Holiness

April 21, 2002-Sunrise
(Photos: Riverside barber,
our boat)

There is no picture, no movie, and there are no words that can convey the experience of going to the River Ganges in Varanasi at sunrise. We were picked up at the hotel at 5 AM and felt wide-awake with anticipation. The streets seemed empty as we left the hotel grounds, but soon the crush of traffic increased and surrounded us. Our car stopped about 4 blocks from the river and we closely followed our guide as he led us through a mire of people, stalls, vehicles, and animals. We trod carefully around garbage, temples, rubble, and gaping holes that revealed running sewage ditches. We were inexorably enveloped in the flow and became as one with it.
Vendors were selling everything from toothbrushes made from twigs to water containers so that people could bring water home from the river. Flower garlands were sold everywhere as offerings to the gods in the temples after immersion and purification. Music accompanied us all and we found ourselves striding to its rhythm. People have been coming for 7,000-9,000 years to wash away their sins, to seek salvation before dying, to show their devotion to the gods of sun, soil, and fire, bring the ashes of their dead from other areas, and to bring their dead. Houses along the riverbank are provided for those who are waiting to die in the holy City of Shiva, and palaces were erected so the wealthy could wait to die in the style to which they’d become accustomed.

As the sun rose, I could see a space clear in the crowd. It seemed as if the world fell away into emptiness. We’d reached the Ghat, the famous steps and platforms where ablutions are made. The name of the Ghat is Dashaswamedhghat and means, “ten horses were sacrificed here.” There was a festive atmosphere. It’s a sign of mourning to have a shaven head and no mustache. Barbers were set up to provide that service. Candlelight lamps were set sail for wishes to come true and glimmered in the dawn light. Brahman priests sat in saffron robes under umbrellas where they offered prayers for the soul and provided a white sandalwood paste to be spread on the forehead to aid in meditation. The number three with a tail, the symbol of “ohm,” was on everything even the two towers that were used to clean the water of the Ganges and return it to the river. Hindus believe that “ohm” was the first word spoken by Adam and that it’s the sound that bells make when rung. Our guide, Amman said the water is much improved and that fish and dolphin live in it now. I’m sure he has a bridge for sale in New York too. I cannot make fun of their confidence in the purity of the Ganges since I frequently put poison into my body in the form of artificial sweeteners.

The sights, the smells, the sounds, the colors were overwhelming…and the battery in our camera died. Without missing a beat, Amman called a boy over to us, showed him the kind of battery that was in the camera, and sent him off in search of our salvation. I don’t know how he did it, but he found us in the crowd and reappeared bearing the correct battery. We bought two and were back in business.

River View

We stepped into a rickety rowboat and hoped it was sea worthy. Despite what Amman said, the garbage was clearly visible as it floated past us and collected against the shore. The other side of the Ganges was empty in contrast to the side with the Ghats. The far bank isn’t in Varanasi and is not considered as holy by the Hindus. On the other hand, Buddhists go there to collect the sand where it’s said that Buddha walked. As we floated on the water, our perspective changed. We were far enough away to see the whole of it as one piece. It was a living fabric woven with strands from thousands of years ago. Each thread added to the tapestry and melded with another until all the separate pieces and parts became the drama that was on the stage in front of us. The once grand buildings on the hilltops that now housed hostels and houses of the dying bore watermarks where the monsoon rains caused the Ganges to rise to their foundations.


Saffron, a Hindu holy color, was blazing in the robes and marigolds, the white foreheads smeared with sandalwood paste, the red fabrics symbolizing the color of Durgah, the wife of Shiva mixed with the vivid saris and painted buildings as the sun broke through the clouds and illuminated it in an ethereal golden glow. Men and women bathed together, children swam and played, some struck out for the other bank, and several heads bobbed up to greet us. But all had come for one reason. Their concentration was complete as they welcomed the sun by pouring water from their hands or a pot so they could look at the sun indirectly as it reflected in the water and not hurt their eyes. Their faith was palpable. This was not a show; this is their life. It’s the depth of their being and who they are. It was truly awesome and wonderful in the literal sense of those words. I was envious of their ability to find such utter devotion and feeling. I was overwhelmed and couldn’t speak for a while. It was more powerful than the dead monument of the Taj Mahal. This was India. I had found the lotus in the mud.

As our boat changed direction, I became aware of other activities going on. Dhobi wallahs used clay to clean the clothes and pounded out the laundry on washboards made from inclining rocks. It was put out to dry in the sun and added a riot of color to the riverbank. Loudspeakers were shouting out mantras and warnings about pickpockets. Indians from the South were bathing and praying in their own area with their own priests who spoke the language of their region.

The crematoria loomed into view as we floated on. There is an electric one for those too poor to pay for the wood fire, but most prefer the traditional wood and will beg on the street if necessary to be able to pay for it. The wood fires consume 180 pounds of wood for each body. The crematoria are open twenty-four hours a day and process about 115 bodies/day. It takes almost three hours to burn the body. The body is wrapped in a shroud, carried on a wooden bier that resembles a ladder, is washed in the Ganges and placed on an open bonfire. Aromatic spices and sandalwood are added to the pyre and there is absolutely no odor. The skull is crushed with a stick to insure that it cannot be used in black magic. The hipbones of women and the chest bones of men are too heavy to burn and so are buried on the other side of the river. No living women are allowed at the crematoria. Husbands bring the bodies of their wives and sons bring their fathers. The ashes are given to the mourner to be thrown into the water. The mourner tosses the ashes over his head and never looks back. It’s all very official and death certificates are issued on the spot.

There’s no cremation of babies, pregnant women, or people who die from a cobra bite. Cremation is to return to nature the elements that compose the body: air, water, soil, fire, and space. In babies and pregnant women, the elements are not complete. A man who’s bitten by a cobra is said to have had his elements destroyed. Their bodies were weighted and sunk in the river to become fish food. Sometimes they would float to the surface, but this practice has been discontinued.

Interestingly, Brahman priests who must be from the upper caste, are forbidden from officiating at the pyres. Upper caste men wear a white thread across their chests under their clothes at all times and may work at any job they want. But only Brahmans may become priests. Brahman priests may marry and lead normal lives. The Doms of the lower castes do the cremations. There’s now upward mobility in society and the president of India is from a lower caste. Sadhu priests can come from any caste. They grow their hair and beards very long and live naked in the forests. They don’t marry and when they come to the city they stay in Ashrams where they teach and study.

Land Fall

We climbed gingerly out of the boat and thanked every conceivable god that we’d returned to dry land unsplashed by the holy water of the river. We were in a country where 90% of the population is devout practitioners of their religion and I began to think of America. We too have the dedicated faithful who rise at dawn, trudge off into the gloom, and perform their own ritual. They too pursue what they believe to be a noble goal. We call them joggers.

Our walk back to the car took us through the narrow streets and lanes of the old city. If we’d become separated from our guide we’d never emerge. He somehow led us through the maze while keeping a keen eye over his shoulder to be sure we were close. Stalls were on either side selling all the wares needed for cremating a loved one. A body on a bier passed us as we rounded a corner and Amman warned us that we were about to enter a very dirty alley where cows lived. I don’t know what we’d been slogging through up to now, but it was anything but clean. People were vainly trying to sweep the dirt, collect the garbage, and wash the street, but, like purifying the water of the Ganges, nothing could help. In the midst of it all, David stopped in his tracks and started mumbling to himself. I thought the spirit had gotten to him and the rest of my life would be spent married to a Hindu holy man. It couldn’t be farther from the truth. He was reading an advertisement on the side of a building. It was written in Hebrew, of all things, and told of Davids Silk Shop. I guess there really are a lot of Israelis who visit. Amman told us of an orthodox couple who walked from our hotel to the river yesterday because it was Shabbat. We met them in the elevator this morning. They were returning to the river by car this time.

Before we turned the next corner, Amman asked us for our camera and handed it off to a friend of his. The area we were about to enter was heavily guarded and no photos were permitted. Guides and tourists were searched for cameras before entering, but a local could get it through with no trouble. We retrieved it at the other end of the lane. In the days of the emperor who had built the Taj Mahal, Hindus erected the enormous golden domed Vishwanath Temple to Shiva in Varanasi. When the emperors son usurped the throne, he demolished most of it and erected a mosque. To this day, this is an area of conflict and tension between the two communities and is targeted by extremists on both sides. We entered an incense shop where the owner did his best to entice us to buy the fragrant oils. He applied samples to our arms and described each scent. As I sniffed, the only aroma I could detect was Off Insect Repellant.

We made our way past begging women squatting in squalor and refuse as my stomach started to rumble. Amman asked if we wanted to hurry back to the hotel for breakfast or if we wanted to tour some more. If the beggars didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, how could I not put off my breakfast feast for a while? We went on. We found the car, climbed in, and realized how filthy we were. The driver had covered his seats in toweling in anticipation of just how dirty we would be.

Toby

In Hot Pursuit

April 20, 2002-Birth Of Buddha
(photo:Stupa)

Our guide in Varanasi is called Amman. He has his master’s degree in archaeology and is working towards his PhD. He has guided many Israelis and is conversant with some of the tenets of Judaism. He’s a close friend of Kumar although Amman has been guiding for eleven years. He’s a devout Hindu and goes to the Ganges daily to bathe at dawn. He was Goldie Hawn’s guide and appears briefly in her TV special about the elephants. We added in a tour of Sarnath for the afternoon of our arrival and Amman was a treasure of information. He said that the tour group he took yesterday got off the bus at Sarnath, decided it was too hot to tour, and got right back on the bus. We promised we would’t do that, but there were times I felt like changing my mind. It was 4 PM and still over 100 degrees.

Varanasi is named for the two rivers that flow through it and into the Ganges, the Varana and Assi. Its other names are Benares, a mispronunciation by the Muslim invaders, and Kashi, meaning City of Light (knowledge). The major attraction is the Ganges River where 14,000 pilgrims come to bathe daily. But Sarnath, just 5.5 miles away, is an equally holy place to Buddhists. Chinese and Japanese pilgrims come in droves.

Amman first took us to a museum where we saw statuary from 272 BC. He explained that around 563 BC Buddha was born into a royal Hindu family and sheltered from the world until he was twenty-six years old. When he went out into the world and saw the sickness and evil, he began his journey to enlightenment. Buddha means the Enlightened One. He didn’t set out to create a religion, but was intent on developing a philosophy that expanded on Hinduism. One of the changes was that he was opposed to making statues of gods.

In 270 BC, Emperor Ashoka, a Hindu, won a major war, but when he saw the carnage on the battlefield it disturbed him. He was attracted to the pacifism of Buddhism and converted. He wanted to spread the new ideas in the world, but couldn’t use statues to convey the stories and teachings. He created an ingenious method of communication. He built enormous columns that had writing as well as carvings that told the story and taught the lessons. As we looked closer, there were faces hidden in some of the decorative carving. We saw a metal column in Delhi that has survived, unrusted, to this day. In this museum, we saw the top of a sandstone column that had been buried for hundreds of years, unearthed, and is still as shiny and luminous as the day it was constructed. Scientists are still trying to figure out the secret of why the lime and honey wash that was used to create and preserve the sheen has lasted so long. I’m trying to figure out why the British didn’t cart it home with them to put in the British Museum. The next emperor departed from Ashokas non-representational form of Buddhism and introduced statues. There are still some Buddhist who eschew statues to this day.

By the time the 5th century rolled around and statues were starting to be made of Buddha, there was no one left who had seen him. In the statue we saw, he’s depicted as being lean and fit reflecting the artist’s impression of what a noble man looked like. The Chinese image shows a large belly since that was their view of nobility. Buddha is always shown in three poses: meditating, preaching, or blessing. The death of Buddha, or what is commonly called the sleeping or reclining Buddha, shows that he had the perfect death. He had reached more than Nirvana (moksha).

Many of the early converts were from the lowest caste of Hinduism and were attracted to Buddhism because it treated everyone as equals. They were used to gods and images of gods and felt the lack of a goddess in Buddhism. They created Tara, goddess to Buddhists.

Hindus worship the sun, fire, and trees. Brahma is the creative force, Vishnu is the protector, and Shiva is the destroyer of bad elements. We saw several depictions of Hindu statues and sandstone carvings that managed to survive in spite of being in a museum that has no climate control and where geckos roam freely behind the glass of the showcases.

We left the museum behind us and walked to the excavation that’s the centerpiece for the area. It’s the place where Buddha preached his first sermon to his five disciples. Ashoka erected a stupa marking that spot. It’s about 110 feet tall. Its massive base and some of the cylinder remain. Amman explained that a stupa is more important than a temple to Buddhists. It’s a solid cylinder housing relics or can just be commemorative. Ashoka also built a monastery for 10-15,000 monks and a convent for nuns at the site. Moslem invaders ransacked it all. The ruins of a temple are visible where Buddha sat to meditate. In 1891, a Buddhist from Sri Lanka set out to revive Buddhism in India and built an exact copy of the temple near the original. There’s even a tree that comes from a graft of the original peepal tree under which Buddha attained enlightenment.

Dripping with perspiration and bursting with the amazement at the place where we’d just walked, we were returned to the hotel to revive ourselves. We thought a walk in the garden would be relaxing so we set off along the jogging path that wound its way through the roses. We didn’t get far when we noticed we had to be careful to duck under low hanging electric wires that ran off at odd places like a web spun by a demented spider. The mosquitoes added their touch to our outing and we soon took shelter in the air-conditioning of our hotel.

Tomorrow we have to be ready to leave the hotel for the river by 5 AM. We will visit the Ganges, the crematoria, and take a rowboat ride on the river. This could be entitled, “The Horowitz Family Goes Boating With Corpses.” We’re told this is the authentic India, the India where time didn’t advance. This is the India where religion and daily life are one.

Toby

More Lessons

April 19, 2002-Return To Delhi
(photo:Varanassi through smog)

We had 5 ½ hours to talk to Kumar as we drove from Jaipur back to Delhi. We took the toll highway, which is a lot better than some of the two-lane roads. Even with the four lanes it was anything but limited access. At times there would be cars, overloaded trucks, or animal drawn carts heading towards us on our side of the divider. If they only had a short distance to go, they just went the wrong way. David asked if there were police patrolling the highway. Kumar said that the police only come if there’s an accident and someone calls them. There’s no regular patrol. He said that India only gets .7% of the tourist business and needs to promote itself a lot more. Evidently Goldie Hawn has been visiting for eighteen years and always includes Varanasi, our next stop, in her itinerary. She’s particularly fond of elephants and made a one-hour TV special about them. Kumar has met her and has also met former governor of Ohio Celeste and his wife Jackie when Celeste was ambassador to India.

We had a delightful lunch and David may be toying with the idea of becoming a vegetarian. He loves the cheese dishes here. We had Paneer Ghurghroo. It was a cooked block of cheese and the texture reminded me of saginaki, the Greek dish. It was covered in a delicate creamy sauce that had green peppers, cashews, and raisins. We had over-ordered and were frustrated that we couldn’t finish it all. Kumar ate his meal and helped us with ours. We entered Delhi this time via embassy row and a lovely neighborhood of apartments. Not to worry, there was plenty of rubble outside the walled compounds. The American flag was flying at half-mast and we thought it might be for the Canadians who were killed by our own bomb in Afghanistan.

Lotus And Mud

Since we’re going to Varanasi tomorrow, Kumar gave us a preview of what was to come. It’s where he grew up and his mother still lives there. His father died in 1986. I don’t know what his father did, but his mother is a retired teacher of vocal music. I was teasing him about fixing him up with some women we know at home and found out that he’s younger than I thought. He’s probably in his late 20s.

He told us that to him Varanasi is both the lotus and the mud. You have to focus on the lotus not to see the mud. His father brought him to bathe in the river Ganges frequently. Varanasi is the holiest city in India and at 5,000 years old is possibly the oldest living city in the world that has kept the same religious practices alive since its beginning. It’s the birthplace of Hinduism and Buddhism. Pilgrims who come to bathe in the river Ganges swell its population of two million to the ridiculous. They don’t see the filth. Kumar said that up to now we’ve seen dead monuments. Now we’ll see living monuments to faith and devotion in the people. They have faith in Mother Ganges to heal their bodies and to remove their sins. Their faith, not the water, cures them. Their faith keeps them from getting sick from the polluted water they drink and in which they bathe. It’s a city of life and death where children play next to the crematoria on the riverbanks. Varanasi is also called the City of Death because people come to die in the holy city of Shiva. A great number of elderly make their last pilgrimage to bathe in the Ganges. They study at one of the four great universities seeking knowledge that will liberate them from a fear of death. Their goal is to go beyond the cycle of life and death and to reach salvation (moksha).

I asked him about widows and how they’re looked upon in Varanasi. He verified what I’d read in that widows are seen as people who bring bad luck. If their families turn their backs on them or if they don’t have children to take care of them, they could end up on the street as prostitutes or in widow houses. They’ll get food and shelter in the widow houses and are asked to work there if they’re able. He said that most families don’t shun widows as they did in the past. There’s the belief that food will come if the widow bathes in the River Ganges and worships Shiva. I guess if they starve they didn’t have enough faith.

We heard some North American accents at dinner and struck up a conversation. It was a bi-racial couple with two young boys (age 8 and 11). They were from Connecticut and were just ending their trip. They said they got a few curious stares from people on the street but figured it was because they were foreigners. I’m sure they’re correct. We’ve gotten those looks too. They’d just come in from Jaipur as we had, but they’d been pretty sick. They said they got to experience Indian medicine first hand. That’s every tourist’s nightmare. Their guidebook mentioned one doctor in particular who came highly recommended and is used by the top hotels. They had really bad stomach problems. The doctor came to their room, set up IV’s and left his male nurse there over night. They were on their feet the next day.

April 20, 2002-Flying High

The security at the airport was unlike any we’d ever experienced. We were body searched twice, batteries were removed from items in checked luggage, and our carry-on was inspected three times. Our boarding passes were checked at each of the three inspection points and when we got off of the plane. We expected the Delhi airport to be pretty frenetic, but they only allow passengers and guides in so it’s not too bad. There are no- smoking signs all around the waiting areas with ashtrays under each one. It’s a good thing too. Our guide said that they don’t care about enforcing the rule. Our flight was on Jet Air and was very pleasant. It’s the best airline in India. They managed to serve lunch on the fifty-three minute flight and had literature stating that no beef or pork products were ever served on that airline. It’s been easier to avoid pork or shellfish in India than anywhere else we’ve traveled. When they say vegetarian they cannot cheat and add shrimp. Vegetarianism is serious business here and strict Hindus and Jains wouldn’t stand for compromise. Our flight to Bombay is on India Air. It has two stops one of which is in Delhi. We cannot seem to get away from that city.

I went to the toilet near the waiting room and had a hard time convincing the attendant that I really wanted to use the Eastern style facilities. She just shook her head and shrugged. I had the same problem in Varanasi when we landed. As I’ve said before, Eastern is preferable to Western when sanitation is in question.

We again heard North American accents and met a tour of twenty female travel agents from all over the States. One was from Detroit and one from Dayton. It was old home week. I told them that Kumar would be happy to hear that India is going to be promoted in the U.S. We spotted two men in our area and sat near them. They’re from Los Angeles and have been to India four times. One of them is a Buddhist. We thought they might be gay and fished around to see if they were by mentioning that we hadn’t met our daughter’s girlfriend yet and that she’s a Buddhist. We knew they would pick up the way we phrased it if they were gay. They did and they are. They’re staying at our hotel and I’m sure we’ll run into them again. They asked about the climate of acceptance of gays in Akron and we told them about Out in Akron. They were pretty impressed when we started dropping the names of celebrities who had come: Harvey Fierstein, Chastity Bono, and John Waters.

As we took off, I realized that Delhi too is in a desert. It was obvious from the air where the city ended and the outback began. The amount of pollution was also graphically visible from our altitude.

When we got to Varanasi, we found out we’d arrived at the end of a fast and that a festival begins tomorrow. There will be five priests at the river performing rituals to the Goddess Ganges when we get there at 5:30 AM tomorrow. Our hotel, the Taj Ganges, is listed as five-star, and is the best in the city. It would be a four-star at home. The service is friendly and excellent, as usual, and the lobby and restaurants are full of roses. They have their own garden and are justifiably proud of it.

I didn’t think it was possible, but Varanasi seems poorer than any place we’ve been in India. How poor is that? They’re so poor that they have blackouts and brownouts because the government hasn’t paid its electric bill and the electric company cuts back service. We still find that despite power outages, getting bumped by a bicycle, being in a fender bender, and being hassled on rubble-strewn streets, we like India a lot more than we expected to. A large part is the rich history that goes back farther than our own Judaism. Another factor is that even though Indians on the streets are cloying, dishonest, and devious, they don’t want to harm us. We’re their bread and butter. People in the service industry really have it down to a science. I’ve never experienced a more courteous and service oriented place in my travels. They are masters of hospitality and wizards of creating a mood that makes tipping a pleasure. They try to please and we gladly tip them with a smile and a chuckle. We know exactly what’s happening, but they’re that good. They know the only thing they have to sell is service. Sales people from around the world should be sent here to study and learn.

Toby

In The Pink

April 18, 2002- Jaipur
(photos:Ride to Amber Fort,
Basic transportation,
Observatory)

Jaipur is named for Jai Singh. He founded the old walled city as the capital of Rajistan in the 12th century. The fort built in the 16th-17th century looms over the newer section looking like a dinosaur tail as it wraps itself around the hilltop. In the 18th century, the king moved the city down to the plain where it is today. It’s the first planned city in India. When King Edward visited it was painted pink, a Hindu color of welcome. It’s still painted in shades of pink and salmon and is called the Pink City. It looks better from a distance and is basic Indian rubble now. It’s sad to see paintings of how it used to look. The arrangement of arcades and shops with apartments over them is done in a Hindu style with a Moghul twist. Elaborate turrets, balconies, and latticework done up in the salmon color buildings with white detailing are still used in the original way the planners intended. The Hindu symbol that resembles a swastika is used frequently on store signs and in decorations. It’s always a jarring sight to me.

Jaipur hasn’t undergone the changes that come when a city is conquered since the Hindu king of Jaipur has always chosen to be a vassal to the superior power of the Moghul empire rather than suffer the turmoil of war and defeat. This city has never been attacked. To this day, the City Palace is intact. It’s the only Indian Palace with a polo field. That was the passion of the last monarch who died in competition while in England. His widow is still alive and it’s their grandson who lives in a portion of the palace today. The remainder of the palace is a museum and a collection of miniature paintings showing how the people lived centuries ago, costumes, and pashmina fabric is housed there. The interior follows the style of Moghul decoration, but the flowers are painted not inlaid with gems. One of the kings had two of the worlds most enormous silver vessels built to carry Ganges water with him when he traveled to England. He’d not dare drink or bathe in English water. That’s really humorous considering all the present day tourists here who carry around water in plastic bottles because they won’t use Indian water. Silver is so much more elegant than plastic. Our quest for water today introduced us to the Indian version of a drive-thru. We pulled up to the curb near a drink vendors cart, rolled down the window, and he walked over to sell us the water. It’s the latest in convenience shopping.

Driving The Gauntlet

We fought our way to our hotel through traffic that reflected our changed location. We now had to contend with elephants on the road as well as the usual free-range cows, pigs, horses, goats, and camels. David was willing to give Jaipur an award for having the most cows. There are more motorbikes here than in any other place we’ve been in India. They even use specially designated tuk-tuks as school buses and cram four to six children into them. The most amazing sight was what appeared to be falling down little kiosks in the middle of the thoroughfares. They’re really small temples that were there before the road was built.

There was a cow grazing on the lawn of the Rajputana Palace Sheraton Hotel when we pulled up. It was truly enjoying the luxury accommodations. Rajputana is the name of a fearless warrior caste. They never surrendered and their widows would throw themselves on the funeral pyres in a show of loyalty and courage. The staff seems very peace loving. Our room overlooks the pool that seems to be shared with the local pigeon population. Maybe I won’t go for a swim. Dinner was delightful. We learned about paneer kofti. It’s a deep fried cheese curd ball in savory tomato gravy. Yum!

Breakfast introduced us to rice bonda (fried balls), watermelon juice, and a spongy fermented rice pancake called idili. There’s an array of sauces and chutneys to use as condiments. Good-bye bran flakes. Hello Indian cuisine. Our guide, Kumar, said that if you’re going to get “Delhi Belly” it usually comes in the first two days of your visit. We are way past that but are still very careful. I rinsed my toothbrush under the tap by mistake. I may be able to buy a new one today, but if I cannot, I soaked this one in alcohol and rinsed it in bottled water.

I couldn’t believe the waiter at breakfast actually got me thinking about touring southern India some day. It’s completely different and has a very different history. Who knows, we may be back.

My skin is drying up from lack of humidity and the heat. I drink a lot and keep using moisturizer. I wash my hair every day, as usual, but I need to wash and rinse it twice in order to get it to feel normal. By the time I’ve been outdoors for an hour, it feels thick with dirt and dust and dry like straw.

We had a late start for us. We didn’t have to leave until 8:30 AM. We left a wake-up call and were woken twice in what we’ve decided is typical Indian tradition. There’s an automated call followed by what I call the human snooze alarm. Reception calls to be certain that you’re awake. As I’ve said, the service in India is exemplary, but nothing is for free. The steward won’t turn down the bed at night if you’re not in the room. Why bother if there will be no tip? As for the police, Kumar calls them “official bandits.” If they know who stole something, they’ll go to the thief and demand a percentage of the take and not make the arrest.

Another Beast

Today we saw the Palace of the Winds. It’s actually just a heavily ornate pink façade built in 1799 behind which women of the court could watch parades and not be seen. They sat several stories above the crowds and were screened by the latticework jali.

We’ve ridden donkeys up the steps in Santorini, Greece and now we can say that we rode a painted elephant up the ramp and into the Amber Fort. Kumar rushed us to beat the tour buses to the mounting platform. This platform was made of stone and much sturdier than the bamboo ones we had to navigate in Chang Mai, Thailand. We got on so fast that we weren’t sitting correctly. We had to shift ourselves around as the elephant was moving up the steep incline and a photographer caught our expressions. We look terrified. A musician tagged along and when he saw we were enjoying his music, he followed for a while. He asked us for money as we neared the top and I had to toss the bill to him. The 10-rupee note ($0.20) floated down and landed under the slow moving elephant. The musician retrieved it intact and moved along to his next prospect. Kumar followed us up on foot and took several photos of us from front and rear.

The fort and palace overlook ruins of the original 11th century city and are surround by a ten-mile long wall that sits on top of the surrounding hills. The architecture is the typical Moghul blend of Hindu and Muslim design but it was the first time I saw pastel colors used. Some rooms have sandalwood doors inlaid with ivory and horn decorations. The pattern on the doors is echoed in the layout of the gardens they overlook. The king had a private passageway that led to the apartments of his different wives. There was a hidden entrance from the corridor to each of the apartments so none of the wives knew whom the king was visiting. It was a good way to keep the peace. Ingenious cooling systems were created for the hot climate. In one area, air is directed into the room through ducts so that a wind is created. This passes over water to create an ancient air-conditioning system. Another device was made by using a copper pipe with a perforated hose in it. The pipe was hung over an exterior threshold and grass screens were hung over the openings. The water from the pipe dripped onto the screens. The air was cooled as it passed through the screens.

I really enjoyed the observatory built in 1728 by King Jai Singh. He was an avid astronomer and astrologer. The clean straight lines of the massive “time clocks” and astrological devices are in sharp contrast to the curved lines and elaborate symmetry of the Moghul buildings. The observatory resembles a modern art sculpture garden and is exquisite in its stark simplicity and monumental scale. We checked our watches and noted that the observatory is still accurate to within twenty seconds even today.
Getting Clued In

We mentioned that we had no idea what our hotel costs since we paid for the tours, flights, and lodging as part of a package. Kumar teased us and asked us to guess. We were so far off. He said that his tour company pays $US 33 per night including the buffet breakfast. They have a special contract with the Sheraton and there’s no individual who could get that rate. Every day of touring ends at a shop. Kumar was very candid about this the first day. He said he has to ask us to go into the shop because the tour company he works with gets a commission if we buy. He does not. The shop is notified when we are touring and reports back to the company. If the guide didn’t bring us into the shop, he would never get another job from that company again. He told us that if we wanted to buy we should bargain for 50% off, but he could not help us once we were inside. He said we could leave as soon as we wanted to and he has been true to his word. We’ve bought nothing…yet.

We gratefully went back to the hotel to eat and have the rest of the day free. I had the most delicious lunch. It was called Murgh Kathi Kebab and was a parantha (onion crepe- like pancake) coated with egg and wrapped around tasty chicken and vegetables. Last night we noticed what we thought were a number of gay men checking in. Today we struck up a conversation with a friendly man from England who climbed over the low wall around the coffee shop and sat down at our table. He was a pilot with Air 2000, a charter company that has a group of VIPs touring India, Cyprus, and Kenya. That explains the gay men. They’re flight attendants on that plane. We asked him about Kenya and he assured us we would be fine on safari and that we should stay inside the hotel the one night we’re in Nairobi. He’s an experienced traveler but ended up being coerced into buying a carpet here yesterday at a shop that some street hawker claimed was his “uncle’s.” He said he loves the carpet and it was a good price, but he had no intention of buying one. These are some of the greatest salesmen. He’s being very careful about what he eats. His first officer had some bad curry at a nearby restaurant last night and is not up to par. They fly out tomorrow and he needs at least two healthy people in the cockpit. Tonight they’re all invited for cocktails at the maharaja’s palace. He figures that alcohol is safe.

We went to a free show at the hotel before dinner. It was primarily music and folk dancing. It took place in a garden near the pool and only four people were in the audience. The dancers were less than enthusiastic and their efforts seemed forced. One woman looked as if she was learning the routine and kept watching the other dancer for cues. There was an impressive number where a woman did an elaborate dance balancing seven pots on her head. We know they weren’t attached to each other because a man added them to the pile one at a time. The costumes were spectacular multi-layered silk outfits of brilliant hues. They wore pants under their skirts, aprons over that, and bells on their ankles. The jewelry flashed as the scarves and shawls twirled. Dinner yielded yet another new dish. I had Anjeer Subz Seekh. It’s made of chopped figs and vegetables that are cooked in a tandoori oven. They looked like hot dogs and were quite spicy. I liked them but I’m not sure my stomach did.

Toby

Hot Time

April 17, 2002-Whoops!
(photos:camel drive,
Rajistani women,
Sariska Palace Hotel)


Fahtepur Sikri is only twenty-two miles from Agra and is the site of the capital city after it moved away from Agra. It’s a 16th century fort and palace built to honor the holy man from that city who told the king he would indeed have a male child. Although the prophecy was true, they only stayed for seven years. The problem was that there was not enough water. It’s now called the ghost city.

Our short ride of twenty-two miles in 108-degree heat took an hour. We hung newspaper from the car windows for shade. The traffic consisted of trucks overloaded with twice as much cargo as capacity. They looked as if they were ready to pop. There are only speed limits in towns and four lane highways, but it doesn’t matter. We dodged tame bears, monkeys, peacocks, & camel herds crossing the road, but the driver did n’t stop in time to avoid a bus that jammed on its brakes to pick up a passenger. The fender bender just dented the hood of the car and David hit his head on the roof, but he’s ok. The bus we hit just kept on going. The car is still working, which is really good since there’s no way the company could have gotten a replacement to us. Our guide said we’re really giving him an experience to talk about for a long time. I’m ready to stop giving him material for anecdotes.
Rajistan Chic?

We stopped at the state line to pay a tax/toll and refuel. We enjoyed some adorable children making faces at us through the car windows. The car runs on CNG (compressed natural gas) and gasoline. When the CNG runs out, the driver pulls to the side of the road, flips a switch, and gas starts to flow. Once the CNG was used up, we had to stick to regular gas. The road deteriorated and seemed to deconstruct as we entered an arid area and the Arwal mountain range. The women returning from the fields were dressed differently than in other areas we’ve seen. They wear colorful long skirts and scarves here creating a walking rainbow as they move.

We arrived at the Sarista Palace, a 19th century royal hunting lodge. It sounds intriguing in concept, but the reality is very shoddy. I’m sure our photos will be exquisite since the peeling paint and dirt aren’t visible from the distance. It’s an imposing structure with enormous rooms, lots of marble, and twenty-foot high ceilings. Sarista is a tiny village in a remote area. There’s no skilled labor to draw from and all the help has been trained on the job. They’re very service oriented and will do anything to please. The problem is that if anything breaks, they have to send to Delhi for repairmen and it’s a three-hour drive one way.

Our room had antique plumbing, but I was desperate to shower and wash my hair. Since the shower didn’t work, I ended up on my knees in the tub using a plastic pitcher to rinse with. If you must know, some Indians use the Asian way of cleaning themselves with water from a pitcher after using the toilet. At dinner the guide asked us if the room was ok. We mentioned the shower and they moved us to another room. This one came with a complement of moths feasting on an aged wool carpet. We caught some in the handy plastic cup that seems to be a fixture in every room, and killed the others on the run. When I opened the suitcase this morning, a survivor flew out. Fortunately, moths don’t like cotton and synthetics. David had the benefit of a working shower, but when he went to use the shampoo provided by the hotel, he had a start. It was black. He opted for the stuff we brought from home. I may not be in love with India anymore.

The lodge is privately owned and very popular with Indians. It sits near a tiger preserve and is a shadow of its former self. They do have an addition with newer rooms, but for some reason, we were in the old ones. Perhaps they thought we’d prefer the authenticity. In between blackouts and power surges I’ve been writing this email while plugged into the only outlet in the room. Our lamp is spliced into wiring that serves wall fixtures as well. The grounds once were stunning, but now the plantings just look stunned and stunted.

Our better than average buffet dinner was on the terrace under the stars. The sky is clear here. They call it a monsoon sky. During the monsoon,rains wash away the pollution. This is in such a remote area that there is none yet. Kumar joined us for dinner and told us he’s a vegetarian. It’s not a religious issue with him, but he quoted George Bernard Shaw who said that he didn’t want his stomach to be a depository for dead animals. That was pretty graphic. Breakfast today was a weak second to dinner. I was reduced to eating a hard-boiled egg, baked beans, curried potatoes, and Indian bread.

Tiger Tiger

We left a wake-up call for this morning and, sure enough, a porter knocked on our door at 5 AM. That’s really personal service. He might as well have walked right into our room since the door lock didn’t work. We stumbled into our open jeep at 6 AM and began the long, bumpy, and dusty journey in search of the illusive tigers. I was curious about our safety so I checked with the driver who didn’t have a gun. He said that tigers are very shy. He was so very right. The tiger reserve is on land that used to be where sportsmen hunted. Since they did such a good job, there are only some forty-nine tigers left and assorted deer, wild boar, peacocks, parakeets, and monkeys.

The monkeys served as our escorts for a time, but very soon we were on our own. We watched a park worker make a plaster of Paris mold of tiger paw prints for the tiger census. Each animal has a unique print like our fingerprints. We stopped often to check for tracks and to listen to animal calls. The driver explained that he was waiting to hear distress calls from the deer and antelope. We began to hear bellowing from a large antelope called a samber (sp). It sounded really close and very alarmed. Suddenly, there was crashing in the brush and a huge beast was charging towards us. At first I thought it was a tiger, but then realized it was a terrified female samber bearing down on us. She careened down the hillside wide-eyed with terror. I thought she’d either run into our jeep or leap over it. She did neither. She veered around it, fled across the road, and bolted down another hill. It was clear there was a tiger in the area. We listened, watched, and waited for about thirty minutes before trying a different location. We came upon a cow that had been recently killed by a tiger. A man on a bike told us he’d seen the tiger carrying the kill across the road, but that the tiger had become startled by him, dropped the kill, and ran away. We knew the tiger wouldn’t go far, so we hung around trying to be inconspicuous. I’m sure he was watching us. He might have even gone to get his friends so they could watch. God did a very good job when designing the protective coloration of tigers. We never saw him. We left the park with the scorecard reading: Tigers-1, Humans-0.

On To Jaipur

Jaipur, a city of 2.5 million, beckoned. It was only a two-hour drive with most of it on a four-lane toll road of sorts. Toll highways were privatized and the owners can collect tolls for twenty years. After that time, the government will collect the tolls and use them for maintenance. David said he thought the Greeks were reckless but skilled drivers. He thinks the Indians are equally reckless but poor drivers. When we asked Kumar about driver-training schools, he said there were none. People learned by trial and error. He said that a license was needed to drive, but tests were only necessary if you were too poor to bribe the official. We asked if there were helmet laws for the many motorbikes. His answer was not simple. The government wanted the driver and passenger to be required to wear helmets. The problem was that Sikhs couldn’t fit a helmet over their turbans. The Sikhs were exempted from the helmet requirement. Their wives rebelled and said that if their husbands were not going to wear helmets they wouldn’t either. They Sikh women were exempted. With those two exceptions on the books there was no way that Muslims or Hindus were going to be singled out to wear helmets so the whole idea fell apart.

During the long drive we had time to learn more about Kumar. When the tour business is slow, he works as a translator of French books into Hindi. He packs his dictionaries and goes into the hills for a month or more to work. He can earn $1,000 a month at that. He’s a very gentle soul and loves to talk to the children we pass, tease them, and pay them some attention. He has a soft spot for cripples and has some wild birds that fly into his apartment and eat from his hand. He’s young (thirties) and single. He spoke very frankly about living with the close threat of nuclear war in his backyard. He sounded like we did in the 50’s when people in the U.S. were building bomb shelters in their homes.

He’s well read and loves to talk philosophy. David asked him one question and Kumar was happy to tell us about life as he sees it. We cannot get a handle on his religion. He may have been born a Hindu, but talks about the Buddha with great feeling. He doesn’t think the basis of a religion should be the founder of that religion but that it should be the teachings and philosophy. He said that followers are the ones who cause all of the problems and that the founders had no idea they were creating a new religion. David said that India seemed to be such a powerful nation centuries ago and wondered how it let itself be plundered. Kumar said it could be understood by knowing one Hindu rule of hospitality. To this day, Indians will never turn anyone away from their door no matter the hour. No advance notice is needed for friends or relatives from far away to come to a house in the middle of the night expecting to be housed and fed. The host wouldn’t do otherwise. When invaders came to India, they were invited in as guests. Indian states may have fought among themselves but the concept of invading another nation was alien to them. They saw the conquests as God’s punishment for wrongs committed in a previous life. They’re more concerned with the individual journey to self-awareness and peace of mind than they are with convincing others of the right way to live. They think that if each person takes care of himself or herself, the world will automatically be better. Our philosophy differs in that we work to perfect the world by helping society to improve and leaving the world a better place than when we entered it.

Toby

Agra

April 16, 2002- Oh What A Night!
(photos:Hoy cow-Agra,
Dropping trou at tailor,
At Taj Mahal)

We arrived in Agra to find it a dirtier & more congested place than Delhi. We’re staying at the Mughal Sheraton Hotel, clearly of the five-star persuasion. We figured out that since we left Akron on August 8, we’ve slept in forty-three different hotel rooms. That includes the seven months on Gold Coast counting as one bed. It’s a wonder we never get confused when trying to find the bathroom in the dark.

Our guide took us on a walk through the old quarter before dinner & we saw our first “bhang” shop. That’s what they call the balls of marijuana they chew. It’s legal here, but “hard” drugs aren’t. In the midst of all the traffic, wandering cattle, confusion, dust, & debris, a little girl was riding a bike with training wheels. Imagine what will happen when she’s ready to solo. David says that India can be described in one word: rubble. There’s always rubble as the result of something being built or torn down, but there’s always rubble. I noticed that despite all of the roaming animals, there were no animal droppings. Kumar told me that people gather the dung to make into patties used to heat their houses. Now I know what all of those strange looking brown piles are next to the houses, shacks, and lean-tos.

As we were walking back to the car, a passing bicycle brushed David. When he looked down, he noticed that his pocket had caught on the bike & his shorts had torn in a ragged line down the leg. There’s no place to buy shorts in Agra & he only took two pair to travel in. Indian men don’t wear shorts. I asked if one of the many tailors in the shops we passed could mend it. A man who knew our guide and was tagging along with us led us to just such a place. David climbed up a broken stone step and onto a platform over an open sewer to enter this doorless shack of a shop. They wrapped him in a piece of fabric as he “dropped trou” and the tailor set about fixing the tear using his trusty treadle sewing machine. He did a quick & marvelous job of concealing the tear and David was dressed and ready to go as the guide said, “In a New York minute.” The whole thing cost $0.60. As people wandered by, they couldn’t help but notice the two foreigners, but we kept assuring David he was lucky that no one he knew at home could see him like that. Not to worry. I took pictures.

Our evening would have been exciting enough even if we hadn’t stopped at a cyber-café to send you the email. We ended up getting a virus on the disk we use to copy what I write on the laptop then upload into AOL & send to you. We re-formatted that disk & I re-copied it to another disk. You should have gotten it by now.

Taj

We left for the Taj Mahal at 6 AM today. Security was strict & no food items, candy, or gum were permitted on the premises. They even had an electric bus to shuttle tourists from the distant parking lot. We hurriedly sprayed ourselves with mosquito repellant & jumped on the bus. They’re trying to preserve the site, but some things, like acid rain, are out of their control.

We blindly followed our guide as we walked through a red sandstone arch. Suddenly the Taj Mahal was in front of us. Seeing it has been a dream of David’s since he read Richard Halliburton’s Complete Book of Marvels when he was a child. We froze in our tracks. It was more wonderful than we could have imagined. It was not at all spoiled by our expectations or by all the pictures we’d seen. We both choked up as David reached for his camera to memorialize this moment on film. That’s when he realized that in our haste to catch the bus we’d left the camera in the car. Kumar was a real sport about it & took a rickshaw to the parking lot to retrieve it. Meanwhile, we were left to deal with the professional photographers who haunt the site. Kumar had explained the pricing to us & told us what to pay. As he left to get the camera he reminded us to negotiate “according to the rules we discussed.”

As we waited for him to return, we sat on a low wall & contemplated the wondrous structure. David said he’d never seen a more beautiful building. It was frothy like the lacey top of a wedding cake. As the sun played on the translucent white marble it glimmered as if frosted with spun sugar. The moving sunlight caused shadows to creep & rearrange themselves highlighting the curves and nuances of the absolute symmetry & perfection that is a signature of Mughal architecture. This mass of marble looked light enough to float. Since the Taj is a memorial of a husband to his wife, I asked David if he loved me that much? He evaded an answer & said he wasn’t into large gravestones. We made ourselves useful while we waited. Some tourists asked if we would take their picture & David complied. I recognized the accent of one couple as being Aussie and was proud of myself when I was right. An Indian group from Mumbai asked us to pose with them so they’d have a photo with “foreigners.” We could have charged them for the honor. Everyone here expects to be paid for everything.

Backstory

Shah Jahan’s wife asked him to promise to build her a monument the world would come to see and asked him to promise not to marry again. He kept both promises. Concubines don’t count. She died at age 39 delivering their 14th child. The Shah was so distressed his hair turned gray overnight. It took 20,000 workers until 1652 (22 years) to complete the Taj and it’s no wonder. Intense thought and planning was evident even in the way the minarets leaned slightly away from the tomb. This was a precaution so they’d fall away from the domed center in case of an earthquake. As we walked closer to the façade, intricate details began to emerge. The colors of inlaid gems began to take on the shapes of flowers & we could see the writing of the entire Koran inlaid in onyx on the arches and walls. As we moved around the outside of the building we saw that each side was identical to the other. A diamond-like shimmer seemed to follow us as the sun rose higher in the sky. The real tomb is in the basement and was kept private so only the family could enter. The king was buried beside his wife after his death and both of their publicly viewed “tombs” are under the dome. A latticework screen surrounds these with each huge section carved from a single piece of white marble. The tombs, screen, walls, and dome are covered with inlaid gems. It took seventy-five pieces of stone to create each flower. The shading and gradation of color in each petal and leaf is astounding. As we left, we couldn’t resist one more look. I think I fell in love with India at the Taj Mahal.

The Shah came to a sad end. He never got to complete a black version of the Taj Mahal to be his own tomb. One of his sons from his beloved wife imprisoned him in a palace tower overlooking the Taj Mahal. His eyesight was failing so he had diamonds set into three strategic spots on the tower walls. The reflection of the Taj in the diamonds was a great comfort to him until he died at age seventy-one. His son killed one hundred of his brothers, claimed the kingdom, and did away with all of the arts to save money.

Kumar told us that when Clinton was at the Taj Mahal they wanted him to see it from the Yamuna River that flows behind it. Unfortunately the river is polluted and sluggish. The Indian government emptied a barge filled with water into the river to clean things up. I asked if the people were angry about wasting their precious water that way. Kumar said they have to be aware before they can be angry. Most cannot read or afford newspapers or have time to listen to the news. They care about feeding their families and not about government vanity.

We went back to the hotel for breakfast and became acquainted with some new Indian dishes. We had fried potato balls called bonda served with sambal (lentil sauce). Udapan (pancakes with onions) and dosa (a crepe filled with savory potatoes) were also delicious.

Afternoon Delight

Agra was a city before 1000 BC and Hindus inhabited it until the 14th century when Akbar, a Moghul ruler, conquered them and built his red fort on top of theirs. He made Agra his capital. The Moghuls moved their capitals around to control trouble spots. Their present capital is in Lahore, Pakistan. This fort we saw this afternoon, like the one in Delhi, is still in use as a military base. Its wall measures 2.5 miles and the moat once was the domain of crocodiles. Built in 1573, it’s considered the most beautiful of the Moghul forts. It was built over three generations and reflects the tastes of each. The truth may be that the changes reflected the desire of each wife to redecorate. It served as the royal residence as well, and was where Shah Jahan was imprisoned. The original was made of the red sandstone so common in the area. Marble inlays augmented that and Shah Jahan added more of the white marble that he loved. There are mosaics and translucent walls through which light played on the colorful inlaid designs during sunrise. Niches for candles abound and the entire wall behind the throne is covered with them. The domes were once gold, but that was pillaged so brass is now used in its place.

There’s a special palace within the palace called the Glass Palace. It’s a series of small rooms and is decorated with thousands of tiny mirrors inlaid along with the gems. The man who showed us through lit several candles to illustrate the effect created by the flickering light. It was as if the rooms were filled with countless fireflies. It was used as a romantic retreat and each room had a bathing pool and fountain. The marble on the walls was of differing thickness and were played by palace drummers. The palace guide danced along as he played the tones and his flamboyant scarf billowed out behind him. I think we met our first gay Indian.

All Moghul rulers enjoyed harems run by eunuchs and there’s a joke that has arisen. Indians say that with such a large harem Viagra really means, “Ve are Agra.” Akbar may not have needed Viagra, but he certainly needed to be a diplomat. He was a free thinker for his time and had a Muslim wife, a Hindu wife, and a Christian wife (Miryam) all living in separate quarters on the same palace grounds. Each wife had her own place of worship and all the symbols are intermixed. Each wife also had her own kitchen.

As we were leaving the fort we saw a sight that was strikingly pathetic and unique at the same time. One of the young beggars had elephantits (sp). I’d never seen the disease that causes the feet and legs to swell so they’re as large as those of the animal for which it’s named. I don’t know the cause or if there’s a cure, but it’s awful.

Toby

Background

April 15, 2002-Getting To Know You
(photos:Humayan's Tomb,
Qutab Minar)

We decided to eat at the hotel buffet last night. It was a way to learn about the different foods & it turned out to be very good. We particularly liked the fried leeks. There was a cheese curd dish, mutton curry, chicken in a spicy sauce & lentils, plus vegetarian delights. We tried what they call halvah for dessert. It was a very sweet paste made from lentils and sprinkled with a few pieces of a grated hard white cheese. It was a pleasing combination. We avoided the more pedestrian side of the buffet with familiar fare. We seem to have found flavor here. Indians had the key to the spice trade for centuries & certainly have mastered the art of cooking with them.

Since we were at the same hotel for 2 ½ days, we became familiar with many things. Chinese food is on all menus & our guide told us that Indians really like it, but it’s made with an Indian twist. Tonight we found that the twist is that it’s bland. There was an attempt to create atmosphere by playing music in the background. It was the same tape all the time. It began with Over the Rainbow and ended with Summertime. David wanted to buy them a new tape since we have one more night to stay there after we come back from Jaipur. There were a few French tourists in the dining room, but the hotel didn’t seem busy. Tourism fell by 60% after 9/11.
I seemed to have calmed down a bit about my surroundings. I started wearing my watch & wedding band after many reassurances that I wouldn’t be killed for them. That would happen in Nairobi, Kenya. I must have been confusing my travel warnings. We’re still locking the computer in the hotel safe. How can you not trust a country that has men with dirty mops wiping out the floors of portable toilets at tourist sites so you will tip them when you use the facility?

More Mughals

Our guide, Kumar, picked us up at 9:30 AM and we left some luggage in hotel in Delhi. We’d be traveling to Agra & Jaipur over a five-day period & trunk space was scarce. One of our bags had to ride on the luggage rack. We began the day by driving in the area of government buildings. There was no resemblance between that sector & the rest of Delhi. The Parliament, ministries, & government residence were British built between 1914-29, & merged architecture from the Greco-Roman, Indian, & Colonial styles. They were immaculately maintained, as were the parks, gardens, pools, & fountains around them. The avenue leading from the buildings to the India Gate could have been the Champs Elysee. The gate memorialized the 85,000 Indians who died in WWI

We drove on to Humayan’s Tomb, built in the 16th century. He was the second Mughal ruler in India. Called the Red Taj Mahal, it pre-dates the white Taj by one hundred years & is a red sandstone monument on which the white marble Taj was based. We compared it to a photo of the Taj Mahal & the similarities were striking. The Taj was built by a husband to honor his wife. Humayan’s Tomb was built by a wife to honor her husband. The six-pointed star was in evidence as a decorative symbol. It’s also commonly seen on signs & as a sticker on the rear windows of cars. Kumar explained that it’s not only used in the Jewish & Muslim traditions, but is also a Hindu symbol. It stands for the confluence of male & female energy. The Buddhist lotus appears on Mughal buildings as well.

We next went to see Qutab Minar, an 800-year-old Muslim monument. When word got out about all the gold in the Hindu temples, the Muslim invaders swept down & plundered the holy places. Gold is considered to be God’s metal by Hindus because it’s the only metal that requires no chemical process to extract it from the ground. The Muslims finally figured out it would be easier to conquer the source of all these riches, so in the 12th century, they came to stay. They built mosques over Hindu temples &, at this site, erected a 250 ft. tall tower with 350 steps to the top. It took almost forty years to build it & it’s an engineering wonder. It’s made up of sandstone bricks that form conical columns rising past four terraces to the top. It occurred to me that it has withstood earthquakes. When the Afghans stormed in to conquer India, they tried to build a tower that was twice as wide at the base & twice as high. Their failure squats not far from the Mughal achievement.

Heading East

We had a 4-½ hour drive to Agra, so we left Delhi behind & headed east. We traveled through the state of Haryana to Pradesh & were surprised to see barricades & security checks on the state line. Security is a real issue here. As we entered Haryana, I started to remember the names of some Indian people I knew. The guide said it was possible that a woman I know came from this area. Other names of families refer to the caste.

We left the city behind & drove through industrial areas until we got to the rural villages where wheat farming was the mainstay. I couldn’t believe that the roadside was lined with gum trees. They’re following me. There was an attempt at beatification of the highway & flowering bushes filled the center strip. Nothing could help distract from the squalor we passed. We also saw our first camel pulling a two-wheeled cart & signs on the back of trucks that said, “ Horn Please-Use Dippers at Night.” The translation is that they want drivers to sound the horn when passing during the day, but to flash their headlights when passing at night.

We stopped for lunch at a tourist restaurant & shops that were considered deluxe. The tablecloths couldn’t have been washed since last week, but the toilets were spotless. It wasn’t air-conditioned & the fans did little but move the oppressive air around. Agra is hotter than Delhi & it reached about 106 degrees today. As we were eating, an employee filled a shopping cart with goods & circulated among the three tables of eight diners trying to hawk his wares. There were no takers.

A History Lesson

We had a long time to get to know Kumar & learned that he has relatives in the U.S. His sister & brother-in-law are research scientists in Vermont in the field of hematology. He has a brother in Singapore working in the silicon chip industry. He’s had opportunities to move to the U.S., but he’s not the adventurous one in the family & prefers to stay in his native land.

David & I wondered why Indians, who lived in such a poor country, had a different air about them than the Chinese who lived in equal poverty. We found out. As Kumar sees it, the bottom line is incentive, motivation, corruption, & education. There’s no compulsory education in India. Children are supposed to go to school until age fourteen, but there’s no enforcement. There’s also no free education so poor parents would rather have the child help them work to fill their bellies than pay money they don’t have to fill their minds. The hope of moving out of poverty is non-existent.

The British educational philosophy is still in place. The British system was to train bureaucrats to further the British Empire. They destroyed the historic industries of weaving & farming by imposing extreme taxes on the products. They killed the incentive of pride in work & filled the government with bureaucrats who were content to stay in one job forever as long as the bribes kept flowing. The British imposed a 98% income tax. It fomented the reliance on corruption. Workers became more dependent on bribes to live on. The hope of the Brits was to prevent revolution. They fixed it so Nehru, educated in Britain, would be the ruler after independence. Kumar said that India used to be ruled by the white English. Now the black English rule it.

There’s a multiplicity of political parties and nothing is accomplished without corruption. He said that the politicians got a lot of money to give Coca Cola & Pepsi rights to come here. Coke & Pepsi ran the local bottlers out of business by buying up all the bottles & destroying them. The plants are automated and don’t provide a lot of jobs. He said the industry that is needed now isn’t one that will give Indians a place to spend money they do not have on unnecessary products, but industries that will help them build up their infrastructure. An example he gave was manufacturing high-tension electric wire.

He gave us a history lesson on how the English got a foothold here. During the Parsi War there were three hundred English soldiers against eighteen thousand Parsi. The Brits found a Parsi general who was greedy & promised he would be king and get 90% of the riches if he got the Parsi troops to surrender. He did that & the British then killed the eighteen thousand troops who’d surrendered, killed the general, & killed the king. The British never told how they were victorious over such uneven odds. They just used the statistics to intimidate the local leaders to capitulate.

We asked him about medical care & he told us there is no health insurance for rich or for poor. It doesn’t exist. They only have accident insurance. It’s pay as you go, which explains all the limbless people. It’s cheaper to amputate than treat. There are government hospitals, but they still require payment. The motto here is “pay or die.” There’s also no pension for workers in general. Government workers do have pensions & benefits, but in a bureaucracy such as this, the workers expect to be paid just for showing up for work. If you want them to accomplish something for you, you have to grease their palms. He said that getting anything done takes an “Indian year.” We taught him the term “New York minute.”

Bargaining is a way of life, but he said that tourists are in a price trap. We know what things cost us at home & bargain based on that. What we don’t know is what they’re worth here when Indians bargain. The difference is staggering. We may think we got a good price if we get 50% off, but an Indian will pay half of that. They also openly post two entry fees for Indians and foreigners for all admissions to sites. Sometimes the difference is ten times what Indians pay. At the Taj Mahal it is twenty times more.

I asked him about the monsoons since the season starts next month. They can get seventeen inches of rain in three months. Some areas “harvest” the water & save it for future use. Most of it just runs off. They’re trying to clean up the rivers & in some areas industries aren’t permitted to dump waste in the waterways. Instead, they dig deep pits & put the polluted material in the holes. Of course, the pollutants leech into the aquifers & contaminate the underground water, soil, & some crops. Heavy metals turn up in some produce.

Getting back to the question of the difference between the Chinese & Indians, I think the answer is that the Indians don’t have hope. There’s no way to get ahead. Without education they cannot move from one level of society to another. There’s no reason to be motivated. Survival is the name of the game.

Toby