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Earlier in January
February More Ramblings
(Most everyone I asked had a definite opinion
of Delhi, they hated it or loved it. I was in the first mind
set my first visit to the capital of India but had a change of
heart upon returning. Delhi is one of those places I could see
myself living if it weren't for the perpetual black coating you
get on every part of your body---namely the inside of your nose.)
January 21, 2000:
Well, I have to admit that Delhi was not conducive to uploading.
Being followed and harassed on every (this is a huge exaggeration
but I'm in an exaggerating mood) street and corner did nothing
to fuel my computer impulses. Now, here in Agra, home of the
Taj Mahal, I have more than enough time to type away at my leisure
for, besides the great Taj, there's not much else in Agra.
Delhi swished by leaving behind some new power cords (geek
computer toys) and no more headway into the Iran visa process
than I was before. If anyone has any ideas please pass them along.
I did manage to meet a wonderful twig of an India woman. She
was visiting her uncle and aunt who owned the hotel I was staying
in. After showing off my new "how are you?" in Hindi
I discovered I'd made a friend for life, or at least I think
that what she said. After spending a short bit of the afternoon
together I left Jaisute to do a little running around on my own.
It wasn't till 12am that evening that I saw her again. I was
packing up my bag, the train to Agra would leave at 5:30 the
next morning, and I heard a scratch on my door. Outside was Jasiute
chirping away to her aunt and asking me to come to her room.
I spent an hour looking through her photos (snaps) and exchanging
earrings. (side note: if anyone wants to send me some earrings
I'm sure I could use them, I've had many women ask me for them.)
After a frantic search for the right train, we hopped on a
3rd class car and scrambled for seats. If you hold your hands
out in front of you palms down and extend your thumbs to where
they just touch you can get a good idea of how much room I had
on the slat-board seat. This was a prize however, because any
place you could think of stuffing a small child an Indian squeezed
in; there were people magically clinging to the ceiling of the
car and perched in the luggage rack. I've been on trains before
but never have I felt one so alive. At every station the car
would exhale and inhale with people, a labored breathing like
most of the country's inhabitants.
I've heard people say, 'If
you haven't been to the Taj Mahal you haven't been to India.'
I think they have a good, excuse
me, great reason for saying this. But...
...If you haven't also seen a
site as common as colors being hung to dry or...
...the desert just beyond the
city gates, you won't be able to appreciate the big marble slab
of a subcontinent either.
January 31, 2000
Before January 2000 slips away into the past I want to take
a break and try and remember some specific images of these past
weeks. I have officially been traveling for one month. One down,
only eleven more to go. I'd like to start off this entry with
a little (my Indian friends call it "non-veg") joke.
An American, Israeli and Indian are riding on a train. The
American has to blow his nose and so he reaches into his coat
and pulls out a dollar, blows his nose and throws the bill out
the window. "Why did you do that?" the Israeli and
Indian ask. "Oh, in America we have tons of dollars. Don't
worry about it." says the American. Then the Israeli has
to blow his nose. So, he reaches into his coat and pulls out
a bag of hash, wipes his nose with it and throws it out the window.
"Why did you do that?" the American and Indian ask.
"Oh, in Israel we have tons of hash. Don't worry about it."
says the Israeli. Then the Indian feels like he has to blow his
nose too. He reaches into his coat, finds nothing. So he leans
over, grabs the Israeli, wipes his nose with him and throws him
out the window. "Why did you do that?" exclaims the
American. "Oh, in India we have tons of Israelis. Don't
worry about it." says the Indian.
This was just one of the hundreds of bad jokes my new Indian
friends told me in Jaipur, India. As hard as I try to picture
all the incredible things I've seen in India -- a fiery sunset
on the river Ganges and a crumpled form of a child in a garbage
pile -- the setting where I heard this joke best embodies my
India so far.
It was my 3rd night in Jaipur and I was having a few drinks
at the office of my new Indian friends. We were sitting on a
fabric covered concrete floor. It was 11:30 at night. I was the
only woman in a room with 7 men. For a day and a half these guys
had, individually and together, shown me the city and their exporting
jewelry company. I felt, up until this point, very comfortable
with them. Now, because of the night, fear began to edge it's
way up my back and land "thunk" in my chest.
(Jaipur was one of the dirtiest but most
colorful cities I visited. Last year's light monsoon only helped
to remind, with a thin layer of dust, that Jaipur was an old
palace slowly slipping back into the desert.)
You hear the stories of single women travelers but you don't
remember them until you're sitting there surrounded by drunk
foriegn men and you're thinking, "Damn, how the hell did
I get here?" And at the same time a little voice inside
is saying, "Don't judge this too soon. These guys have been
nothing but nice if not polite since you met them."
It was my idea, after all, to go out and "discover other
cultures". And this was what I was trying to do. I just
happened to be messing my pants at the same time. Something to
do with the contrived joke (obviously told hundreds of times
before and with many different characters depending on the company)
and my first feelings of insincerity fired my warning bell.
I must have sat there silent for 10 minutes trying to think
of an appropriate reason why I would need to go back to my hotel
and if that failed, how I was going to jump out of the window
from this building to the rooftop of the nearby one 20 feet away.
I shrugged my shoulders and whimpered, "I'd like to go home
now." All conversation stopped. And while each Indian was
saying of course we all stood up to go, a big gang weaving more
sideways than forward walking me to my hotel.
This is India. It's a constant tightening of the stomach,
clenching of the teeth, up to the point of desperation before
everything relaxes and you lose control again. What you see in
the midst of this rubberband-effect is as horrible as it is high,
the smiles as welcoming as they are hungry. It's lying in your
sleeping bag at night that for a split-second before you roar
off to sleep you marvel at how you made it through another day.
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