Posts about India
Exploring Fatehpur Sikri
Fatehpur Sikri is:
- Akbar’s capital city and home in the 1500s.
- An incredibly well-preserved complex of structures created in the Mughal style of architecture.
- A pretty far out place in rural India.
So many centuries-old monuments are dilapidated and crumbling representations of their formerly grand selves. Sadly, pillaging and the wearing effect of time get the best of most. This UNESCO World Heritage site looks like it was mothballed for our later enjoyment in the 21st century. India has done great job at making this place a must-see site today and for the next century to come.
Massive cloister-like open spaces, green grass, human-scale Parcheesi boards, huge wells and ponds, temples, individual homes for all three wives tailor-made to their backgrounds and tastes (Hindi, Muslim, and Portuguese); by golly, just look at the photographs!
Outside of this complex at Fatehpur Sikri, it seemed people just wanted us there to shell out hundreds in the breeze. Buying these little trinkets for 300% more than they bought it; it seemed a front for the real transaction. Some people actually sidestepped the process of supply and demand altogether and simply asked for foreign money, claiming they collected it. I know this is part of understood Indian culture, but I refuse to like it.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if this occurred only on the outskirts of a tourist or special attraction and not amongst them. Upon entering the nearby mosque, people used any reason to demand pay, everything from postcards and jewelry to merely being cute or talking to you. I found it disappointing that even inside a venerable tomb, the high holy man tried guilting us into paying for glancing.
I am so sensitive and worried when it comes to being a part of someone’s intimate culture, almost to the point that I don’t like visiting these sorts of religious or locally special sights. But it’s part of an experience that most tours and travelers find legitimate, necessary, and acceptable. Why then are we sometimes treated as such outsiders and exploited in a place where people worship? Are we also exploiting them and their destinations for our own scrapbooks and memories? I really don’t know (…and would love some feedback on this).
In the meantime, I’ll balls-up and love what I’m seeing, because it is truly wonderful.
Experiencing Other Religons
The extent of my knowledge on Sikhism stops at the turbans.
That’s pretty sad, which is why putting on a headscarf, washing my feet and walking up the steps to Bangla Sahib, the Sikh temple in Delhi, was an experience I happily embraced. Red, beautifully woven rugs covered the marble floor completely, and we slinked towards the back, attempting to be discreet, our backpacks bumping into shoulders and blocking the views of those behind us. Within seconds, we were offered a silver bowl filled with a brown, slick, floury, sugary substance that the man scooped into our open hands. It was an offering to be consumed. It wasn’t half bad.
Every once in a while, I feel unwelcome and bothersome when checking out a foreign religion, thinking they find this intrusion either disrespectful or amusing. Fortunately, the practicing Sikhs in the room didn’t seem to really care we were there. It could have been over-exposure and the fact that they get lots of tourists following their motions every day. Whatever the case, I basked in the breeze of a hundred ceiling fans and enjoyed the peace of the room that overcame the chaos of the city outside. I couldn’t understand a thing, but being among so many calm presences was satisfying.
A little volunteering of your time in the temple’s kitchen scores you a free meal of lentils, vegetables, flatbread, and other goodies from the Sikhs. And so, we enjoyed. With full bellies and soggy fingers, we then headed to the massive mosque adorning Delhi’s skyline: Jama Masjid.
It was at this religious destination that we felt we were wrong for being there.
It was our bad for hanging out in the open prayer area, but the stares were ceaseless and intense.
A thick line between them and us was evident. The architecture was imposing and magnificent but hard to appreciate when hawkers nearby were more interested in making us pay for various services and goods than letting us be a part of the moment. And it’s probably necessary to add the heat of the day made us ever-so sticky, which isn’t conducive to a positive attitude towards being a spectacle. But we remained there, with our borrowed coverings billowing in the subtle breeze, hoping to reap from this monument a feeling of awe.
If I had any visceral knowledge of Islam at all, I’m sure it would have been a moving experience. I’m not putting Sikhism vs. Islam here, as I really love both followers, but these were two very different experiences and ones I found amusing as an onlooker.
Amber Fort in India
Outside of an intriguing city called Jaipur sits a massive sprawl of buildings that seldom leave people unimpressed. We approached the area and got out on the side of the road to take distance shots of the entire panorama. Brushing off the hats that hawkers placed on our heads for purchase, we clicked the crusting landscape in our viewfinders and prepared for an enlightening, yet steamy day.
There are two ways to ascend the hill towards the Amber Fort: walk on foot or hire an elephant to get you there. Seeing as it costs $13 for five minutes on an ellie that gets horrendous care and maintenance, I silenced my desires to roll around on the back of a pachyderm and employed my boots. A couple boys on the way tried to sell us postcards of the site, but never have I been inspired to write a postcard and send it even if it were free…so I moseyed on with them still calling me in my wake.
Our tour leader hired a guide who explained in great detail why we were wandering around on a mountaintop under a blistering sun. The structures boasted both Hindi and Muslim architectural elements, intertwined with a level of craftsmanship not found too often in today’s world. Mosaics caused the palaces to bling and the intricate stone carving made it possible for the old Mughal inhabitants to develop such things as air-conditioning and one way windows. There were perfume fountains and wheelchair ramps for the royal ladies who couldn’t walk with all the layers of clothing they had to adorn. Every factoid this guide threw at us wowed us, even as our heads were slowly baking in the sun.
Both tourists and Indians wandered the grounds. It wasn’t packed but was easily scattered with interested minds and clicking cameras. It was one of those miracle destinations where the hype doesn’t surpass the reality of the site, and the aspect of tourism doesn’t take away or inhibit the experience from being awe-inspiring. Way to go, Amber Fort, you did it.
In the dead heat of the day, we dropped into the chaos that is Jaipur’s jewelry market, a strip of infinite shops and outdoor informal gem trading that had me thanking my lucky stars I don’t wear jewelry. It’s well known and apparently worthy of hype, but I saved my money and moved on to lunch and the most hilarious movie I’ve never witnessed in a theater. Bollywood, you complete me…
What is a Step Well?
There are many perks to being in India during the off-season, a.k.a. the blistering heat of summertime. I walked into some nicer, yet empty restaurants and mentioned the items on the menu looked quite expensive. This usually got me at least at 20% discount because they needed the business.
However, the heat is inescapable and takes a toll on your body, whether you’re baking in the sun directly or lounging in an air-conditioned bus. Therefore, anytime we were in transit from one fantastic city to the next, I was fast asleep across two seats, bouncing around while unconscious with every pothole and corrugated stretch of road.
I awoke, sweaty and groggy, when our bus stopped in the middle of rural India. We had reached our destination of Abhaneri where we were to have lunch and a tour of something called a step well. We all anticipated something akin to a circular well with some spiraling steps down to the water. Whoa, baby, were we wrong.
It looked like the world’s biggest Tetris game, a gaping square hole in the Earth where people used to descend to the water level and receive buckets of heavenly h20. The steps zig-zagged down meters and meters on three sides, and the noon sun revealed every nook without the hint of a shadow. I could barely stand the heat, but this step well was something that could overcome that discomfort.
Some of our tour passengers stood out on the diving boards, from which people used to plunge into the cool waters. I was nearly certain Lara Croft would soon swing out of the palatial-looking structures that made up the fourth side of the well. Everything about this place, aside from the bats, was magnificent.
We could only weather the weather for about an hour and then returned quickly past the tiny shopping area of town to bus’ AC. But had we not stopped on this tour in Podunk, India, we would have missed seeing this feat of incredible innovation and creativity.
That evening, we all eagerly jumped into the pool at our luxurious hotel in the middle of nowhere, and even though it was warmer than my normal bath water, it was relief to be surrounded by liquid and relax my buoyant muscles. And it only took a somewhat painless rickshaw one kilometer away to find a cheap place on the side of the road to eat (instead of the overpriced hotel restaurant). I, along with four other travelers, ate a simple plate of incredibly spicy vegetables and chapatti for a mere $0.50.
This day was Indian satisfaction. We saw the extent of India’s untold greatness: incredible rural constructions and fulfilling, cheap meals alongside real Indians. We had both the tour structure and the small discoveries of lone wandering. Perfection.
Bollywood!
Nihal was a simple boy, bright and charismatic. He moved to Mumbai to go to his dream college and befriend the sweet women who liked him dearly and charm the spoiled ones who didn’t. He pulled some Matrix moves on the bad boys in school (who fittingly wore leather jackets and rode motorbikes) then saved the pretty girl from exploding as she stood over a bomb in a shopping mall.
Nihal can see the future…did I mention that? The film is translated from Kal Kissne Dekha as “Who Can See Tomorrow?”
He envisioned the bomb going off and his lady flying into the air, Mafia style. He then goes on to build bombs for his professor, who pretty clearly had evil intentions all along, and then only finds out at the end of the movie that the bad guy was his mentor all along. The movie ends with a car, containing both a bomb and Nihal, bursting out of a building and landing about a half mile away ON TOP OF the bad guy’s boat, who is out on the deck watching the whole things transpire in binoculars. Nihal managed to emerge from the water unharmed, in slow motion, cologne commercial-style.
Believe it or not, I downplayed the details of this High School Musical turned Matrix turned 007 flick. And the entire time, Chris and I were barely hanging onto our seats, curled over in laughter, and video taping the absolute best part out of necessity for later viewings, bootlegging be damned.
The movie was so bad it was brilliant. It was completely worth the $2.30 ticket to get out of the Rajasthani heat and leave with a belly sore from laughter. Don’t take this movie review to mean that all Bollywood movies suffer from poor scripts and extremely skewed views of American cinema. Many of them are pretty top notch. But I appreciated this one even more than I would have a quality flick, and I welcome any laugh lines that come from watching movies like this one.
The City Palace in Rajasthan
So much about Delhi intrigues me.
The spice markets and the grand monuments. The tree lined roads and innumerable modes of transportation. I have friends in Delhi and enough knowledge of certain neighborhoods to make me feel somewhat comfortable with this harsh environment. I can’t say I enjoy the street side groping (by any stretch of the imagination), which occurred to me twice on this trip, but I take pleasure in being in the city nonetheless.
But we moved on for a new, and arguably better, state where history slaps you in the face and leaves you twitching in awe. Our whole group seemed pumped for Rajasthan and with reason. The last 12 kilometers of our full day drive towards Jaipur revealed the beauty that is Amber Fort, a scattering of structures that span very dry mountaintops and calls to mind the Great Wall of China and Indiana Jones movies. We would experience that wonder the next day, so we headed to our lush hotel and the palaces of the city.
We took an audio-guided tour of the City Palace, which is never as satisfying as the hopeful tourist anticipates, but upon finishing the succession of numbered stops and enthusiastic explanations, I plopped down at the gate to view the outside world for a bit.
Upon entering the City Palace, we were bombarded with hawkers and beggars who were enthusiastic and as forcefully pitiful as was humanly possible. As I watched them from afar, away from the baseball-cap-wearing, touring public, I saw them in their element: eating popsicles and giggling around the street, relaxing at the nearby drink stand, enjoy the balmy weather and watching the birds dart around the sky – Hitchcock style.
One baba in brightly colored cloth tried to make eye contact with me for some change, the kind of eye contact that makes you think he’s trying to suck out your essence with his optical powers. Freaky. But it was another world away from foreign eyes.
The nighttime brought a buffet of good smells right to our noses in the beautiful courtyard of our hotel. A vocal performance and puppet show following the meal and we truly felt like we were “on vacation.” Though we were paying a hefty price for the meal and encouraged to tip the puppeteer like Rockefellers would, our entire tour group could be together without the hassle of avoiding skewed restaurant suggestions, transporting everyone on the cheap, and searching for high quality, semi-authentic entertainment.
Sometimes going with the tour flow ain’t so bad.
And then, the following day, we saw Amber Fort. Wow.
The Taj Mahal
The following came to my mind while viewing her in splendid beauty. And by her I mean the Taj Mahal.
“From a brutal sun, she grabs the softest light and increases her elegance as more is revealed. Detail. Elaborate. Pristine. Smooth. The grandeur. The scale. All reflections point to a love harbored by one man for one woman. A place worthy of a Queen’s stroll, she will only experience it in spirit.”
I stood breathlessly close to nine chipmunks nibbling on seeds, making the sound of a bowl of Rice Krispies.
It amazed me – I was alone outside in India in a silence that allowed the sounds of chipmunk lip smacks. And I wasn’t melting for a moment! My feet grazed dusty stones and stars, and a minaret often stole my shadow.
I felt awful that morning and I could barely break out of a horrible dream state from the night before, but I had to take in one of the World’s most iconic and recognizable sights. I couldn’t crap this moment away. It was mine for only a bit, and it moved me beyond my physical state to one consumed with the concept of love. After all, this is why the Taj exists.
I was crippled by the idea that people could aim for such perfection for another. It was lovely. Though I would never expect or even want a similar display aimed at myself – that’s just plain vain 
– but the intent behind it was beautiful. I feel bad for the dude’s other wives who obviously didn’t receive the same level of admiration.
The Taj Mahal for some can be a destination that proves their reaches, but I wanted to take from this place an idea and a mission. And that I did. We’ll see if this mission pans out. I’ll keep you in the dark on this one, if you don’t mind.
Independent Travel or Tour Group?
The age-old debate: should we call our own shots or pay someone to do it for us. It all depends on how you value your own physical, mental, emotional exhaustion and how things like this affect your appreciation of a destination.
Last year, I traveled across Northern India alone, at time spending only $20 bucks in 5 days and living on the bottom of the tourist barrel, other times living the high life in the mountains. I met many Indians and Kashmiris I adored, which in turn led me to be a little closed off to the other tourists like me, and I had quite a bit of alone time with the things I came to India to see.
Traveling alone, as pleasurable as it can be, doesn’t easily put you in the position of being able to talk about your experiences and be understood. I had no one to turn to and say, “That mountain is stunning. Why do I live in Indiana where none of these things exist?” or “Is that chai wallah over there doing Michael Jackson dance moves?”
Our tour group for the Golden Triangle last week was just the kind of “cha-ching” blend of hilarious, fun-loving, and thoughtful travelers that can enhance the experience of seeing a destination. Without a thing to plan ourselves, we were able to react to the things we saw, discuss and be a part of them, and walk away from our trip pleased to have met good people in a place we loved. If we didn’t have this good group dynamic and weren’t on such a fitting tour for our travel styles, India would have remained a little bitter in our memories.
It takes careful planning and lots of luck for a tour to be the best route, and when it happens, you gotta smile because you’re in for a really good time.
What to Expect Your First Time in India
The last time I left India – just eight months ago – I related the effect the country had on me to a scruffy, irritating, acidic kiss from which I recoiled…and then later longed for.
As the horns screamed around our taxi from the airport, I turned to Chris and said, “Home Sweet Home.”
He nodded.
This place, upon first impact, is not exactly this easy to embrace and appreciate. In fact, the heat radiating from every passing vehicle and the sun was blistering. Dust already covered my face. The passing vistas revealed some atrocious living conditions, but having already been here on a combined three trips, we were aware of what to expect and how things work in the Subcontinent.
I asked Chris, “If this were your first time in India, what do you think you’d be in shock of right now?”
From this started a sporadic conversation of things that described the crazy differences between our American understandings and the realities of India.
- The modes of transportation spanning from cars, bikes, and auto rickshaws to camels, horses, and the occasional very hot elephant.
- The near absence of road rules and the organized chaos of traffic flow.
- The smog that covers the entire city and reflects back in the eye as blinding light.
- The smell: a mix of feces, incense, flowers, chicken coups, dirt, trash, spices, delicious food, bonfires, and a few other indiscernible things.
- The brightly colored sarees, Sikh turbans, and fully covering clothing in +40 degree Celsius heat.
- The red, rotting teeth edging most open mouths.
- The roughly one inch space between our taxi and all vehicles surrounding ours while moving at 40mph.
How is a place so rough to our senses so lovable?
India. Over one billion people can’t be wrong.
Local Friends
Upon reaching our luxurious hotel in Delhi, I practically sprinted for the area I know best, the backpacker district…Pahar Ganj Main Bazaar.
This one stop shopping/lodging/dining/etc. paradise for budget travelers was the first place I planted my feet and bags during my India visit last year, thinking this would be the perfect launching point for both the mountains as well as the iconic Taj and Ganges stops. Surrounded by fellow, like-minded vagabonds, I figured I’d be in good company.
Instead, I befriended a shop owner on the street, while looking ever-so confused during a roti purchase, who convinced me to go on my incredible Kashmir trek. With this connection, I experienced an enlightened perspective on Pahar Ganj and India in general that surpassed what I could have wrangled from a late night conversation in a hostel’s rooftop restaurant.
And so, with our arrival to Delhi, I made an effort to find my old friend and reminisce in the comfortable squalor of the Main Bazaar, which is the main drag where one could buy fruit, internet minutes, a new cheap wardrobe, lodging for $1.50 per night, and I’m certain a slew of unspeakable things. Immediately, I received a cold drink, a quality lunch, and all the insider information I could hope for.
In a place like Delhi (and tourist India in general), it truly pays to know someone without an agenda. To get anywhere or anything in this country, one must understand the art of the haggle, know who to ask for recommendations for anything, and realize (and accept) that everyone has connections for potential commissions on their end. An unbiased opinion hardly exists.
Enter local friend. Making a local friend with no personal agenda is a treasure to pamper, enjoy, and maintain for years to come. I credit my comfort with India to befriending these people who want you to know the real charm of their complex country.