Travel Journals XV: Pushkar
I was rather amused the other day to see the band in front of a small procession was carrying a sign that announced to the world that they were a "Brash Band". this is one of those wonderful moments of unintended honesty that you periodically run into in second language English.
It was much less amusing when the same band marched up the street directly in front of my guest house at eight in the morning after one of those nights where a mosquito somehow found its way onto the wrong side of the net. I jumped out of bed to see what was going on. Just outside my doorstep was a rainbow hued parade of Indians in their finest clothing. the band blared away with trumpets and semi automatic drum rolls and in the center of this exotic procession rode a youth who appeared to have stepped straight out of an "Arabian Nights " illustration astride a bejeweled and ornamented horse. One of the High caste men, whose sole function in life is apparently to hang around my guesthouse courtyard, drinking chai and explaining things at length, pointed at the cavalcade and explained: "this is a wedding. That boy is getting married".
to which i could think of no better reply than: " Doesn't anything in this country ever happen quietly?"
The answer is of course, No.
If you ever want to see the India of your fantasies, India the way you always dreamed that she looked, come to Pushkar. It's all here right down to the scalloped archways and gleaming white onion domed temples. the streets are so choked with merchants, cattle, holy men, and beggars that the motorcycles have to travel at a near reasonable speed.
The first morning after Holi, a group of us decided to explore the still purple stained streets and find some breakfast. a troupe of lounging monkeys tempted us near the Ghats (waterside staircases). what was supposed to be an easy photo opportunity wound up with us being blessed by waiting Hindu priests and asked for a donation that was suspiciously close to the amount in our wallets. we were each issued a bindi of red powder and rice and had a red and yellow thread wrapped around our wrist. this is called a "Pushkar Passport" It means that the priests will never bother you again, but for the rest of the town it means: this idiot has just arrived and is easy to get money from. for the rest of the morning we were endlessly deflecting touts, beggars, jewel merchants, henna girls and various other open hands. i wiped off the bindi at the first opportunity.
last night there was a full buffet of western and Indian food at Sai Baba Restaurant. true to sacred site rules, there was no meat, eggs or alcohol. this did exactly nothing to keep the food from being utterly delicious and satisfying. On top of this, the price (150 Rupee) included a show of Gypsy music and dancing. as i watched the beautifully costumed girls whirl around the marble floor and between the fairy tale palace pillars replete with Dal and malai kofta, i couldn't help thinking that this whole experience just cost me three dollars, American. I love this place.
I finally got to visit a real monkey temple here. it was every bit as chaotic and fun as i dared to hope. I didn't get many decent sketches, though because my chosen model would invariably steal some one's packet of sugar and run away. i did however get to witness the most magnificent desert sunset from the peak though. my camera chooses the worst possible moments to die.
Mahesh is the owner of our guesthouse. it was also apparently his childhood home (he was born in the room I'm staying in). he differs from most of the other high caste men here in that he doesn't announce that he's a Bramin within the first three minutes of conversation. i found out this morning that he is a fully trained lawyer who chose to walk away from his practice to run the guest house both he and Om Baba have gone to such great lengths to treat us all like family that after only four days the place really feels like home
-J
It was much less amusing when the same band marched up the street directly in front of my guest house at eight in the morning after one of those nights where a mosquito somehow found its way onto the wrong side of the net. I jumped out of bed to see what was going on. Just outside my doorstep was a rainbow hued parade of Indians in their finest clothing. the band blared away with trumpets and semi automatic drum rolls and in the center of this exotic procession rode a youth who appeared to have stepped straight out of an "Arabian Nights " illustration astride a bejeweled and ornamented horse. One of the High caste men, whose sole function in life is apparently to hang around my guesthouse courtyard, drinking chai and explaining things at length, pointed at the cavalcade and explained: "this is a wedding. That boy is getting married".
to which i could think of no better reply than: " Doesn't anything in this country ever happen quietly?"
The answer is of course, No.
If you ever want to see the India of your fantasies, India the way you always dreamed that she looked, come to Pushkar. It's all here right down to the scalloped archways and gleaming white onion domed temples. the streets are so choked with merchants, cattle, holy men, and beggars that the motorcycles have to travel at a near reasonable speed.
The first morning after Holi, a group of us decided to explore the still purple stained streets and find some breakfast. a troupe of lounging monkeys tempted us near the Ghats (waterside staircases). what was supposed to be an easy photo opportunity wound up with us being blessed by waiting Hindu priests and asked for a donation that was suspiciously close to the amount in our wallets. we were each issued a bindi of red powder and rice and had a red and yellow thread wrapped around our wrist. this is called a "Pushkar Passport" It means that the priests will never bother you again, but for the rest of the town it means: this idiot has just arrived and is easy to get money from. for the rest of the morning we were endlessly deflecting touts, beggars, jewel merchants, henna girls and various other open hands. i wiped off the bindi at the first opportunity.
last night there was a full buffet of western and Indian food at Sai Baba Restaurant. true to sacred site rules, there was no meat, eggs or alcohol. this did exactly nothing to keep the food from being utterly delicious and satisfying. On top of this, the price (150 Rupee) included a show of Gypsy music and dancing. as i watched the beautifully costumed girls whirl around the marble floor and between the fairy tale palace pillars replete with Dal and malai kofta, i couldn't help thinking that this whole experience just cost me three dollars, American. I love this place.
I finally got to visit a real monkey temple here. it was every bit as chaotic and fun as i dared to hope. I didn't get many decent sketches, though because my chosen model would invariably steal some one's packet of sugar and run away. i did however get to witness the most magnificent desert sunset from the peak though. my camera chooses the worst possible moments to die.
Mahesh is the owner of our guesthouse. it was also apparently his childhood home (he was born in the room I'm staying in). he differs from most of the other high caste men here in that he doesn't announce that he's a Bramin within the first three minutes of conversation. i found out this morning that he is a fully trained lawyer who chose to walk away from his practice to run the guest house both he and Om Baba have gone to such great lengths to treat us all like family that after only four days the place really feels like home
-J
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