Inconvenience regretted

It's the little things
New Delhi

After one week, I’m nearly re-assimilated to India, returning after an absence of one year and three months (yes, I was counting the months and fractions thereof). 

A newly spiffy Indira Gandhi International airport was unrecognizable - entirely too efficient, clean, aesthetically designed and well-organized.  

Even more astonishing was the gleaming Airport Metro, India’s own Train to the Plane.  For 80 rupees (less than $2 USD), I entered the shining, near-empty marble enclave (soon to sport a 24-hour shopping mall) and was whisked toward central Delhi in a fashion rivaling a Tokyo bullet train. 

What struck me upon emerging overground was not the overwhelming panorama of India in all its chaotic majesty.  It was the incidentals I’d forgotten that, for the past seven years, were a part of per diem. 

-The burning garbage smell

-The “no change” thing. Change, of course, comes from within.

-The smell of the toxic cleaning fluid, equal parts Pine Sol and ammonia, that everything clean is soaked in.  The fumes of this cleaning fluid rise up, choking your gullet

-The little location notes on your mobile phone. Wherever you roam, a thoughtful note pops up onscreen with names like "Lodi Gardens" or "Ernakulam Junction."

-The mothball thing. Where did Indians get the idea that mothballs, which are pure poison (that's why they drive moths away), are some kind of disinfectant and should be used not only to store even cotton sheets but to deodorize and clean bathrooms? Invariably there's a handful of mothballs installed in the shower drain, radiating toxic fumes.

-The thin red streams of betel juice projecting from the cycle-rickshaw puller’s mouth

-The panel of light switches – at least five for each room, only 2 of which really seem to do anything or connect to an appliance

-Tan polyester pants, often paired with a tan or chocolate-milk-coloured polyester long-sleeved shirt, in 95 degree F weather. Like the mothballs, I've always wondered about the origin of this style. The pants are belted and rather tight-fitting. It seems the worst possible outfit for a tropical climate, and the colour or lack of makes it seems a strange echo of an khaki police uniform.

-The sliding latches on the backside of every door

-"Jain sambar available."  "Jain food" means made with no onions (or eggs, and probably a number of other things).  I appreciate the way India accomodates so many religious minorities. 

-The omnipotence of Shahrukh's face. 

-The breath freshener at the end of even the most humble meal - an anise seed, often coated in sugar.  This taste, combined with air conditioning, will always remind me of my first winter in Madras.

Here’s another example of Delhi’s many efforts to clean up. 

There are now some No Hawking Zones. But an inordinate number of yummy street food vendors seem to have been removed, including my favourite kathi-wallah Khan ChaCha In Khan Market.  Khan ChaCha is now upstairs and upscale, above its previous funky street-stall location. Translation: Nowhere near as much fun.  But the Delhi High Court didn’t want people standing out in the lane, munching on their paneer rumali rolls in the open air as they had done for years.  

In Nehru Place, I even saw a signboard pointing the way toward “vendors under stay of Delhi High Court,” meaning, I suppose, they’d been forced to move.  

A lot (not all) of the teeming profusion of street life that makes India fun seems to have  been removed from New Delhi.  Haven’t spent time in Old Delhi this trip.

Perhaps most amazingly of all, the Metro is finished. Finished! As in, all lines leading to all far-flung branches of Delhi, including Qutb Minar and Noida, are now accessible for the nominal Metro charges. The first car of every train is reserved “Kaival Mahila” (for women only).  

 It’s not always respected, but in the evenings women police board the car and vehemently shoo away all  but the oldest menfolk (or, I’ve noticed, some men who are obviously travelling with their wives.  Don’t ask me how I know they are married, you just know. Probably from their total lack of interest in one another).

Kumaris Three

Three muses
Kolhachakk, Bihar

The three sisters live in a Bihar village - Kolhachakk, about an hour outside of Patna.

Each one is named with a variation of the word "kumari" (maiden or virgin princess) - "Shonakumari," "Ratnakumari," "Vidyakumari."

In a region where older ladies (by that, I mean old enough to be married and wear a sari, which is about sixteen) are obliged to cover their mouths and shy away from the camera, these young ladies looked boldly into my lens with confident smiles.

They live in a traditional joint household, several oblong wings surrounding a central courtyard. Three generations (25 people) dwell under that corrugated tin roof. The Kumaris are lucky - they have their own family well nearby and don't have to go far for water.

The festive buntings in the background are left over from Saraswati Puja (Vasant Panchami), a winter time holiday honouring the goddess of learning.

I have fantasies of returning to dusty Kolhachakk and bringing them copies of this photo.

Age of Aquaria

Bhaktapur (Nepal) is a great place to observe the continuation of traditional lifeways. Here, young ladies of Bhaktapur draw water from a community well. In cultures across the globe, fetching the water is women's work.

I liked the way they mingled classic Newar vessels, such as the narrow-necked brass pot, with the mass-produced ones (the plastic jerry cans on plastic twine). In the same manner, some women wore the traditional Nepali side-tie blouses; the others, t-shirts and jeans.

Recently I read that the brass "kumbham" had been a de rigeur wedding present in Newar culture. Nowadays, it's considered dated. People prefer to receive modern gadgets.

What's your sign?

Seen in Chandigarh

-Seen in Chandigarh-

Inside the Le Corbusier-designed High Court building, which was undergoing "upgradations" on a hot April day.

The dust and disarray felt as though the real, chaotic India was moving into the modernist architecture's vision of order and austerity.

What's your sign?

Just ask the Axis
-Old Jomsom, Nepal

Jimi Hendrix never went to Nepal (or India for that matter). But why should that stop the Jimi Hendrix Hotel, in Jomsom, from having one of the most imaginative signboards around?

"Your chance to stay in the same lodge as Jimi Hendrix."  I always wondered whether, during the 1970's Asia Overland hippy golden age, a backpacker freak resembling Hendrix had stayed there, posing as Hendrix (would the locals have known Hendrix at that time?), or whether the guest house's name was a wholesale invention.

No doubt, the former skydiver from Seattle would have enjoyed the "comforts of hot shower and clean water, delicious food and soft beds," not to mention "South Nilgiri mountain and Dhaulagiri view range."  But most especially, "Good music," and "friendly people and smiling faces."

The Jimi Hendrix Hotel should not have surprised me; after all, I'd just come from Ranipauwa (several hours to the North), where one can stay in the Hotel Bob Marley.

Jomsom is the gateway to the Annapurna region of Nepal.   In search of a cheap sleeps,  I went inside the JHH to check it out. Jimi Hendrix Hotel is off the more recently-constructed beaten path, in an area called Old Jomsom, a twenty-minute walk from conveniences such as internet, travel agents and money changers. It's by far the cheapest lodge in the area and did indeed exude a peaceful, "shanti" atmosphere, possibly because no other visitors were in sight.  At least I would have the bathroom all to myself.

As it was monsoon season (early August), the gurgling of glacier-fed streams surrounded the guest house and winds whispered through the river-willow trees.  Rather than buying an overpriced bowl of tsampa (barley meal porridge, priced for tourists at some 150NRS), at the local stores, I could buy an entire sack for twice the price.  Packets of milk and yogurt were available at the Dairy Stand, where ordinary Jomsomians buy them.

After a few days, I left Jimi and Jomsom, continuing the trek down toward Marpha and eventually to Tatopani and Dumre.  With my sunburnt brow and unshaven legs, I wasn't exactly a Foxy Lady, but I did feel a bit more Experienced.