At school, a massive rain storm came through and all but sapped whatever will to carry on our tattered thatch roof had left in its dried bamboo frame. Though roof repair, however badly needed, was put on the back burner as we canceled class in lieu of a nice mud fight. Back home, another good omen came in the form of a cow giving birth literally right in front of our house. Neighboring residents and random passersby gave the new mother water and food and chased away any birds, dogs, or other cows intruding on the young calf’s personal space or gifts.
The brown basin is supposed to be a lake:
Pushkar is one of the holiest of Hindu pilgrimage towns. They (Hindu legend) say that Brahma dropped a lotus flower in the desert and created a lake where it landed and devout Hindus are expected to bathe in at least once during their lifetimes. They (other travelers) also say the whole place is just great and the shopping is great as well. Today, Pushkar is a tiny town with 13,000 people and over 1,000 temples. A sublime atmosphere enshrouds the ghats (pools of holy water) and 52 temples lining the small artificial lake. The very closely surrounding mountains reenforce the whole secluded blessid setting the place has going for it. Pushkar is an amazing town. So amazing, in fact, that today’s Pushkar has taken on yet another dimension: backpacker’s haven. The community is loaded with tons of very holy things, quiet mountaintop views of far off forests and desert, and tons of very touristy things; all within walking distance!
The only tuktuk we took the entire time was the one from the Ajmer bus station, over a mountain or two (the little tuktuk that could), and into a pin drop quiet Pushkar at 5am Saturday morning. While looking for a hotel, we stumbled onto the legendary lake (it was dry but the surrounding temples and things still gave it a mystical sort of aura) and then upon the ghat where Ghandi’s ashes had been spread (“The Ghandi Ghat”).
We finally settled into the Paramount Hotel and sat watching out on the ‘Best Rooftop View in Pushkar’ as the fog lifted off the mountains and the tiny city of Pushkar was unveiled around the lake in the valley.
Later that day, we’d be conned by one of the local priests who basically drag tourists down to the lake and have them say a prayer, bless them, and then ask for a hefty donation. Having already read about these schemes (and not being a fan in general of profit off spiritually charged places) I politely allowed my forehead to receive a big red dot and went along with the priest as he had me stick rice to the red paint on my face, recite a prayer, throw flowers and water in the ghat, and chant softly to a coconut. But as soon as this was over and he asked, “ok now friend you must reach into your pockets; reach into your pockets and give whatever you can grab, just faith into grabbing in your pockets friend and give,” I turned on my game face. I gave him 100 rupees and tried hard to ignore the stories of the many other foreigners who’d just earlier given him 50, 80, 100 dollars (or euros, we will accept euros too friend) and refused any of his gifts (which were no doubt going to be followed with second donation pleas).
Pleased with myself for hopefully ruining a religion profiteer’s moment, I promptly went out and over spent on more Indian goods. One of the dress stores in Pushkar has a video feed running directly from the factory (sweat shop?) making their merchandise!
Also in Pushkar, at the delicious rooftopper ‘Rainbow Café,’ we met the first American we’d seen in India. His name was Dan, a 31 year old duuude from California. He told us he’d lost his job in January and had been traveling around Asia ever since. He’d had a blast in Australia, Indonesia, Singapore, Malaysia, Vietnam, and Thailand, but said India was the most varied place he’d been. It also turns out his former job is my current dream job: working in third world development at the World Bank in DC, about which he had some pretty cool advice to give. The guy had a really Californian way of talking and sounded tohtally bummed about his girlfriend, the bills, and an impending job search all conjoining in calling an end to his current world travels.
^I didn't know the Adidas logo was a trapezoid.
We climbed a big hill and sat outside a temple with an old saddhu man and his dog and watched the sunset over the town, my new favorite place in the world.
The day after we’d returned to school, our wait for the morning commuter bus was interrupted by a four man fist fight that broke out three feet behind us. I had wondered before whether or not Indian men were good street fighters, and based on the flurry of lower palm-to-back of head targeted blows the four various aged men were throwing, I can reliably say that they are not. One even picked up a nearby bicycle to try and use as a weapon. It wasn’t until he’d heaved it to about shoulder height that he must’ve remembered that bicycles in India weigh upwards of forty pounds (like the ones in America did a few decades back) and that it only made a useless and awkward obstacle weapon in an already quite awkward four-way fisticuff.
That night, our power went out (happens often) because a semi driver had backed into the power line outside our home (doesn’t happen often). While not as funny as the time we’d seen a monkey in Bundi swing on a line and rip it down towards the street in a shower of sparks, the near riot uproar of our angry neighbors was funny in its own way. The whole incident and, at the very least, the bicycle fighting guys were probably bad omens, but as I don’t whole heartedly believe in omens, I think we’ll be fine for the time to come. Hell, I had rice stuck to my forehead and sang to a coconut in Pushkar, which I believe cancel out at least a few of the bad omens.
I always fight palm-to-back of head.
ReplyDeleteAnd I win, too.