India, day 5... when Vicki learns that you don't have to know Hindi to cry during Bollywood films
I wake to the sound of roosters crowing, and loud prayers being chanted from the nearby minaret. It's 5:30, and still dark. Lying in my narrow single bed in a town I've never heard of on the edge of Rajasthan, I feel more comfortable and content than I have for months.
"India has cast its spell on you then?" my aunt asks. Yes, it has.
I have some black tea and a banana, still unsure about my tummy, then take a wander. The air is chill and the sky is clear; it's a low(ish) smog day. Our colonial homestay in Karauli is peaceful, a welcome respite from the noise and chaos in the streets.
A cow standing in the early morning sun doesn't even flinch when a tuk tuk comes roaring by, Bhangra music blaring. I laugh out loud. I love the contrast of old and new, traditional and modern, peaceful and chaotic, dusty and colourful that is India.
Two rupees for some pomegranate seeds?
I've barely stepped out the front gate when I'm greeted by two boys; they gesture at my camera, so I take their photos. One poses for a selfie. I'm grinning; they seem thrilled.Seconds later, an older man with a rough turban and thick cloak wrapped round his shoulders stops me. He gestures for me to hold out my hand.
I oblige, and he fills it with fresh pomegranate seeds. "Dhanyavaad," I say, and his face lights up with pleasure.
He then shows me a two rupee coin. I reach into my pocket and offer him a 10 rupee note: all I've got.
He throws up his arms in outrage, and starts chattering away in a language I don't understand. Did I insult him by offering too little? "English?" I ask a few passersby. Everyone shakes their heads. A crowd starts to form: I've created a spectacle.
I finally find someone to translate for me. My interpreter tells me: "He wants nothing from you; he wants to give to you." I feel humbled, and honoured. I place my hands in prayer, and bow. He calms down, clearly satisfied, then poses for a photo. It's barely 7am, and I've already had a great day.
Back on the bus to Jaipur
I love to travel, partly because it renders the remarkable unremarkable. It makes you realize that your own idea of normal or commonplace is not universally normal or commonplace.
We have a five hour bus ride ahead, from Karauli to Jaipur, and I'm content to watch the world go by outside. Camels plodding along beside the road, water jugs and massive sacks strapped to their sides. Old men with vivid orange hair, dyed with henna to disguise their grey. Women dressed in elaborate saris, carrying trowels or herding goats, and men stripped down to their underwear, washing. I see signs for World Toilet Day, a goat standing on a rooftop, and a man walking along with a massive platter of biryani balanced on his head.
The closer we get to Jaipur, the more India feels like North America. Until you see a family of four on a motorbike, or a car casually driving the wrong way down the highway. It's all remarkable, and yet entirely normal.
Jaipur: the pink city
We arrive in Jaipur around lunchtime, and my immediate impression is of a thriving modern city. The air and streets are clean; signs announce "Clean Jaipur, Green Jaipur." There are few stray dogs, no cows, and many people dressed in western clothes. I see restored Mughal and colonial buildings, and new high rises under construction. One promises you will “experience a standard of living that truly reflects your success.” An enormous Indian flag, the size of a small house, flies in the breeze.
And then a camel lopes down the street, pulling a cart. Cycle rickshaws mingle with motorbikes, tuk tuks and trucks, and men in white dhotis and turbans pass stores selling Benetton and Adidas gear. Ah, yes: still in India.
Bollywood at the Raj Mandir
We stop for deep fried kachori and Indian sweets on our way to the hotel—no wonder diabetes is rife in India: this food is delicious—and then each go our separate ways.I head out for a walk, alone. I'm curious to see the city. Men stare, and I don't get any friendly waves, but I feel completely safe. I'm surprised when peddlers appear out of nowhere, selling cheap strings of elephants and Mughal dolls.
A couple of people ask me for money and—failing that—chapatis, but they're not as persistent as the people I encountered in Delhi. All in all, pretty unremarkable.We regroup and head to the historic Raj Mandir theatre for one of the latest Bollywood rom-coms. The theatre is full of locals, and we soon discover that the film doesn't come with subtitles. But it doesn't matter: we laugh, we cry (real tears!), and almost completely understand what's going on. We all notice that the main characters look normal: they're attractive, but not impossibly skinny. They look like they actually eat.
We agree that we love this side of Indian culture, and head out for dinner at a south Indian restaurant where I enjoy my first medhu vada—savoury donuts—and dosa. From pomegranate seeds to dosas, this day has been a remarkable feast.
Tomorrow we visit the Amber Fort. I expect to see elephants. I can't wait.