Hindustan

I feel as if there are worlds between these posts, galaxies of time. Delhi seems so far away, let alone the magic of Mongolian plains or Nepali children.

These past weeks (but weeks?, they are only small moments, just such bundles that convention allows me to say day, week or month) have been an exercise in humility and sometimes futility. My initial plan was just to see the Golden Temple in Amritsar.

The temple itself is a beacon of shining light in fog, at dusk, in the sunlight, at dawn. The grounds, the water, everything you can see or touch or wash your feet in, is pure and stark, but also rich, translucent, biblical in its devotion. There are also practical reasons to love the temple- free shuttle service to and from the train station, free (albeit simple) lodging and food. I should say that the Sikhs themselves are also full of this goodness, as their religion imparts on them strict rules for generosity and treatment to others. I haven't seen this in any other group as consistently.




I only stayed there one night, because as soon as I heard that the Dalai Lama was having a week-long teaching that had started two days previous, I hopped on the first bus to Dharmasala in the morning. It was an 8 hour journey, rickety and smelly, the dust of broken peanut shells in the air, mingling with fried stall food at frequent rest breaks. I'm not much for 'it was meant to be' and that type of thing, but my time in Dharmasala and its sister-town MacLeod Ganj was magical. I hopped off the bus, tired, grabbed the first hotel room from the first hotel I could find, plopped down my bag and within 15 minutes of getting off the bus I was on the street. Two local gentleman passed me as I exited the hotel... "Hi", "Hi", I said back. "How are you?", "Great!" "Want to have a beer?" "Sure."



I said yes. The two guys are young shopkeepers who peddle Kashmiri goods, Delhi silver, and themselves to rarely suspecting western women. The friendship was quick, as these types must be, and I spent time everyday with them, their friends and other westerners who flocked. I cooked, they cooked, we danced. It was like Spring Break, though I never had a proper one of those with the bikinis and booze, so this mountain hideaway is my idea of how of those things should feel.



Can't forget to mention (yikes) the reason I headed there- to hear and see the Dalai Lama. I was only successful audially, but I admit to not trying too hard because of the throngs of Tibetans and fake-Buddhist westerners. It isn't really as magical as it seems when you have to listen to a substandard English translation via headphones from an FM signal anyway. I'm still happy I went up there, though. The mountain sunsets are spectacular and I visited the Tibetan Children's Village headquarters. It was beautiful and I almost pledged my adult life to them. The next day, however, I heard scandalous tales of corruption about the very-high up guy I met with.



This is also the place where I received the first serious marriage proposal of my life. There are remnants of suspicion about his desire for a visa or money (though there was no suggestion of either), but I really cherish the feeling it gave me. The guy was a friend/co-worker of the two that invited me out the first night, and I honestly can't remember a time when someone was so fervently and desperately in need of me. Well, there was David in 8th grade, but he only showed me his devotion by pinching my butt. The relationship with the gentleman here was only platonic, and it flattered me all the more because of this.



It was so much fun there, and i even extended my stay, but soon it was time to leave. I took a couple buses and a couple trains, making a 36 hour journey to Jaipur, the capital of the Indian state Rajasthan. On the way I also visited the Golden Temple again- lucky me!




Jaipur, the 'pink city' (really, it is terracotta, orange and dusty if you're feeling bitter), is a mess, but with striking forts and museums, all disintegrating as a result of misuse and general dilapidation. I wanted to come, but i also made it impossible to skip, as it is where I asked my Seattle liaison to mail my package of Love.






Before heading out of the city, I took a sidetrip to the famous temple in Balaji. There were absolutely no tourists there, even though people are exorcised regularly (who doesn't want to see that?). Apparently, I was pretty interesting to the people there. But the star of the show was the dancing and music that magically filled the streets... Also, a cow kicked me that day, on Christmas eve, but I later heard it was a good luck omen...





So, the package... It did not arrive, even though it was overdue. I stayed in Jaipur too long, and decided to sort everything out later on... On Christmas Eve I took a 13 hour bus to Jaisalmer, a dusty desert town in Western Rajasthan, and one of the places tourists hate to miss. The touts and shopkeepers also hate to miss the tourists, so despite the small size of the place (50k), I had more annoyances and hassles than most places.








My hotel was just about ONE DOLLAR a night, which was a way to rope me in with the hope that I would go on a camel safari through the hotel. I almost did, but the package loomed over my ailing heart, and I ended up calling the post office in Jaipur everyday! One of the hotel guys (who followed me around the city like a lost puppy on his motorbike, jealous and nearly enraged when I spoke with anyone of the male sex) offered to help me get the package, so I made a couple dozen phone calls and sent few faxes- to no avail. It was so frustrating that I decided to go back to Jaipur myself and get the thing when the Good News came through. It was a 14 hour bus ride (out of the way), but when I held it in my hands I thanked some kind of spirit and my eyes watered. There is nothing like the movement of sweet fingers and delicate ink across the page in your hands. The envelope was full, mail from 23 people in 4 countries. I have read every word several times. Pen pals are nothing new to me, but these connections at this time, in this way, are simply intangible. My father, for example, is a prolific writer of letters, lengthy and witty, cute and lecturing, and though his emails ands phone calls serve some of the same purposes, seeing his handwriting did something to my solar plexus. I later realized that the package had been tampered with... Someone sent some money and someone else a comic book- both were not there. I am not sure what, if anything, else is missing. I will be able to write back everyone who wrote to me...




All I can say is thank you. I know at least a few of you had mail returned, and I am sorry for that. I still appreciate the generosity and thought very much.

I've got two more nights of long bus rides ahead of me. No big city for the start of the New Year... 16 hours into Gujarat state tonight and then I hope to get on a bus New Years Eve for the island town/island of Diu. I hear there is nothing to do there, and great seafood.

A couple days later I'll take a 24 hour bus to Bombay and maybe see some world-class museums and Bollywood in action.

EDIT: I never made that 3rd consecutive night bus. Since I started this post I was invited home by an Indian man and his family. The saga continues when I am able to find a USB connection! And look, I know it must be sickening how in love I am with all of this. Be warned, it gets worse: a woman and I discuss arranged marriages and I hold her as she cries, a village man proclaims me his daughter, a child bestows upon me the respect of a revered holy person and later cries when I leave. This is sick. This is beautiful. India is beautiful and full of love, and I'm happy.

POSTSCRIPT: I also went to McDonalds today (6 Jan 06)(McVeggie combo).