III. Indians Like Dead People

Oct. 9 -- Of course, after all that, our plane was delayed for an hour. So we didn't really have to sweat it out like we did. Anyway, we made it to Delhi airport around 10, where we met the man from Sarthi Travels whom we had hired to take us to the Taj Mahal. The famous tomb is located in Agra, about 4 hours from Delhi by car, and the prospect of going there and back in the craziest traffic I'd ever seen was a bit daunting, but I quickly learned to enjoy what I was seeing. It was utter chaos, worse than Bombay, or better, depending on how you look at it. There were naked children in the streets, amputees on skateboards wheeling themselves up to cars to beg, autorickshaw drivers peeing and not even making the effort to turn away from the road, huge crowds of gridlocked vehicles and carts, the sound of constant, persistent horn honking, and the smells of spice and sweat and sewage. It was sickening, sad, strange and fascinating. It was very much alive and moving and happening, and I was beginning to see what I would call the real India, of which Leh was perhaps not really representative.

The drive to Agra was a strange kind of thrill ride. Everything that happens on the road in Delhi is something I've only ever seen in action movies, and pretty much always figured was CGI (computer graphics for you old fogies). Seriously, the way these drivers dart in and out of traffic is impressive and frightening. There are no rules, stop lights and signs are suggestions that no one heeds, and there is no such thing as too close to another vehicle. This is the only place I've ever been to where vehicles have no mirrors, and there are signs on the back of them that say "Horn OK Please." The horn here is not reserved for occasions when you are especially angry or impatient. In fact, it is not reserved at all; it is leaned on and pounded on and tapped for any number of reasons, or for no reason at all, but it is most often used simply to establish your location. You have to assume that no one is going to look and see you coming, therefore you honk your horn.

But the really impressive part was the road itself. Imagine I-91. Now imagine that everyone goes a little bit slower, like 55 or 60 mph all the time. Ok, now imagine bicycles on the road carrying huge loads of wood or water or metal canisters that look like they might fall off at any minute. Ok, now throw in a herd of cows, ambling back and forth from the meridian where they like to graze. And, to complete the picture, how about some oncoming traffic. Picture a big red bus coming head on in your lane because the driver didn't want to do a U-turn and have to backtrack. Now picture that none of this phases anyone but you. Your driver placidly, wordlessly weaves through the cows and around the bus, the traffic cops, if they even exist, are talking on their cell phones and paying no attention, the cows themselves seem entirely confident that in this country where they are sacred they will not be struck.

None of this is an exaggeration. All of that stuff actually happened. Now you think the roads are bad in NH in the winter? As we approached the Taj Mahal the opposite lane ceased to exist. There were no cones or orange barrels to block it off, it just turned into a bunch of piles of dirt and cars decided to come head on into our lane because there was nowhere else to go. At one point we actually saw a giant brick wall spanning the far lane, goodness knows why. It just stood there alone amidst the piles of dirt, having no apparent purpose other than to make the road truly impassable.

A side note -- people here have so many creative ways of eking money out of tourists. They beg, which is pretty standard, they sell flowers and magazines through car windows at stop lights, and one guy tried to make me pay for looking at his monkey. He walked up to the car, showed me his monkey, which was perched on a stick, and then demanded compensation. What a gig! You looked at my monkey for two seconds by mistake, so hmmm.... that'll be $22.50 plus tip. Cash only please. Yes it's tax deductible. People stand at the entrance to the bathroom and charge you for entry, regardless of whether they have any right to. Heck, I could probably start doing it. No one would ever suspect a gora (white guy)!

The Taj itself was truly beautiful. The pictures speak for themselves, but I really think it must be the most beautiful building in the world. It is a tomb that Shah Jahan promised to his wife Mumtaz Mahal, which was a name she took for herself meaning something like: beautiful crown palace. Taj means crown and Mahal means palace, So Shah Jahan said to himself: "I shall make a palace, and I shall call it...palace, named after my wife... also palace." I can't say much for his creativity, but he certainly left something wonderful behind for us all to gaze at. It is pristine, white marble, but upon close examination you can see several different hues in the stone. There are semi-precious stones inlaid in the flower designs that border its doorways and windows, and prayers in Arabic script at every entrance.

The uselessness of this building, because it was a tomb and no one ever lived there, make its beauty and majesty all the more striking because it is beauty for its own sake. No function, no utility, all aesthetic. We hired a guide for a few dollars to tell us about the history of the place, and to help us fend off the aggressive hawkers in the street. Hi folks, this is Ayesha writing now. Back in Delhi that night we were weary from a long day of daredevil driving, and it was wonderful to arrive at someone's house instead of a cheap hotel. Neither of us had ever met our gracious host, but she's a friend of a friend of mine- this is typical of Indian hospitality. So we trudged in dirty and tired to find a wonderful (i.e. safe) home-cooked meal waiting for us. The maids made our beds and took every care of us before retiring, and it felt wonderful to have clean showers, sheets, and floors. Oct. 10 The next two days proved to be a couple of the most exhausting of the trip.

Delhi is - although the capital - one of the craziest cities in India. While New Delhi - where the Parliament and other official stuff is - has wide roads and is well maintained, Old Delhi has tiny narrow streets, is liberally sprinkled with old monuments, and is utterly chaotic. We visited the Red Fort where everyone thought I was a foreigner much to my annoyance. It was huge and impressive, and we went back there at night for a son et lumiere - or sound and light show - which went through the history of India and explained how crucial the Red Fort was through the years. It was pretty imaginative and sometimes amusing: "and king so and so married..(disgusted pause)..a common slut!" During the rest of the day we went to the most crowded restaurant ever for lunch, found the Jama Masjid where we had to go in one at a time, and where a man disturbingly threatened (jokingly?) to cut the throat of a white guy sitting next to Jono.

We often found ourselves on the defensive in Delhi as the average person's attitude can be a little brash, but it gave Jono a chance to 'take charge' for a little while which meant dragging me around by the hand, which I somehow enjoyed. Note from me: it is tiring being the organizer all the time! We worked our way through ridiculously crowded back alleys, crowded like frat parties, but with cows and bikes and spices and crap all over the ground. Jono was the only white guy in sight. We also dropped into a Jain temple, which was beautiful and peaceful in the midst of the Delhi hubbub. No leather allowed inside! Remove shoes and belts at the door, the Jains are animal lovers. We then found an oddly empty cafe which proved to be a surprising oasis of calm. In a city where every crack and crevice seemed to be packed with people, this cafe was inexplicably vacant. Maybe they put poison in the food? We'll find out.

Oct.11 -- The next morning we were regaled by our gracious host Poonam before she hurried off to work, and we visited Humayun's Tomb. They seemed exceedingly interested in making sure the dead were happy...this was another humongous monument with several buildings, gardens, and ruins. Although I want Jono to build me a palace, he found a particularly nice crumbling hovel which he set aside for me and named: 'Baby Cave'. It's basically almost the same as a palace. We trekked to a store to buy a thank-you gift for Poonam and then caught an autorickshaw to the train station.

Note from Jono: You might not know it from her vegetarian, mild-mannered, flower-child, not to mention miniature exterior, but Ayesha is actually quite fierce. I've known this for a long time, but I don't think the autorickshaw drivers of Delhi knew it until just recently. By the end of this trip she will have a reputation all over India for surprising saviness, ruthless haggling, disgusted incredulity, and many other forms of righteous wrath in asserting that she is indeed Indian (a tough point to sell at times because of me) and that she deserves a much lower price than what they're offering. I have no idea what she said to these guys, because it was all in Hindi, but they invariably got a terrified look in their eyes, as if the mongol hordes were charging down from the hilltops in their direction. Quite impressive really. Ok, back to Ayesha.

The train station was huge and unbelievably badly sign-posted. Actually, there were no signs at all. The numbers of the platforms went both higher and lower in each direction, and after finally asking several people before we found our platform, finding our train compartment was as difficult. The compartment number - B1 - was written in chalk on the wrong compartment, but written in chalk and then erased on the right compartment. Of course, this simply somehow works in India and people make it on alright. Our journey was about 20 hours long but very comfortable and we met some nice Israeli fellow travelers. My favorite anecdote about the train is - when you're done with your food which they serve in boxes or wrapped in paper - or when you create any waste at all - it goes straight out of the train. When Jono went to find a trash can for our junk a man standing near the door opened it and with a flourish motioned for him to throw it all out of the train as it whizzed on by. He and I, our environmental consciousnesses disturbed - had little choice.

Note from Jono: There was also a big, hoarse-voiced man in the next compartment who stole our pillows when we weren't looking. I sicked my fierce little lady on him, and he gave the pillows back, but expected our sympathy when he explained that he didn't have any. Then, at 1am, he turned on his lights and started talking at full volume. If I spoke Hindi I would have totally cursed him out. Ok... maybe I would have firmly insisted that he shut up. Alright fine, I would have politely requested that at the soonest convenient time he would please slightly reduce his volume. You get the point.