Things the soul cannot 'un-see'!

Jaipur completes the golden triangle tour. I spend three comfortable nights here. I find a Buddhist hotel (Sunder Palace Guest House) and as I book in I’m soothed by the incense candles burning, dark wood fixtures and extravagantly but tastefully painted surroundings, it proves to be a peaceful retreat from the bustling city and a vast improvement (although in a similar price range) to my previous hovels. You need places like these when backpacking, they allow you to recharge your batteries.....and get clean of course!!

Jaipur is known as the ‘Pink City’ it was the first pre-planned city and it shows. It’s more organised, with wider streets and tidier buildings. The roads are just as congested and as manic as ever though with horns franticly honking in every direction...the horn in India as a whole has lost its meaning, it’s used now as a habit only ....it makes me laugh inside and soon becomes white noise to me again.

I visit the Albert Hall museum which for me is an architectural explosion of delicacy utilising raw material. It was built in 1876 as a concert hall purely to ensure Prince Albert of England (during Queen Victoria’s reign) would visit Jaipur during his tour of the country. In celebration of the Royal arrival the city was also painted pink. The point of it all was of course political and the Maharaj intended this flamboyant gesture to strengthen ties with the Royal connections....impressive hey? I’m not sure what went wrong for me, there was certainly no Royal welcome on my arrival, just the usual stares of complete inconvenience at my very presence...ha ha I’m used to it now, I’ve grown a thick skin.

I throw myself into the city, the main places of interest and wander the streets, bazaars and parks. I really like and enjoy Jaipur. I like that it quashed my presumption of an intense, unlikable, poverty stricken place where you would be constantly hounded and intimidated. I happily wandered wherever I wanted generally undisturbed, I was very pleasantly surprised. 

Amer fort - an impressive Arabian feel building set in the dry mountainous terrain, a city set in walled grounds. It’s Barron and you can’t help your mind wandering to consider how the workforce with so little provision of water, food, tools and machinery ever created such a vast and beautiful empire. 

Hawa Mahal is next up. This building sparks curiosity in me. It’s a five storey facade essentially. The Hawa Mahal was built solely to allow the kings wives a viewing platform for the Main Street activities below. The views from inside out are extremely limited due to the tiny pains of glass and windows, it hardly feels worth the effort. The design primarily ensures the wives cannot be viewed from the street. It feels oppressive institutionalised and controlling to me....I would be sure to fail as a royal wife, I’d rather jump of its frickin’ roof than be controlled in such a manner.

After two enjoyable but fast moving weeks in the north I’m on the move again. I’m heading south west to Mumbai (formerly Bombay) and have really looked forward to this leg of the trip. I’m booked on an overnight sleeper train. It takes over fourteen hours to reach Mumbai via this method but it’s one of the parts of my travel adventures I enjoy the most.

I’m in good spirits as I arrive at the station but it’s not long before the stares take their toll - they are on a whole new level. I’m the only westerner in sight and literally every mans eyes are boring into my me. The fascination with the female foreigner is undeniably overwhelming in India. Seriously I’ve had my bum groped and ‘brushed’ countless times now and I’ve seen more penis’s here (men flashing from the public urinals) than I’ve ever seen in my life, they constantly pester you for selfies ....oh and of course let’s not forget the metro ‘dry humping’ incident! It’s a constant and ongoing battle to remain ‘untouched’ and stay one step ahead of these ‘creepers’ ...but I’m hanging in there!

As the train pulls into the station bodies appear from every direction, scrambling, mauling, frantically pushing....it’s a stampede for the prime seats in ‘cattle class’. The guards are taking bribes to move and assist individuals who’ll cross their palms with silver. It’s all corrupt and very desperate. There are people actually on the lines...it’s crazy....i’m flabbergasted at the chaos that surrounds me.

The calm before the storm ....

I’ve bought a ticket in a first class private cabin with A/C. Sounds plush hey?

Digs for the night!!

My trust companions for the journey ...i'm loving these little savoury snacks and am now addicted to masala chai...mmmm

I did know however what I was letting myself in for, nevertheless I still giggle as my room for the next fourteen hours reveals itself to me....it’s so kin scabby, grotty and unclean...I smile at India’s loose interpretation and plonk myself next to the smeared window. I look out intently on the changing landscape and most desperate of circumstances. There are thousands of makeshift tents, small villages and towns en route that are cut off and totally remote. They have no infrastructure,  people are semi naked bathing in the railway station’s drinking water for passengers or collecting it in large pots for camp. As night draws I watch children playing unsafely amongst the railway construction equipment, fires are lit in the camps to provide light from sawing local tree branches off. It’s a heart wrenching, harsh and distressing sight, it really gets to me and I question our individual responsibility to our fellow human - doesn’t everyone deserve to have a little hope and dignity? As the sun goes down I imagine such a pitiful fate in the dark with no hope for tomorrow, this gives me an ache inside I’ll never forget.

As the train plunged into darkness I lay out my liner & inflatable pillow on the brown suspect fake leather mattress. As the clatter if the rails shake the train I find myself being tossed around like a green leaf salad. As the body reacts to the motion, my internal organs follow with a slight delay. It’s not long before I’m feeling queasy. I can only akin it to lying on your kitchen worktop directly above your washing machine on main wash cycle...hours and hours of it! I try both ends of the bed, laying on my front, back and both sides....all of which result in numbness and temporary loss of the use of my limbs. It’s hopeless and the harsh realisation dawns there’ll definitely be no sleep this evening!! ....but I wouldn’t change it for the world, I remind myself of the sweat box cattle class in the remaining twenty+ coaches of this train, along with the people sleeping under the stars tonight...I press my nose to the glass and absorb in wonder the resilience, resourcefulness and strength of these people.

Mumbai is a cosmopolitan city where rich and poor brush shoulders, the colonial architecture, wide streets & leafy suburbs intermingle harmoniously with dusty grey back roads and dirt ridden but humble street sellers... it works in a bizarre sense and I like it.

The food I’ve sampled thus far in India has fallen a little flat for me, whilst flavoursome it’s been a combination of ‘safe choices’ and ‘mild’ dishes with restaurants afraid to ‘spice things up’ for the tourist. So I book onto a street food tour we head off on the local train network to visit a number of places across the city. This tour teaches you the names and safe places to eat and what look out for to avoid getting sick. For the next four hours my tastebuds are tantalised and tingling with spice and tradition ...absolutely loved this experience!

Chow Bazaar 

Since reading the beautifully written mesmerising novel Shanteram I’ve had a desire to see the Mumbai slums. I arrange an afternoon tour of the Dharavi slum, this is the third largest slum in the world. The tour intends to put a positive spin on life in the slum, portraying it as a ‘city with a city’ with its own economy. The guides, who are from the slum themselves provide me with hope that it is possible for these people to improve their circumstances, but sadly otherwise I remain unconvinced by the 'line' I’m being strung here.

The conditions are savagely cruel. Back breaking labour in undersized sweat boxes. Faces are drawn and hollow, muscles are pulsing in the skinny fatigued bodies of the workers scraping a living at the very bottom of the human food chain. The slum is piled unhealthily high in every single nook and cranny with waste. The residential areas consist 10m square room, no toilet facilities. Communal welfare facilities are provided at one per 1400 persons (provided by independent studies). Children play with waste products, waving and shouting ‘hello’ in open sewer alleys, barely wide enough for a human to fit. They are unaware of their misfortune. But the strain shows on the adult faces. This is the very definition of the toughest living, but somehow these people fight on to live another day. I don’t feel pity, I cannot help but admire them. I’m left feeling aggrieved at the cover up story being fed to tourists of opportunity, contentment and stability.... which if you use your own eyes can only be translated into suffering and exploitation.

A few randoms:

The regular condition of my feet!

Jaipur observatory - this is the Scorpio Astrology structure ....absolutely no idea how it all works but is was an amazing place to visit!

A random late night find ....favourite restaurant i'd just like to remember

The famous Leopold bar & cafe featured in Shanteram.....I had a spaghetti bolognese sandwich here - just wrong i know!! 

I found the Amigo's Bar in Jaipur ....did i sample ? .....of course i did x

How about this for wash day ladies.....and we think we have it tough!! 

A day at the office...this machinist working out of a cupboard. Reminded me of Jills loft ha ha ha!!

I've sold my soul in the golden tourist triangle!!

I’m back in Deli for a couple of days and this now seems very touristy comparative to Varanasi. 

I decide to try a different hotel, a decision I would live to regret and where it finally happened. I mean I knew it would at some point, I’ve been chancing fate for far too long in dodgy digs ....and so as the wind of misfortune blew gently in my direction I’m woken at 4am with insatiable itching and lumps all over my *rse - Yep bed bugs had feasted on me, breakfast, lunch and tea in one 4 hour sitting.

I’ve heard so many travel horror stories and knew I’d experience it at some point but tried as best I could to protect myself sleeping inside a liner. Nevertheless they’d got me and as the harsh realisation sunk in, I shot out of the bed, mortified at being victim to these nasty critters. I mean what is it with my arse and travel?, my cheeks resemble the rolling hills of Derbyshire this morning! My *arse is like a frickin’ target hot spot for holiday disasters! 

Beyond the physical irritation however The problem with bedbugs is they infest everything so anything that’s been in contact with the bed is at risk. I’m furious as I carefully check and pack everything ensuring no cross contamination and by 7am I am at reception confronting the owner who barely bats an eyelid but refunds the money for the second night. I shall of course leave an appropriate review. 

I trundle down the streets to the old town awakening and make my way back to my original hovel ‘Hotel the Spot’ at the end of urine alley. I surmise from this experience it’s  ‘better the devil you know’. As I walk humbly through the door the owners face beams ...with an added expression of amusement that ‘no-one ever comes back here?’. Nevertheless I’m glad to see his friendly face and relieved to hand him my carrier bag of contaminated laundry, which is quickly whisked out of sight with a promise of same day return.

I conquer Delhi!!

Later I visit Mr Gold, he’s delighted I’ve returned and insistent I enter his nightclub. He’s so proud of his little bar with glitzy padded chairs and tacky lighting. His ‘girls’ (around ten) are seated in a row on the stage and they take turns to perform their regional classics (Punjab, Bangladesh etc,). They are sexy and gyrate their hips suggestively, throwing their hair and eager to please the groups of men sitting letching in the shadows. It’s hilarious to watch, i can't contain myself and have to bite my lips together to stop laughing. Its so crude. Next up I pay a final visit to ‘the godfather’ who nods to his security to let me in. He cracks the biggest smile which stretches across his entire face, he stands and shakes my hand firmly with a reassuring clench on my arm with his second hand and greets ‘how are you?, it’s nice to see you again!’ I sit in his bar, untouchable under his watchful eye enjoying a beer with merry Indian men gyrating to Bollywood sounds. It’s at this moment I knew my perseverance had paid off. I’d cracked it. I was accepted, a victorious moment for the beer swilling female westerner - I bask in the moral high ground and glow with pride as I immerse myself in this special moment.

Next up is the part of this trip I’ve been dreading, the next two legs complete India's famous 'golden triangle'. I’m off to Agra and Jaipur. It’s not how I usually do things but for this I decide to have a driver and guide thinking this would give me protection from the tourist trap along with a little flexibility. This wasn’t to be though.

First up is Agra, and on arrival a tropical storm had devastated the city. Trees are fallen into the streets like dominoes, power lines and infrastructure is down. even the Taj Mahal lost a turret from a secondary building. It’s a mess, cars are crushed and people have lost their lives. The evidence of the storms power is unnerving. I observe people scurrying about the streets collecting the falling branches for firewood, literally a free 'windfall' for the poor.

I'm useless at being around tourists, I find us ignorant and embarrassing. The selfie sticks are in abundance with the human ego's trying to perfect the 'fake' memory. The experience is about themselves 'at' a special place rather than the place itself. They've lost sight of why they are really there. As we head closer towards the tourist attractions the hidden charges start mounting up I’m furious and feel suffocated by the time I reach the iconic Taj Mahal, I'm truly miserable. Being herded around is the icing on the 'crap cake; and  reminds me exactly why I don’t like or enjoy the tourist traps. 

I try to put aside the carnage that is going on around me and immerse myself in wonder at this masterpiece. The Taj Mahal is one of the worlds seven wonders, a deserved place for this powerful and dominating, yet subtle and delicate structure. It is undeniable magnificence commands your full attention and respect instantly on eye contact. It is the ultimate demonstration of ongoing love, commitment and inconsolable heartache.

Precious stone from around India was used to complete the beautifully intricate detail

King Shah Jahar built the Taj Mahal for his third wife after her death in the 1600’s. He had three wives. The other two never bore him children and his affection is clearly less. They are buried in less lavish tombs within just outside the Taj Mahal grounds. His third wife was beautiful, intelligent (speaking five languages) and bore the king a staggering fourteen children! They married when she was just fourteen, and died at just thirty eight during childbirth. It’s a beautiful story (how much Is actually true we perhaps will never know), but I get swept up in the romance of it all and enjoy the few hours in its presence.

The Red Fort is next up and this is where the king and his wives lived. I really enjoyed visiting this, fantasising life as one of the wives (of course in reality it would never happen - They’d have me ‘bumped off’  very quickly for being a non-conformist). After completion of the Taj, the king decided he wanted to build a black Taj Mahal directly opposite on the other side of the river to demonstrate his ongoing mourning and loss. I ponder whether the next decision may have come from concern over the mental stability of the king but his son and heir has the king arrested and held within the palace for the next eight years until his death.

I stay the night in Agra at Taj Castle homestay. I’m greeted by the proprietor ‘Faiz’, hes around 25 years old. He’s strikingly handsome, polite and apologetic  (the storm affected TV, WiFi and electricity). It was a comfortable stay however and in the morning he sat with me discussing his frustration at westerners expectations. He’s dispirited by comments of uncleanliness. I feel for him. His humble little place is £18 per night for a double room, no it’s not perfect or particularly clean but it’s no different from other lodgings Ive stayed. His place is real and welcoming and allows you to see India as it is, not as a westernised, false and pushy four star eviuvalent would deliver. Faiz shares his views on changes in Indian culture and the noticeable greed and materialism seeping into its streets and towns which is dramatically affecting tiered and community relations. He was married two months previous and shows me pictures of his wife chosen by his mother, they married without ever meeting. She’s not what I expected, and less than fortuous looks wise (forgive my ignorance) but I could see disappointment in his eyes and he failed to answer directly when I asked if he was happy. 

Faiz

Agra street food

View of Faiz's village from the homestay window ...people living and working on roofs. A pitiful sight.

Faiz finally told me about the current world wide news coverage of an eight year old Muslim girl named Asifa Bano, living in Kashmir. She had been held captive in a Hindu temple for eight days, gang raped by Hindu locals trying to ‘encourage’ the Muslim settlers to leave. The final insult to this heartbreaking story is that there are ongoing riots and protests to release the PERPETRATORS!!

Muslim people have no value to the radicalised Hindu followers (of course not all Hindu's feel this way), they are the lowest form of life. This innocent child’s life ended in the worst ever imaginable circumstances in the name of religion in a house of god. Now this I will never understand and can never be justified to me. Fair was completely ashamed of these mens actions, and we both sat unitedly heavy hearted bewildered by such a crime of humanity. This story will sadly stay with me always.

May your soul rest in piece now little girl, 💔💔💔I hope your innocent life was not taken in vain and eventually enforces tough sentences for such horrific and incomprehensible crimes.

The cycle of life & death

I thank the manager of The Spot hotel who tries to hide a smile when I tell him I’ve enjoyed my stay. It sure was minging but as usual in my short time here I’ve grown fond of the place and the staff. After hearing ‘Mr Flemming’ for the final time (Ive wretched every time I hear him forcing phlegm from his chest and spitting for the past three mornings) I walk down Urine Alley (the stench is overwhelming from an unclean open urinal block where men freely jiggle their exposed ‘man bits’)  jump into the airport taxi. The journey is momentarily paused whilst the driver places his hands together above the steering wheel and prays before our journey commences. Knowing these roads now this makes me smile, if he’s praying what chance have i got?!

We weave our way up ‘Cow Pat’ street (main bazaar) and it’s alive and bustling with human ants and traffic. I peacefully observe the men drinking chai, holding hands, queuing for their thali or dosa breakfast in the morning sun. Children with no headgear chance their fate on the motorbike school run, rickshaws and carts blocking the traffic because they are carrying 10 times their capacity and can’t manage the appropriate bending radius and the desperate beings are scratching around black and filthy from head to foot completely unnoticed in the dirt - they have lost mans final dignity of hope which keeps the internal fire alive, it’s an upsetting sight. I’m always a little sad and sentimental when I leave a place but I’ll be back here in a few days.

Varanasi is a sacred city on the banks of the river Ganges, known as the spiritual capital of India located in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh. 

Hindu pilgrims flock to the Ganges to bathe in its holy waters and perform funeral rites. It is the final privilege, of the highest honour to have your funeral held here. Upon death bodies are transported to the rivers edge dipped five times in the Ganges and burned in front of the families. It takes three hours to burn the oil soaked body surrounded by substantial tree bark which is weighed and apportioned on a giant chain balancing scale. There are 200 cremations a day here. The ashes are then immersed into the Ganges. Sadu’s, young children and holy masters are not cremated but wrapped, weighted and dropped into the Ganges deeper waters. These are deemed to be enlightened beings in their final lifetime, the cycle of reincarnation complete. No sadness is shown during the ritual to allow the soul to leave the body, 30 days official mourning follows. I love their approach to life and death and admire fully their honour and respect of family.

It’s peaceful as we arrive at the ghat at 5.30am. There are people already bathing in the waters, some for which this is a daily ritual. We board a boat to watch the sunrise over the burning ghat. Looking back to the bank from the boat is an explosion of colour, vibrance, splendour, peacefulness ....and uncompromising commitment. Every walk of Indian life can be found along the waters edge, it’s a unison of respect of the fellow human and his dedication to the Hindu faith. 

Monks performing their early morning ritual

Morning bathers in the Ganges

The evening ceremony performed to the 'Gods' 

An offering which is floated on the ganges for 'good karma'

The Burning Ghat. Each fire is a body, the cremations continue 24/7. Its a surreal but peaceful place.

There are many gods in Hindu tradition the main deities being: Devi (goddess) Shiva, Vishnu and there are many related deities and minor gods. Different people worship different gods but they are all essentially accepted as ‘one’.

The fanaticism and obsessive behaviour is similar to what I experienced back in Indonesia last year, but Varanasi is much less dignified entwined a with a twist of savagery and prehistoric and on a whole new level. Visiting temples proved a challenge but also actions conducted seemed nonsensical. Temples dedicated to Shiva were respectful and quiet, yet minor gods dedicated to well being or resolving problems (Lets face it we’ve all prayed to god when we’re in trouble) were utterly crazy with chanting, wailing, pushing and shoving. It was too much for me. I felt unwelcome as the only tourist and was physically pushed around and out of the queue several times, yet the women’s inquisitiveness was evident as they kept touching me (when I glared at them they stared at, but straight through me) and I had to abort mission and left feeling mauled.  

As we ride back, meandering the bleak poverty strewn streets in the tuk tuk I try to make sense of it all. I’m desperately trying to ascertain where the evident madness began and my ignorance ends. I had looked forward to seeing Varanasi, I thought I would feel the strength of the people and their love of religion. Strangely however I feel no connection to the spiritual 'vibe' here, I’m unconvinced. I feel I’m intruding on the special and holy lifetimes dedication of these people, almost unworthy and phoney as an agnostic. 

In one of the worlds holiest cities I fail to be persuaded into surrendering my body and soul to the unseen. It all feels insanely intense.

Whilst the country has many similarities to south east Asia, India is by far the most un-evolved country I’ve seen. It’s engulfed in unmanageable poverty and the effect is primitive and desperate. The hope here lies predominantly in religion, with which without I realise this country would run out of control. On the positive side there is ingenuity and a real community spirit to the place along with a genuine love of each other along with unwavering devotion to family.

I’m staying outside of Varanasi in a small town with no tourists. I’m not welcome here and the locals are bordering hostile. They stop and menacingly stare everywhere you go and are rude when you make purchases (go figure when your contributing toward their income - that’s not meant arrogantly), that’s their pride of course but I’m not ready to quit just yet and experience tells me they’ll get used to my presence in a day or so. I kind of have a little battle with them to see if I can get them to crack a smile, my commitment however seldom brings results these days.

I always try to reverse the circumstances and imagine what it must be like to have no options other than to exist. There’s no option to leave, improve your circumstances, see the world, be financially secure...these people are living literally hand to mouth. Then you have ‘wealthy’ (comparatively) folk march their way arrogantly through your pitiful existence and when I view it like this I conclude I would also feel aggrieved by the tourists presence.   

As the days pass by my presence does become more accepted and I feel myself settling into India the more time I’m here and I enjoy chatting with staff, meandering the streets, mingling in amongst the traders, beggars, children’s smiles and greetings, filth and crazy traffic. It’s bliss, I love the freedom of exploration. It demonstrates once again to me the importance of making sure these places are slowly explored allowing sufficient time. flyby visits only allow the initial intimidating vibe to be held, which is wrong and misleading. You can ‘visit a country’ and ‘tick it off the list’ or you can explore and immerse yourself in a country....the two are NOT the same. 

Varanasi for me Is a stark reminder that life is about balance, we enter and leave this world with no financial or material  gain, and leave behind merely personality traits along with a collection of memories and humble achievements. What would you like your legacy to be? My time in the holy city has taught me that emotional poverty lies in material greed and the real riches of life are found in poverty.