INDIA

Elephants! Monkeys! Painted people with enough rings in their ears and noses to make them resemble a disheveled jewelry case saying, “namaste,” and “danyabad.” Is the circus in town? No. My wife, Naomi and I are in India, a home to the “haves” and the “have-nots.” This is a massive country with mind-boggling opulence, and heart-wrenching poverty and deprivation. To begin our trip, we had to set our watches four and a half hours ahead, and change our money into Rupees. It was really neat seeing Ben Kingsley on the various Rupee notes. I later found out that it was Gandhi. Oh well, live and learn. Keep cash handy. Tipping is a vital part of traveling in India. Let the good times roll!

After not fully recuperating from the more-than-lengthy plane rides to reach this much fabled land, we awoke and had a wonderful breakfast that included Dragon fruit, Tamarind pods, watermelon, and Assam Tea. The fruits were marvelous, as was the tea. By the way, this caper took place in February. The watermelon was second only to the watermelon that we’d had in Israel. This was all in preparation of our first outing in Delhi.

Our driver, Anooj, and our tour guide showed up right on time to take us on our sightseeing, and spending spree. Yes. Once again we found things that up until that moment, we didn’t know that we desperately needed. Unbeknownst to us, it was also National Polio Day. This marked the tenth anniversary of the general population using a polio vaccine. Our tour guide, Ashook, kept a rolling commentary going as Anooj wended our way through some of the most bizarre and harrowing traffic either of us had ever been in, or seen. There were some things that we didn’t understand at first. Here’s a bit of a list for you to file for later use if you are ever caught in traffic in Delhi, or anywhere else in India. Oxen, water buffalo, goats, and pigs have the right of way. Do not honk your horn at the livestock. “It will upset them,” according to Ashook. People are another story altogether. It’s almost a form of “pedestrian polo.” Tuk-tuks, three-wheeled taxis abound. Their drivers seem to be ex-kamikaze pilots trying to make good. Motor scooters are the predominant factor in this cornucopia of craziness. Bear in mind, that when most people think of a motor scooter, they think in terms of a driver, and, at most, one passenger. We were a bit taken aback when we saw motor scooters with a driver and four, yes four, passengers. The females ride sidesaddle, while holding either groceries, or children in their arms, or on their laps. The bicycle traffic is a whole other story. These brave souls load stuff on their backs, and/or on a wagon behind them, that could easily fill a good-sized storage facility. Some of the bicyclists were transporting “cow patties” stacked up behind them in the shape of a pyramid. Obviously one would not want to hit these intrepid purveyors of manure. Unfazed, Anooj got us through this mass chaos with the grace of a Balanchine dancer. This guy could thread a needle with a bowling ball. At one point, a tuk-tuk driver got into a heated discussion with a traffic cop. During their discourse, the cop ignored the traffic, which merrily went on its mad way. Naomi summed it up when she said, “Safe is just a four letter word in India.” Anooj capped on Naomi when he informed us that the three things one needs for driving in India are good brakes, a good horn, and good luck. This, of course gave the two of us an instant warm and cuddly feeling about our immediate situation.

Unscathed, we arrived at our first “Ooh-aah” destination, the Great Mosque, called Jama Masjid. It is just that. It is a mosque, and it is gargantuan. By the way, when the locals are called to prayer, they must face west toward Mecca. Ain’t that a surprise?! Ah, the virtues of traveling, and learning “funfacts.” On the floor inside the Mosque are “cutouts” resembling prayer rugs pointing the worshippers in the right direction. The sheer immensity of this place of worship was almost like a foreshadowing as used in suspense novels. From the Great Mosque, it was a short drive to the Presidential Palace. We viewed it briefly from outside the gates. It was now time for some more heavy duty “Ooh-aahing.”

As we approached the Tomb of Humayun, built in 1567, we were stricken by its resemblance to the Taj Mahal. It was then that we learned that it heavily influenced the Taj Mahal which was built in 1631. However, the stories behind the two are perfect opposites. The tomb of Humayun was ordered to be built by the emperor Humayun’s wife; whereas the Taj Mahal was ordered to be built by the ruler, Shah Jahan, for his wife. We also learned that in parts of India, toilets are referred to as “Public Conveniences.” Be forewarned that what passes for toilet facilities in India is quite different from what one would normally find at a gas station, or supermarket. There is usually a hole with two places for your feet on both sides, along with a small hose for water in lieu of toilet tissue. GOOD LUCK!! This perhaps explains why nobody uses their left hand for greetings, or eating in India. As a rule, when traveling to various countries, always carry your own toilet tissue, and/or some sort of wipes, as well as hand-cleaner.

After admiring the symmetry, and beauty of Humayun’s Tomb, we were off to see the Tomb of Isa Kahn, which was built in 1547. It was not quite as elaborate as Humayun’s Tomb, but it was wonderful nonetheless. It was there that we learned that Hindus cremate bodies and scatter the ashes, and Muslims entomb the bodies.
Now it was time for our tour guide to “make some points.” We were taken to a multi-level store to look at, and buy if we wanted, carpets, jewelry, and sundry other things of questionable value. The stores, it seems, award the guides with points that translate into cash when they refer customers. We looked. We shopped. We left with some stuff that, as I said before, we didn’t know that we just couldn’t live without until that very moment. “Caveat emptor.” Or, as we say in my neighborhood, “Watch out dummy.”

At this point, we made a bit of a detour. Our friend, Steven King, the guitar virtuoso, is of the Baha’i faith. Thus, we had to see and photograph the Lotus Temple. It’s truly something to behold regardless of your religious affiliation. Not too far from the Lotus Temple we found the slanted 12th Century Victory Tower called Qutub Minar. Following this, we took our leave of Ashook, and Anooj, thanking them with hearty “danyabads,” meaning thank you, and “namaste,” which means hello, and goodbye. Those guys earned their tips.

Dinner!! We had a bit of Punjabi food, in other words, rather spicy. It’s not like some of the Indian dishes that will take the enamel off of your teeth, but it’s got some kick to it. My choice was a lamb-based version of chili á la swami called Bhuna Gozht. Naomi had Tarkari Biryani, a rice and veggie concoction. Both were marvelous. They were served with a type of rolled crackling tortilla, and some pita type bread called naan.

Up at 4:00 A.M. We had to check out and catch the train to Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal, and other fun places, such as our hotel, Taj View, which afforded just that from our room, as well as a chance to catch up on some sleep. Notice “the train to Agra.” There is only one train per day. Either catch it, or spend another day in Delhi. Be aware that the train stations are virtual fortresses for beggars. As horrible as their lot is, if you give money to one, you will be immediately set upon by a virtual horde of them. The train ride was an emotional roller coaster. We met some lovely people, and were served a sumptuous breakfast. However, as we rolled through the countryside, we saw poverty the likes of which neither of us had ever seen before. People were living in thatch huts approximately two feet in height, with the only source of heat, and/or light, a fire made from trash. Due to the absence of running water, the inhabitants, men, women and children alike, simply crawled out of their huts, dropped their pants and urinated and defecated a few feet from their huts. This was all plainly, and painfully visible from our train. I wiped the tears from Naomi’s eyes.

On our way to our hotel from the train station, we saw what appeared to be a number of late 1940s or early 1950s Mercedes Benzes. We were told that these cars are Ambassadors, made by Morris in England. Every one of them was white! After checking in to our hotel, we took some pictures of the Taj Mahal from our room and, after tipping a couple of bellboys, a room two floors above us. Don’t you just love corrupt bellboys!? Now it was officially “nap time.”

After dinner we saw a tabla/sitar duo. They were wonderful. Musicians will appreciate this next part. The sitar was tuned to the key of D. The two tablas were pitched D and A. Thus while the sitar player was improvising on a D7 chord, the tabla player was reinforcing the tonality with tonic and dominant notes, along with some very hip glissandos. The tabla player tuned his drums with a hammer between selections. It was, in the words of Lord Buckley, “immaculately hip.”

Well hey; it’s finally time for one of the two “biggies” for which we’ve been waiting. Yes. The Taj Mahal. After a wonderful, and long-awaited good night’s sleep, we were off to the much-fabled monument to a man’s love for his woman. Our new guide, Sunjay, was wonderful. His knowledge of the history, and intrigues of this most opulent creation in the name of love, devotion, and over-taxing of the populace is astonishing. If I delve into it here, this will become a tome to the Taj, rather than a fun travelogue. Therefore, if you’re really interested in the intrigues, etc. that contributed to this incredible edifice of love, check it out at the various resources currently available. Put quite simply, the grandeur of the Taj is beyond hyperbole. To get an idea of what was involved in its creation, understand that Indian marble, unlike Italian marble, and marble elsewhere in the known world, is non-porous. Thus it retains its white luster without much maintenance, other than the rains that are indeed plentiful. That’s the good news. The bad news is that it could not be chipped and shaped into place. Rather, it had to be cut very carefully by artisans who worked with “bows with wires and water” to achieve the exact shapes required to assemble this massive hunk of “dream edifice.” It took them twenty-two years of round the clock labor to accomplish the finished product. Each of the laborers was subsequently given a pension for life which was to be extended to their families for perpetuity. In other words, it was a tough gig, but it paid handsomely.

While going around the palatial grounds, we saw how the grounds keepers keep the lawns trimmed. This is for real, HONEST. Hooked up to a giant lawnmower were two oxen. They pulled the lawnmower, thus cutting the grass. When we came out of the Taj, the workers were taking a break. The oxen were eating the grass cuttings, which in a short time they would be putting back on the lawns in the form of fresh fertilizer. How do you spell economically/environmentally efficient?

After seeing the Taj, our tour guide decided to get some points by taking us to a local marble factory so that we could see up close how the precious and semi precious stones are put into the marble with the same technique used in the Taj, but on a smaller scale. It was fascinating how they did and continue to do it with two types of scribes. There is virtually no room for error. Ergo, these guys don’t goof. Of course, after all of the demonstrations there was the hustle for us to make purchases of some of their handmade wares. Being the well-traveled sophisticates from the “Big City” did we fall for the hustle and hype? Of course we did. We left there with some fabulous pieces that, once again, we didn’t know that we desperately needed. We were then taken to a typical restaurant for lunch. This time, the food started to take the enamel off of our teeth. Yes Skippy, bring on the bottles of water NOW!!

To walk off some of the steam built up inside of us from this last culinary caper, we were taken to the Agra Fort and Palace. It’s a massive 14th Century Hindu fort built of red stone. The moat surrounding it used to have alligators in the water to discourage insurgents. At one time, it was used by the son of Shah Jahan, to house his father, Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal, and by doing so, nearly crippled India’s economy, so that he, Shah Jahan, could no longer bring the country to bankruptcy by building another Taj Mahal in black marble for himself. Thus, Shah Jahan was put under house arrest in this incredible palace, complete with his harem, and other nice amenities. The kid made sure that his father had a great view of the Taj. Now that’s class. It was here that we learned the trinity of the Hindu religion, Brahma (creator), Vishnu (preserver), and Shiva (destroyer). It’s quite similar to other people’s beliefs and ways of life; such as the Catholic Church has their trinity, The Father, The Son and the Holy Ghost. In America, we have Groucho, Harpo, and Chico. It all works out in the end.

After a brief stop for tee shirts, etc. it was time to return to our hotel. We got bogged down in traffic for a while because of a slow moving elephant. After dinner and cocktails, it was show time. The show featured a dancer with bells on his ankles, dancing to a CD played on a boom box. It was a bit of a letdown after the previous night’s duo.

The next day, we were up bright and early for our train ride to Jahnsi, where we were picked up by another driver and tour guide, who took us to the Orccha, pronounced Or-Cha, Palace, which was built in 1610. Besides the scary, irregular stairs, there were hundreds of monkeys all over the place. They basically kept their distance from us, and we did likewise. This multi-tiered palace is incredibly ornate. It’s like something out of the pages of the “Arabian Nights.” I kept a lookout for Douglas Fairbanks, or Errol Flynn to come flying through. On the way there, we encountered an interesting roadblock due to construction. The roadblock consisted of a bunch of rocks piled up and strewn across the street. Hey…It worked. As we proceeded to our hotel, we stopped at another palace that had been converted into a hotel/restaurant. There we had the greatest Tandoori chicken, and Dal, a lentil soup that was delicious. We then checked into our hotel, and took a much-needed rest.

In the morning we found ourselves on the way to Khajuraho to see the Jain and Kama Sutra Temples. The Jain Temples were very well carved and detailed, but rather tame compared to the Kama Sutra Temples that awaited us. Yes. “Biggies number two.” Those folks really took their pleasures seriously. Just about every sort of pleasure of the flesh and libido is carved into the 25 temple walls. What an incredible paean to cultivating the virtues of Eros. The three forms of religious practice are Yentra (written), Mantra (spoken), and Tantra (body). Following regular evening worship, Tantric rites involved indulging in the five ‘m’s (or pancha makara): Madya (alcohol), Mamsa (meat), Matysa (fish), Mudra (symbolic hand gestures), and Maithuna (the sexual act). After about eight seconds of thought, I realized that I am more Tantra oriented than Yentra, or Mantra. What could follow this other than making a beeline back to our hotel for a bit of Tantric practice?

As an interesting sidenote; the temples were built in tiers that were interlocking blocks, assembled like Lego’s and Lincoln Logs. The reasons that the British didn’t dismantle them, and cart them off like so many other treasures that found their way into the British Museum, were because they didn’t know how easy it would have been to pull them apart, and put them back together again, along with the fact that the carvings “offended their sense of propriety.”

Thus it was that we left Khajuraho to board our train back in Jahnsi, which would take us to Goa, the beach capitol of India. At the train station, we noticed some pockets of rats. In India, cats are considered the sign of the devil. Ergo, there are very few cats, lots of dogs, and a pretty good complement of rats. For our first leg of the twenty-two hour ride, we had a private compartment, complete with beds and a sink. As we rode through the countryside, we noticed the dramatic topographical changes. At times we felt as if we were in Arizona, passing by Cochise’s Stronghold, complete with the precariously balanced rock formations, mesas, and cactus. All of this was mixed in with what appeared to be tropical vegetation. It made no sense at all, but there it was. The further south we traveled, the more “Nehru” styled clothing we saw.

We had our cocktails and some goodies to eat that we had picked up along the way, and called it a night. Early the next day, we changed trains in Mumbai (Bombay). This time, it was really Toad’s Wild Ride. Because our train from Jahnsi arrived four hours late, our driver and tour-guide had to really hustle us from one end of town to the other to catch our Goa-bound train. At one point, we were driving on the sidewalk like in an action movie. It was pretty spooky. Thank goodness we made our train with about ten minutes to spare. At this point, I’d like to give credit to the “roadies” who were engaged to handle our luggage as we embarked and disembarked. These guys are utterly amazing. We had two large bags, and two carry-on wheeled bags. At one point, there was only one roadie. Without blinking an eye, he wrapped a cloth around the top of his head, put one, and then the other large bag on top of his head, and carried, not wheeled, both of our carry-ons up two flights of stairs and then back down two flights of stairs on the other side. Another stalwart put one large bag on his head along with a carry-on, and then carried the other carry-on with the other large bag on his shoulder. None of these guys weighed more than 140 pounds.

For our second leg of the trip, we got on board the train, and into a compartment that we shared with two Indian soldiers. We had some nice conversations with them. They even offered us some of their home cooked food that their wives had packed for them. The spices were not spared! When we asked if we could purchase wine, or beer on the train, they told us that possession, or consumption of alcohol on an Indian train was strictly forbidden. If caught with any booze, one would face a stiff fine, as well as some time in jail. We both sighed a big sigh of relief that we had finished off our “contraband” in our private compartment the previous night. Ignorance is not always bliss.

We arrived in Goa at midnight. Needless to say, we slipped into the arms of Morpheus nigh on to immediately. The next day, after a wonderful Indian breakfast, we prowled around the compound at which we were staying. Following lunch, we checked out the local environs outside of the compound. The local merchants in their kiosks are quite similar to their big city brethren insofar as they make it abundantly clear that they want our money, and are willing to “haggle” over price. We learned early on that regardless what the tag, or salesperson says, offer one-fifth of that price and go from there. I enjoy the sport of it. Sometimes after settling on the price that I want, I’ll give them the money that they sought, usually adding, “I just wanted to win!” This never fails to elicit a smile, and an occasional “freebie.” Some of the vendors have so many rings in their ears and noses that they look like 22-karat dartboards. Our first stop was the Benaulin Beach at the Arabian Sea, which was approximately one kilometer from our resort. It was a bit too breezy for water sports, but we knew that we’d return. The fruits were mind-boggling and fresh off of the trees, etc. We bought a six-pound papaya, and some Chicoo (pronounced Chic-oh) fruit, which is the ugliest, least appetizing appearing fruit, but also one of the sweetest and best tasting fruits extant. We saw an incredibly huge Banyan tree. The roots rose to at least fifty feet into the air. The avocadoes are fabulous. Thus we had guacamole with our “Kingfisher” beer. “Kingfisher” is the national beer of India. It’s quite palatable.

We returned to the beach a couple of days later, and snorkeled for a while. The water was too choppy and sandy. Oh well, at least we tried. This also afforded us the opportunity to ride back to our hotel in a tuk-tuk. Yay! When speaking with the natives, both country folks and big city dwellers, don’t be alarmed by the constant bobbing of their heads. For some reason, it’s customary. For the first few days, I thought that perhaps there was a rampant neurological disorder throughout India. It’s just their way of being while speaking. One fellow we encountered, along with the head bobbing, had a terrible stammer that further complicated his Indian accent. It was a bit much to keep from laughing, but we did (at least until we were far enough away from him to assess the situation properly). This guy would be wonderful in movies as he stammers and bobs his way through conversations.

Continuing our shopping, we found a wonderful plastic bottle of Goan Port wine, Pimenta’s. Later on that afternoon, we went “to town,” Margao. Again it was “Toad’s Wild Ride.” The stores are arranged in a bazaar-like fashion. We sampled “jowgly,” which is a brick of sugar that doesn’t look like sugar. We bought some Indian spices to bring home so that we could make some of the foods we had tried. It’s a good thing that we had our driver accompany us to the shops. We needed a buffer. He was cool, and so was everyone else. Upon returning to our hotel, we hit the pool to cool off. At the end of our “dip” we were entertained by a good amateur magician hired by the hotel. He performed one of the tricks, false thumb, I had learned as a child. It brought back many memories for me. By the way, in case you’re thinking of driving yourself in Goa, DON’T. There are no street signs in Goa. Our trusty driver, Eugene, told us that this is because everyone in Goa knows where everything is in Goa. Hey, it makes sense to them, and they live there. We were just visiting.

We were just two days away from our departure date, and we noticed an influx of flies and gnats. When we asked about this, we were told that “fly season” was just starting. It seems to coincide with the ripening of the mangos. So we went out and got some mangos, which, by the way, are the greatest on the planet. The locals weren’t kidding. We noticed the flies and gnats all over the mango trees that had fruit. The mangos are so sweet, that they are dripping nectar. Fly season covers the month of March, which gives way to monsoon season, which stretches from April through October. I guess we went at the right time.

After we packed, as we were checking out, it was time to say danyabad and namaste to our hosts for the last time.