for one hundred years". That's got to be good, whatever it means.
In the Indian national calendar, Kartika is the eight month of the year and begins on October 23 and ends on November 21. I arrived on Sunday 18 November 1990. So perhaps my young ex Brahmin monk host and guide was not having me on about the time of my arrival being auspicious.
The naturalnirvana.com page sets out the story of Pushkar as follows:
"It is said that while Lord Brahma was passing this spot he dropped a lotus flower. From the places where the petals fell, water sprang up and lakes were formed. There is a rectangular lake in Pushkar surrounded by temples. According to the Padma Purana, Brahma, the lord of creation, killed a demon with a lotus flower in this place. The lotus was dropped to kill the demon. Petals fell in three spots, thus forming the three lakes.
Brahma wanted to perform a yajna (sacrifice) on the full moon day in Kartika (Oct/Nov), and he was in search of a suitable place to perform the yajna. The lotus from his hand fell down, rebounded, and fell at three places, from where water sprang. Thus Brahma decided to perform the yajna at Pushkar. The yajna, however, could not be performed without his wife, Savitri, by his side, and she was late. Brahma therefore had to request Indra to arrange a marriage for him so that he could fulfill the religious obligations. The priest manifested a daughter called Gayatri. Because she was an untouchable, she was put into the mouth of a cow and removed from the other end, which totally purified her. Gaya means “cow” and tri means “passed through.” When Savitri arrived, she saw that Brahma had married without her permission, so she cursed him that he would be worshiped only at Pushkar.
Enraged, Savitri went and established a temple on top of Rathkagir, the hill a little south of Pushkar. It is said to be due to Savitri’s curse that Brahma is worshiped almost exclusively at Pushkar."
There are some Indians, many in fact, so many indeed that they may be counted in millions who are fundamental believers in Hindu scriptures. I have already mentioned the Ram Temple/Babri Masjid troubles going on at the time of my visit to India. Rama is believed to have bathed in the lake. The same kind of fervent believers clearly must also believe the purification of Gayatri happened in the way it is written. It does sound to me to be a little unlikely but I wouldn't rule it out as being impossible. It is no less possible that the explanation for the springing into existence of the lake (and two others) being because a lotus flower was thrown to the ground by Brahma. Then again, if you recall the fish pool in Sanliurfa, South Eastern Turkey is believed to have sprung into existence when Abraham was catapulted onto a pile of fire wood, a pyre, which itself turned into fish. Hinduism is not the only religion with stories that take an effort to believe.
[continues]
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Everything is Forbidden
So after ambling around Jodhpur not taking photographs I boarded my next train to Ajmer. This is a place of pilgrimage for Muslims but it was not my destination.
My destination was not where I came to the next morning. I woke up after a very good night's sleep on the train. It was not moving. I looked out of the window and could see a lot of railway tracks. Everything was very quiet. It was 6.30am. I walked out into the corridor. There was no-one else in the carriage. I looked out of the window on that side and could see that we were in Ajmer.
My train had arrived while I was sleeping. My carriage had been detached from the rest of the train and had been shunted into a parked position in the middle of a lot of railway tracks. It would be nice to think that the staff knew that I wanted to go to Ajmer and that they didn't want to disturb my slumber and gently detached my carriage, moving it out of the way; before the moving off slowly and quietly to carry on their journey. How very considerate that would have been. Perhaps it often happens that tourists don't wake up in time for their stop. Perhaps they always let them sleep in and wake up in their own time for a joke.
The lucky thing was that the carriage I was in was clearly only going as far as Ajmer. The rest of the train was long gone.
In a film my situation would probably be illustrated by a shot of me looking befuddled and bewidered out of the window. The camera would then pan out horizontally to show me at the window of a lone carriage not attached to a train at either end and then swing up to reveal the carriage in the middle of all these different tracks with the platform some 30 yards away.
This was not really very good. I had to get off the train, I mean carriage, quick. I still had all my stuff so I hadn't been robbed in my sleep, which reassured me. I could have been left to sleep while the thieves made their getaway and the alarm would not have been raised until I woke by which time the trail would have gone cold. It hadn't happened. So that was something.
Trains are much bigger than they look. I mean they stand quite high off the ground. When they pull into a station their doors are aligned with the platforms. It is a short step down to get off. When the platform is 30 yards away from the platform edge is a great deal more difficult to "alight". There is a drop from the doors of several feet. I did manage to drop to the ground and then pick my way across the various lines (keeping an eye out for any trains that might be approaching from any direction). When I got nearer the platform the opposite problem arose. How was I going to clamber up onto it with my backpack, my smaller "day pack', the camera parafernalia and whatever else I was carrying away from Jaisalmer?
I can't quite remember how that problem was overcome. I think one of the station staff caught sight of me and directed me to where I could get up to the platform. I felt a little bit silly but there was nothing that could be done to avoid it.
My destination was Pushkar and I managed to establish that there was transport up there at 7.00am. It was very lucky I hadn't slumbered longer. The transport was a van. I don't recall what it looked like from the outside but I am assuming that it must have been a retro-style van based on an Austin Morris van from the 50's or 60's. from the inside it was difficult to see anything because I was not the only passenger.
The van didn't leave exactly at 7.00am. It wasn't quite overfull enough. It did set off soon after and the short 11km journey followed. I couldn't see where we were going. It was a bumpy old ride. It seemed like quite a bit of it was up hill. We might have climbed over Snake Mountain.
It took about 25 minutes to get to Pushkar and as soon as the van stopped and I got off I was being ushered to a guest house. The Sai Baba Guest House to be precise. This was all arranged for me without my informed consent. I was just swept along by the tout. I really didn't care.
The Guest House looked OK. It fronted a narrow street and my memory is telling me that my room was across a courtyard once you went in. I could be wrong about this. It was a cool sort of place. My room had a kind of porch. The door of the room was set back so it didn't open straight onto the courtyard (if there was a courtyard, I'm still not sure I am remembering this right).
I have had to resort to checking my own facts and am pleased to say that the Sai Baba Guest House does indeed have an inner garden. It is still there. Reviews say that it is "cool and cheap", has a good atmosphere and is presently run by an Indian/French family. They have entertainment for their guests now and there's a rooftop restaurant which I don't remember being there at the time. I don't know whether management was the same when I was there. I suspect not.
The person I met was a young guy who told me he was a son of the owner. He disclosed that he used to be a Brahmin monk but had cut the string and decided against becoming a priest. He led me to my room.
Right outside the room there was a sign. I wish I had taken a photograph of it the moment I saw it. I didn't and then it slipped my mind to document it photographically. The sign was a list of all the things that were not allowed at the shore of the holy lake. I think I might have transcribed the sign into a letter I sent home to my mates, Steve and Debbie but I don't have the letters. I might ask for them. I'll come back to this later.
So what about Pushkar? In the first place I was late. One of the reasons people visit is the Camel Fair held in the month of the Indian calendar that straddles October and November. Never mind, you can't always be in the right place at the right time.
There's more to Pushkar than the Camel Fair. It is one of the holiest places in India. I do recall this from the Lonely Planet Guide and the Insight Guide (wherever they may be now) but I have refreshed my memory. The small town is built on the shores of a lake. The lake is one of three lakes that sprang into existence when Brahma (the Creator) threw down a lotus flower. The name of the area comes from the words "Pushpa" which means flower and "Kar" which means hand. The largest lake that resulted from the water that immediately sprang from the ground is Senior Pushkar.
There are 400 temples in the town which include a rare temple dedicated to Brahma. There is absolutely no escaping the spirituality of the place. Mahatma Gandhi's ashes were scattered over the water from one of the 52 Ghats. It was my intention to see the Lake.
I read the sign outside my room listing all the various things that were not allowed near the lake. The last thing on the list was the injunction "No Drugs". I went into the room, put the backpack down and tuned my radio to listen to the BBC World Service News on the hour at 8.00am. I took out what I didn't need from my Day Pack and made to go for a wander around.
When I opened the door, however, I found the young former Brahmin monk and a friend of his had drawn up some chairs into the recessed doorway. The ex-monk was in the process of preparing a chillum pipe. It was very early in the morning but what can you do? I was invited to sit down and join them. I did feel it necessary to draw the young man's attention to the sign above his head which read "No Drugs". He didn't get it. I pointed to the sign and the chillum, the things could not be reconciled. He said: "Drugs? No Baba! This is not Drugs. This is Parvati Chars from Himanchal Pradesh. This is not Drugs!". So that was alright then.
The young man was a seasoned professional. The pipe was lit up and it came to me. There was no way that I going to be considered any kind of lightweight. I cupped my hands and took a long draught deep into my lungs, held it briefly and exhaled through my nose and took another huge puff. I swear that it was the nearest I will have ever got to resembling one of those Rastafarians you see smoking a chalice on Reggae album covers. I did not cough or splutter.
While I was doing that the young man was congratulating me on my good fortune at having arrived in Pushkar on Brahma's day. He insisted that I would want to make puja at the lakeside and as luck would have it he was the best person I could have met to make sure that my attention was drawn to everything important and that I did not miss anything.
The pipe was finished and the young guy then cadged a cigarette which he carefully emptied of its tobacco. He then rubbed a healthy chunk of hashish into the tobacco and then returned the fortified mixture back into the paper tube packing it gently. The hubris of my demonstration that a chillum at 8.05am was as nothing to me was beginning to come home to me. I was very high indeed. I suggested to the ex-monk that he needn't light up the cocktail cheroot straight away and was glad to learn that he wasn't going to.
No, we were off to the lake! Right away.
[to be continued]
My destination was not where I came to the next morning. I woke up after a very good night's sleep on the train. It was not moving. I looked out of the window and could see a lot of railway tracks. Everything was very quiet. It was 6.30am. I walked out into the corridor. There was no-one else in the carriage. I looked out of the window on that side and could see that we were in Ajmer.
My train had arrived while I was sleeping. My carriage had been detached from the rest of the train and had been shunted into a parked position in the middle of a lot of railway tracks. It would be nice to think that the staff knew that I wanted to go to Ajmer and that they didn't want to disturb my slumber and gently detached my carriage, moving it out of the way; before the moving off slowly and quietly to carry on their journey. How very considerate that would have been. Perhaps it often happens that tourists don't wake up in time for their stop. Perhaps they always let them sleep in and wake up in their own time for a joke.
The lucky thing was that the carriage I was in was clearly only going as far as Ajmer. The rest of the train was long gone.
In a film my situation would probably be illustrated by a shot of me looking befuddled and bewidered out of the window. The camera would then pan out horizontally to show me at the window of a lone carriage not attached to a train at either end and then swing up to reveal the carriage in the middle of all these different tracks with the platform some 30 yards away.
This was not really very good. I had to get off the train, I mean carriage, quick. I still had all my stuff so I hadn't been robbed in my sleep, which reassured me. I could have been left to sleep while the thieves made their getaway and the alarm would not have been raised until I woke by which time the trail would have gone cold. It hadn't happened. So that was something.
Trains are much bigger than they look. I mean they stand quite high off the ground. When they pull into a station their doors are aligned with the platforms. It is a short step down to get off. When the platform is 30 yards away from the platform edge is a great deal more difficult to "alight". There is a drop from the doors of several feet. I did manage to drop to the ground and then pick my way across the various lines (keeping an eye out for any trains that might be approaching from any direction). When I got nearer the platform the opposite problem arose. How was I going to clamber up onto it with my backpack, my smaller "day pack', the camera parafernalia and whatever else I was carrying away from Jaisalmer?
I can't quite remember how that problem was overcome. I think one of the station staff caught sight of me and directed me to where I could get up to the platform. I felt a little bit silly but there was nothing that could be done to avoid it.
My destination was Pushkar and I managed to establish that there was transport up there at 7.00am. It was very lucky I hadn't slumbered longer. The transport was a van. I don't recall what it looked like from the outside but I am assuming that it must have been a retro-style van based on an Austin Morris van from the 50's or 60's. from the inside it was difficult to see anything because I was not the only passenger.
The van didn't leave exactly at 7.00am. It wasn't quite overfull enough. It did set off soon after and the short 11km journey followed. I couldn't see where we were going. It was a bumpy old ride. It seemed like quite a bit of it was up hill. We might have climbed over Snake Mountain.
It took about 25 minutes to get to Pushkar and as soon as the van stopped and I got off I was being ushered to a guest house. The Sai Baba Guest House to be precise. This was all arranged for me without my informed consent. I was just swept along by the tout. I really didn't care.
The Guest House looked OK. It fronted a narrow street and my memory is telling me that my room was across a courtyard once you went in. I could be wrong about this. It was a cool sort of place. My room had a kind of porch. The door of the room was set back so it didn't open straight onto the courtyard (if there was a courtyard, I'm still not sure I am remembering this right).
I have had to resort to checking my own facts and am pleased to say that the Sai Baba Guest House does indeed have an inner garden. It is still there. Reviews say that it is "cool and cheap", has a good atmosphere and is presently run by an Indian/French family. They have entertainment for their guests now and there's a rooftop restaurant which I don't remember being there at the time. I don't know whether management was the same when I was there. I suspect not.
The person I met was a young guy who told me he was a son of the owner. He disclosed that he used to be a Brahmin monk but had cut the string and decided against becoming a priest. He led me to my room.
Right outside the room there was a sign. I wish I had taken a photograph of it the moment I saw it. I didn't and then it slipped my mind to document it photographically. The sign was a list of all the things that were not allowed at the shore of the holy lake. I think I might have transcribed the sign into a letter I sent home to my mates, Steve and Debbie but I don't have the letters. I might ask for them. I'll come back to this later.
So what about Pushkar? In the first place I was late. One of the reasons people visit is the Camel Fair held in the month of the Indian calendar that straddles October and November. Never mind, you can't always be in the right place at the right time.
There's more to Pushkar than the Camel Fair. It is one of the holiest places in India. I do recall this from the Lonely Planet Guide and the Insight Guide (wherever they may be now) but I have refreshed my memory. The small town is built on the shores of a lake. The lake is one of three lakes that sprang into existence when Brahma (the Creator) threw down a lotus flower. The name of the area comes from the words "Pushpa" which means flower and "Kar" which means hand. The largest lake that resulted from the water that immediately sprang from the ground is Senior Pushkar.
There are 400 temples in the town which include a rare temple dedicated to Brahma. There is absolutely no escaping the spirituality of the place. Mahatma Gandhi's ashes were scattered over the water from one of the 52 Ghats. It was my intention to see the Lake.
I read the sign outside my room listing all the various things that were not allowed near the lake. The last thing on the list was the injunction "No Drugs". I went into the room, put the backpack down and tuned my radio to listen to the BBC World Service News on the hour at 8.00am. I took out what I didn't need from my Day Pack and made to go for a wander around.
When I opened the door, however, I found the young former Brahmin monk and a friend of his had drawn up some chairs into the recessed doorway. The ex-monk was in the process of preparing a chillum pipe. It was very early in the morning but what can you do? I was invited to sit down and join them. I did feel it necessary to draw the young man's attention to the sign above his head which read "No Drugs". He didn't get it. I pointed to the sign and the chillum, the things could not be reconciled. He said: "Drugs? No Baba! This is not Drugs. This is Parvati Chars from Himanchal Pradesh. This is not Drugs!". So that was alright then.
The young man was a seasoned professional. The pipe was lit up and it came to me. There was no way that I going to be considered any kind of lightweight. I cupped my hands and took a long draught deep into my lungs, held it briefly and exhaled through my nose and took another huge puff. I swear that it was the nearest I will have ever got to resembling one of those Rastafarians you see smoking a chalice on Reggae album covers. I did not cough or splutter.
While I was doing that the young man was congratulating me on my good fortune at having arrived in Pushkar on Brahma's day. He insisted that I would want to make puja at the lakeside and as luck would have it he was the best person I could have met to make sure that my attention was drawn to everything important and that I did not miss anything.
The pipe was finished and the young guy then cadged a cigarette which he carefully emptied of its tobacco. He then rubbed a healthy chunk of hashish into the tobacco and then returned the fortified mixture back into the paper tube packing it gently. The hubris of my demonstration that a chillum at 8.05am was as nothing to me was beginning to come home to me. I was very high indeed. I suggested to the ex-monk that he needn't light up the cocktail cheroot straight away and was glad to learn that he wasn't going to.
No, we were off to the lake! Right away.
[to be continued]
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Jodhpur
This was a flying visit insofar as anything can be done at anything approaching speed in India.
The journey to Jodphur demonstrates another benefit of the Indrail Pass. Nearly all these journeys were over-nighters. It saves on hotel accommodation and daytime is not wasted traveling. It is a moving hotel room. You check in, it gets dark, you go to bed and when you wake up you are at your next destination. It depends when you set off as to how your compartment is set up when you embark. If the beginning of the journey is during the day the compartment has two wide bench seats facing each other with a small table under the window (which does open). The back rests are the same size as the seats themselves and as night approavches the railway staff come in and unlock them from the wall and pull them up so that what you end up with is bunk beds on either side of the carriage.
This journey began, or was not scheduled to begin before, 9.15pm so the compartment was already set up for bed. I shared the compartment with 3 other British travelers, a girl called Claire, her dad and another man who I think was her dad's friend.
Security on the trains is tight. Not only do you lock your bags to steel wire loops under the seats but also once you go to sleep you can lock the doors so no-one can get in, not even the staff.
No sooner had the train started moving off than the doors were locked and Claire's dad started rolling up and soon the air was think with the pungent aroma of finest black hash. Oh dear! This Indian leg of my trip was becoming a bit of a smoke fest. We chatted and smoked and eventually went to sleep.
I arrived at the Station in Jodphur the following morning. I don't know where Claire and the others were going but they must have stayed on the train because I was alone. Claire was very nice indeed and it seemed a shame that I would never see her again. That's life on the road. What did JJ Cale sing? "A drifter's life is a drifter's wife, don't say I didn't tell you so". Before leaving the station I made a reservation for Ajmer the same evening. I checked my back pack into left luggage and freshened up in the First Class Waiting Room facilities, probably had something to eat too and then headed off to see the very impressive fort.
One of the reasons that I purchased an Insight Guide to Rajasthan while I was there was because, try as I might, there were some pictures that I couldn't take. The Guide had some terrific pictures in it. There was a double page spread of Jaislamer, I seem to remember. It was probably largely because I had the Insight Guide that I seem to have taken only one photograph/slide in Jodphur. It does more than peeve me that both the Insight Guide and Lonely Planet Guide have either been mislaid or lent to someone who has forgotten to give them back.
I am afraid that therefore there are no pictures of the interiors of the fort nor the views of the Brahmin blue houses in the city below from the ramparts. One thing I do remember about Jodhpur Fort was the fact that the entrances were designed in such away as to make it difficult to attack by way of an elephant charge. The monumental main gates, a series of them, are all at 90 degrees to the way up to them. This means that an elephant cannot charge at them because just as you reach the door you have to turn and all the momentum, even if you could get any going up the steep approach, is lost.
Another thing that is lost is the sixth postcard in a series I sent home describing my time in Jaisalmer. My mother had them in an album and I have referred to them to jog my memory. The fifth card says "Yesterday, I took a quick tour around Jodphur Fort - The Majestic Fort (+ now museum). Absolutely amazing. Quite the most monumental gates - a series of them, all on corners of a steep....." and that's it. I think I must have written that card (and the lost one) before leaving my room at my next destination because I am sure there is no way I could possibly have written it after I had left my room.
Until we had the extension built here at home the front door was positioned similarly to the gates to Jodhpur Fort. There was no mention of the possibility of elephant charges in the Estate Agent's particulars and I suspect that the reason the property was designed that way will never be known. The fact remained that as a result of having to turn 90 degrees as soon as you opened the front door you could not bring any furniture in. We had to take out the double glazed windows to get the sofas in. The developer had also "designed" the stairs so that no large items could be taken up them.
The journey to Jodphur demonstrates another benefit of the Indrail Pass. Nearly all these journeys were over-nighters. It saves on hotel accommodation and daytime is not wasted traveling. It is a moving hotel room. You check in, it gets dark, you go to bed and when you wake up you are at your next destination. It depends when you set off as to how your compartment is set up when you embark. If the beginning of the journey is during the day the compartment has two wide bench seats facing each other with a small table under the window (which does open). The back rests are the same size as the seats themselves and as night approavches the railway staff come in and unlock them from the wall and pull them up so that what you end up with is bunk beds on either side of the carriage.
This journey began, or was not scheduled to begin before, 9.15pm so the compartment was already set up for bed. I shared the compartment with 3 other British travelers, a girl called Claire, her dad and another man who I think was her dad's friend.
Security on the trains is tight. Not only do you lock your bags to steel wire loops under the seats but also once you go to sleep you can lock the doors so no-one can get in, not even the staff.
No sooner had the train started moving off than the doors were locked and Claire's dad started rolling up and soon the air was think with the pungent aroma of finest black hash. Oh dear! This Indian leg of my trip was becoming a bit of a smoke fest. We chatted and smoked and eventually went to sleep.
I arrived at the Station in Jodphur the following morning. I don't know where Claire and the others were going but they must have stayed on the train because I was alone. Claire was very nice indeed and it seemed a shame that I would never see her again. That's life on the road. What did JJ Cale sing? "A drifter's life is a drifter's wife, don't say I didn't tell you so". Before leaving the station I made a reservation for Ajmer the same evening. I checked my back pack into left luggage and freshened up in the First Class Waiting Room facilities, probably had something to eat too and then headed off to see the very impressive fort.
One of the reasons that I purchased an Insight Guide to Rajasthan while I was there was because, try as I might, there were some pictures that I couldn't take. The Guide had some terrific pictures in it. There was a double page spread of Jaislamer, I seem to remember. It was probably largely because I had the Insight Guide that I seem to have taken only one photograph/slide in Jodphur. It does more than peeve me that both the Insight Guide and Lonely Planet Guide have either been mislaid or lent to someone who has forgotten to give them back.
I am afraid that therefore there are no pictures of the interiors of the fort nor the views of the Brahmin blue houses in the city below from the ramparts. One thing I do remember about Jodhpur Fort was the fact that the entrances were designed in such away as to make it difficult to attack by way of an elephant charge. The monumental main gates, a series of them, are all at 90 degrees to the way up to them. This means that an elephant cannot charge at them because just as you reach the door you have to turn and all the momentum, even if you could get any going up the steep approach, is lost.
Another thing that is lost is the sixth postcard in a series I sent home describing my time in Jaisalmer. My mother had them in an album and I have referred to them to jog my memory. The fifth card says "Yesterday, I took a quick tour around Jodphur Fort - The Majestic Fort (+ now museum). Absolutely amazing. Quite the most monumental gates - a series of them, all on corners of a steep....." and that's it. I think I must have written that card (and the lost one) before leaving my room at my next destination because I am sure there is no way I could possibly have written it after I had left my room.
Until we had the extension built here at home the front door was positioned similarly to the gates to Jodhpur Fort. There was no mention of the possibility of elephant charges in the Estate Agent's particulars and I suspect that the reason the property was designed that way will never be known. The fact remained that as a result of having to turn 90 degrees as soon as you opened the front door you could not bring any furniture in. We had to take out the double glazed windows to get the sofas in. The developer had also "designed" the stairs so that no large items could be taken up them.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Apple Pie Order
Things become a little confusing in diary over the course of the next few days. One explanation for this could be that I was about to embark on the next leg of the journey and some whistle-stop tourism (whistle-stop seems apt, I would be doing it on the train again); and another explanation could be that I was probably becoming addled. Never mind. It's all coming back to me now, 19 years later.
I was leaving Jaisalmer to travel back across Rajasthan. I was taking my leave of my companions for the last week and striking out alone again. My first task that Friday morning was to return to the Railway station at which I had arrived a week earlier to make my reservation for the 21.15 train to Jodhpur. I can't say enough about how good the Indrail pass was. As I said earlier the First Class rail pass guaranteed me a seat even though I was effectively turning up on spec. As I remember it mere possession of it also excused the holder from queuing. This privilege extended to all women too I think. Very civilised and genteel. Only men queue.
My notes say "Rly Reserv. Stuffed paratha + chai". I must have got my breakfast there. Then the notes give me very little clue as to how I passed the morning. I certainly had to pack and the next note around midday says as much. "Pack" is what the note says. Packing was a little easier after having rid myself of some of the useless kit when I posted that parcel home from Delhi. I was quite organised at packing by this time and had it down to a relatively fine art.
Having packed up everything and settled the hotel bill for the week (not very much given that it was only 4 nights and two of them were at the rate of 5 rupees each), all that was left to do was a spot more wandering around, relaxing and shopping.
The pictures above could have been taken on this day. The last is a view from the ramparts of the fort. There is a rather splendid building in the centre of that view. I'm not sure what it is.
This reminds me to mention that the Lonely Planet Guide warned readers that if they decided to go up to the ramparts they should be careful because it was a place where people went for a dump. They would stand on the ramparts and then squat down with their arses over hanging the inside and gaze into the distance as they evacuated their bowels. I saw no evidence of this but I can and do believe it. As I will mention, I am sure, people were not in the least bit squeamish about public defecation.
Luncheon was taken at the 8th of July and followed by "Apple pie + ice cream". The place was a delight. I bet it is still there. I wonder what it would be like now? Not quite the same, I fear. The owner was a very friendly chap and a devotee of Lord Krishna. For some reason I often remember him saying "Thanks to Krishna!" in the same way that some others would give thanks to God or Allah (in my view the same). He had a very happy smile and seemed very content indeed.
Over chai and probably a bottle of Limca (which, as the advert for it went, I drank because I liked it) we talked about our planned itineraries and thanked each other for the company which had been good. We swapped addresses etc and chatted about our experiences thus far. Grace had a good story about her and Mandy's experience in Jaipur. It was on my itinerary but what happened to her wasn't likely to happen to me.
She said she and Mandy had visited Jaipur before I met them at Jodhpur railway station. In Jaipur they had had a guide of sorts. Grace is pictured below at Hari's "house". She was a pretty young white woman with fair hair and womanly proportions. Two things need making clear here.
First, most people in India when I was there were unlikely to be considered overweight. Nearly everyone was slim and trim. Most people were vegetarian and Hindu. The diet was not very fattening and few people had more money than they needed to cover their essential needs. Basically being slim or thin was the consequence of not being rich. Slim is not particularly sexy. What is attractive is a little more weight, obviously not too much but enough to be curvaceous and voluptuous. It carried connotations of wealth and it was what everyone aspired to.
Second, the general stereotypical Indian view of white women was not particularly flattering. I can honestly say that I don't think I saw any public demonstrations of affection between Indian men and women in all the time I was there. I hadn't had any experience of Indian cinema by that time but I think it is true to say that Indian morality did not allow any suggestion of sex or even any physical contact on screen. That was certainly not the case when it came to western TV and cinema. The impression formed by Indians from what they saw was that western women were generally quite promiscuous.
Of course they are not (well, not all of them) and neither would it be true to believe that Indians were prudes. I didn't go to Khajuraho but the sculptures there suggest a fairly broad minded attitude to sex and India is the land where the Karma Sutra (Aphorisms on Love) was written.
Grace had it all so far as Indian men were concerned. She was clearly wealthy enough not to be thin and if what you see on television or the movies was true there was a chance that she might, in fact it was more likely than not that she would under the right circumstances, or any circumstances in fact.
This guide was a perfect gentleman and clearly very keen to put himself out for Grace and Mandy. Nothing was too much trouble. He couldn't be shaken off. Grace and Mandy said that they certainly would not have seen so much of the Pink City without him. The time came, however, for Grace and Mandy to leave and the man accompanied them to the station and waved them off.
The Indian trains were so very comfortable because they were not particularly fast. They proceed across the landscape at a very unhurried pace. They also stop at stations quite frequently and stay at the stations long enough for hawkers to board the train and run up and down with trays held at shoulder height shouting things like "Pakora, Pakora, Paklora!" and "Biriani, Biriani and Biriani". People appear outside the window proffering items that travelers might need. Things are loaded and unloaded, probably the other way around. The galley is restocked. You have time to get off and buy a drink on the platform. You might be in a station for 10 or 15 minutes.
At the first stop after leaving Jaipur, about 40 minutes after setting off, this was the case for Grace and Mandy. Suddenly there was a little commotion and their guide from Jaipur pushed his way to the side of the train and proffered an envelope to Grace.
It was a declaration of love. A letter explaining how he had never met anyone like Grace in all his life and he had realised that he was in love with her and could not let her leave with declaring it to her but at the last minute in Jaipur his courage had failed him. Then he had immediately regretted not having done so, sat down and wrote this letter before jumping onto his two wheeler - an Indian version of a Vespa scooter - and headed across country to catch up with the train and try to deliver this letter.
The letter finished poignantly: "These are just my feelings, if you don't like, don't mind!" It wasn't W B Yeats' "Cloths of Heaven" but there was something poetic about it.
After our time in the 8th of July I wandered down the street to the Tailors' shop to collect some shirts I had asked to be made up. They hadn't been ready the day before. On the short walk I was approached by a man who I supposed was in his late forties although he looked and could actually have been older. The man struck up a very peculiar conversation with me. He was very polite and asked if he could ask me a question. I acquiesced and his question was: "What is the principal crop in your country?".
I had just spent an hour or so packing and while doing so had given in to the temptation to have a tiny little smoke in the process (why not? what harm could it do?) so I was a little spaced out; I had just had incongruous apple pie and ice cream in a magical fortress city in the Thar desert and I am suddenly put on the spot as to precisely what the principal crop was in my country. What's your answer? He had me stumped. What is the national crop? I said I didn't really know. We passed a few moments discussing some possibilities but for the life of me I couldn't be certain. I'd never thought about it. I wonder if I didn't come over as rather ignorant of my own country? After a few exchanges I had to thank the man for the interesting chat and move on. I couldn't really keep it up. What kind of an opening conversational gambit is "What is the principal crop of your country?". The man was very grateful to me for the few moments conversation and bade me well. I don't think that he really wanted to know the answer to his question.
After collecting my shirts, Grace and I entered an Aladdin's cave of a shop carved into the walls of the fort (or so it seems in my memory now) where some of India's finest sales techniques were gently applied. We bought stuff. It is really hard not to. The things on show are so lovely and it seems wrong to leave without them. We did want to buy something but clearly couldn't give away any signs of enthusiasm. Grace and I tried our best not to seem too interested in anything in particular but afterwards, as what we had actually did buy was wrapped up, the shopkeeper told us that he had decided precisely how much we were going to spend as soon as he had set eyes on us and that we had not disappointed him. The main thing I got was the elephant I mentioned. Grace had her eyes on it too but I think its size and weight may have put her off. I didn't care about the size or weight. I just had to have it. It is still a wonderfully tactile thing 19 years later and well worth the equivalent of a couple of months rooftop accommodation at the Pushkar Palace.
The Lonely Planet Guide (still lost) recommended the Government Emporium as a place to shop too and we called in there afterwards. I bought a rough woollen camel blanket such as might have been made in the village we had visited in the desert. The photographs of the elephant above include the blanket. My filo-fax notes say "Shirts pick up. Govt. Emp. pack" I had packed already but I had to pack again having acquired more stuff.
Then it was a last dinner with my friends at Monica's. I had the "Desert Thali". It was good but not a patch on the real thing cooked on a fire in the desert!
I boarded the train sometime shortly before 9.15pm. I don't remember if the train departed on time but it certainly did not leave before that time.
I was leaving Jaisalmer to travel back across Rajasthan. I was taking my leave of my companions for the last week and striking out alone again. My first task that Friday morning was to return to the Railway station at which I had arrived a week earlier to make my reservation for the 21.15 train to Jodhpur. I can't say enough about how good the Indrail pass was. As I said earlier the First Class rail pass guaranteed me a seat even though I was effectively turning up on spec. As I remember it mere possession of it also excused the holder from queuing. This privilege extended to all women too I think. Very civilised and genteel. Only men queue.
My notes say "Rly Reserv. Stuffed paratha + chai". I must have got my breakfast there. Then the notes give me very little clue as to how I passed the morning. I certainly had to pack and the next note around midday says as much. "Pack" is what the note says. Packing was a little easier after having rid myself of some of the useless kit when I posted that parcel home from Delhi. I was quite organised at packing by this time and had it down to a relatively fine art.
Having packed up everything and settled the hotel bill for the week (not very much given that it was only 4 nights and two of them were at the rate of 5 rupees each), all that was left to do was a spot more wandering around, relaxing and shopping.
The pictures above could have been taken on this day. The last is a view from the ramparts of the fort. There is a rather splendid building in the centre of that view. I'm not sure what it is.
This reminds me to mention that the Lonely Planet Guide warned readers that if they decided to go up to the ramparts they should be careful because it was a place where people went for a dump. They would stand on the ramparts and then squat down with their arses over hanging the inside and gaze into the distance as they evacuated their bowels. I saw no evidence of this but I can and do believe it. As I will mention, I am sure, people were not in the least bit squeamish about public defecation.
Luncheon was taken at the 8th of July and followed by "Apple pie + ice cream". The place was a delight. I bet it is still there. I wonder what it would be like now? Not quite the same, I fear. The owner was a very friendly chap and a devotee of Lord Krishna. For some reason I often remember him saying "Thanks to Krishna!" in the same way that some others would give thanks to God or Allah (in my view the same). He had a very happy smile and seemed very content indeed.
Over chai and probably a bottle of Limca (which, as the advert for it went, I drank because I liked it) we talked about our planned itineraries and thanked each other for the company which had been good. We swapped addresses etc and chatted about our experiences thus far. Grace had a good story about her and Mandy's experience in Jaipur. It was on my itinerary but what happened to her wasn't likely to happen to me.
She said she and Mandy had visited Jaipur before I met them at Jodhpur railway station. In Jaipur they had had a guide of sorts. Grace is pictured below at Hari's "house". She was a pretty young white woman with fair hair and womanly proportions. Two things need making clear here.
First, most people in India when I was there were unlikely to be considered overweight. Nearly everyone was slim and trim. Most people were vegetarian and Hindu. The diet was not very fattening and few people had more money than they needed to cover their essential needs. Basically being slim or thin was the consequence of not being rich. Slim is not particularly sexy. What is attractive is a little more weight, obviously not too much but enough to be curvaceous and voluptuous. It carried connotations of wealth and it was what everyone aspired to.
Second, the general stereotypical Indian view of white women was not particularly flattering. I can honestly say that I don't think I saw any public demonstrations of affection between Indian men and women in all the time I was there. I hadn't had any experience of Indian cinema by that time but I think it is true to say that Indian morality did not allow any suggestion of sex or even any physical contact on screen. That was certainly not the case when it came to western TV and cinema. The impression formed by Indians from what they saw was that western women were generally quite promiscuous.
Of course they are not (well, not all of them) and neither would it be true to believe that Indians were prudes. I didn't go to Khajuraho but the sculptures there suggest a fairly broad minded attitude to sex and India is the land where the Karma Sutra (Aphorisms on Love) was written.
Grace had it all so far as Indian men were concerned. She was clearly wealthy enough not to be thin and if what you see on television or the movies was true there was a chance that she might, in fact it was more likely than not that she would under the right circumstances, or any circumstances in fact.
This guide was a perfect gentleman and clearly very keen to put himself out for Grace and Mandy. Nothing was too much trouble. He couldn't be shaken off. Grace and Mandy said that they certainly would not have seen so much of the Pink City without him. The time came, however, for Grace and Mandy to leave and the man accompanied them to the station and waved them off.
The Indian trains were so very comfortable because they were not particularly fast. They proceed across the landscape at a very unhurried pace. They also stop at stations quite frequently and stay at the stations long enough for hawkers to board the train and run up and down with trays held at shoulder height shouting things like "Pakora, Pakora, Paklora!" and "Biriani, Biriani and Biriani". People appear outside the window proffering items that travelers might need. Things are loaded and unloaded, probably the other way around. The galley is restocked. You have time to get off and buy a drink on the platform. You might be in a station for 10 or 15 minutes.
At the first stop after leaving Jaipur, about 40 minutes after setting off, this was the case for Grace and Mandy. Suddenly there was a little commotion and their guide from Jaipur pushed his way to the side of the train and proffered an envelope to Grace.
It was a declaration of love. A letter explaining how he had never met anyone like Grace in all his life and he had realised that he was in love with her and could not let her leave with declaring it to her but at the last minute in Jaipur his courage had failed him. Then he had immediately regretted not having done so, sat down and wrote this letter before jumping onto his two wheeler - an Indian version of a Vespa scooter - and headed across country to catch up with the train and try to deliver this letter.
The letter finished poignantly: "These are just my feelings, if you don't like, don't mind!" It wasn't W B Yeats' "Cloths of Heaven" but there was something poetic about it.
After our time in the 8th of July I wandered down the street to the Tailors' shop to collect some shirts I had asked to be made up. They hadn't been ready the day before. On the short walk I was approached by a man who I supposed was in his late forties although he looked and could actually have been older. The man struck up a very peculiar conversation with me. He was very polite and asked if he could ask me a question. I acquiesced and his question was: "What is the principal crop in your country?".
I had just spent an hour or so packing and while doing so had given in to the temptation to have a tiny little smoke in the process (why not? what harm could it do?) so I was a little spaced out; I had just had incongruous apple pie and ice cream in a magical fortress city in the Thar desert and I am suddenly put on the spot as to precisely what the principal crop was in my country. What's your answer? He had me stumped. What is the national crop? I said I didn't really know. We passed a few moments discussing some possibilities but for the life of me I couldn't be certain. I'd never thought about it. I wonder if I didn't come over as rather ignorant of my own country? After a few exchanges I had to thank the man for the interesting chat and move on. I couldn't really keep it up. What kind of an opening conversational gambit is "What is the principal crop of your country?". The man was very grateful to me for the few moments conversation and bade me well. I don't think that he really wanted to know the answer to his question.
After collecting my shirts, Grace and I entered an Aladdin's cave of a shop carved into the walls of the fort (or so it seems in my memory now) where some of India's finest sales techniques were gently applied. We bought stuff. It is really hard not to. The things on show are so lovely and it seems wrong to leave without them. We did want to buy something but clearly couldn't give away any signs of enthusiasm. Grace and I tried our best not to seem too interested in anything in particular but afterwards, as what we had actually did buy was wrapped up, the shopkeeper told us that he had decided precisely how much we were going to spend as soon as he had set eyes on us and that we had not disappointed him. The main thing I got was the elephant I mentioned. Grace had her eyes on it too but I think its size and weight may have put her off. I didn't care about the size or weight. I just had to have it. It is still a wonderfully tactile thing 19 years later and well worth the equivalent of a couple of months rooftop accommodation at the Pushkar Palace.
The Lonely Planet Guide (still lost) recommended the Government Emporium as a place to shop too and we called in there afterwards. I bought a rough woollen camel blanket such as might have been made in the village we had visited in the desert. The photographs of the elephant above include the blanket. My filo-fax notes say "Shirts pick up. Govt. Emp. pack" I had packed already but I had to pack again having acquired more stuff.
Then it was a last dinner with my friends at Monica's. I had the "Desert Thali". It was good but not a patch on the real thing cooked on a fire in the desert!
I boarded the train sometime shortly before 9.15pm. I don't remember if the train departed on time but it certainly did not leave before that time.
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