Travel Journals XVIII: Same Same But Different
As with any second-language English speaking country, the use of language here is slightly idiosyncratic i have already made mention of some of the unintended comedy and poetry found on menus, signs and printed media but Indian English really becomes it's own entity when spoken. It becomes contagious. Just yesterday while asking for directions i found myself saying "Which side railway station?" common phrases like this sneak into your everyday speech and crossbreed with random Hindi words and British slang (I now need to stop myself from referring to my flashlight as a 'torch".) it only makes sense really that each place would change the language to suit the particularities of its condition. some of these fragments are so endearingly honest and evocative that they have been adopted by the ex pats to the extent that you can now but t shirts with them embroidered across. India truly is the land of opportunists. My personal favorite Indianism is perhaps the most useful in dealing with everyday life in India when things become particularly exasperating or illogical, like so may tourists before me i sigh "Why like this?". "Same Same But Different" is another oft repeated chestnut. it comes into my mind recently because after a brief stop in Delhi (regular readers will appreciate the fact that i didn't succumb to temptation and submit an entry under the title of "Delhi Take-out") I find myself once again looking out over the Ghats along the Ganges river. the difference is i am now much further north in Laxman Jula, which is a small city bordering Rishikesh. Rishikesh purports itself to be the yoga capital of the world and was once home to the notorious Ashram where the Beatles sought enlightenment. like any place that is this transparently appealing to the western mind, you're better off staying somewhere nearby. In Laxman Jula you get the peace and tranquility that Rishikesh promises and cannot quite deliver. The Ganges is a narrower, swifter running river here and is an impossible shade of turquoise the water runs pure and clear from the mountains blissfully unaware of the fate that will befall it downstream where it will become a sluggish cynical silty polluted barely liquid waterway by the time it reaches Varanasi. steep majestic mountains tower majestically over the little resort town cloaked in fairytale forests that are more open than the southern jungles but certainly no less magical and teeming with life. Pheasants roam the underbrush Yesterday on my way up to visit a spectacular waterfall i got the opportunity to watch a sizable troupe of langur peacefully browsing in the canopy , the young monkeys bounding from branch to branch with reckless grace. Monkeys are common enough here but usually it's the burly rhesus macaques in the village who are accustomed to people and try to steal groceries. nothing is quite like seeing an animal in it's own context.
For the most part Laxman Jula is a peaceful quiet place full of Ashrams (Spiritual retreats) coffee shops, and surprisingly un-pushy shopkeepers, but the presence of the ashrams and temples attract Holy men and beggars who dress as holy men. it is impossible to tell the difference between a true Baba and a beggar as they both want money. When all the serenity starts to get to you. all you need to do to feel as though you're back in the heart of India is cross one of the two narrow suspension bridges over the Ganges. these are technically footbridges but this doesn't prevent lunatic motorcyclists from using them and treating everyone else on the bridge as trespassers onto their own personal domain. the spans are nearly always full during the day and as with any crowded space it is populated by panhandlers and small children trying to sell you postcards and "fish chapatis"(little pellets of dough you can throw into the water for the fish to eat). To complete the scene and make it truly Indian there is usually a cow obstructing part of the path as it wanders slowly over the bridge contemplating the postcard perfect scenery
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