Middle Dust
Through the middle of India I dragged myself, pollution and dust in my clothes and in my throat. In the last week I’ve passed through 4 big cities, all with populations bigger than New Zealand, all offering little except the promise of a connection onwards. For the first time in 6 months I wondered if I was exhausted from traveling, or if it was just fatigue from trudging alone through these energy sapping cities.
Off the plane in Chennai, I shot to the Central Station keen to avoid another night there, and had the fortune to book the last sleeper berth to Bangalore. Bangalore has a reputation as a progressive Indian city, where couples hold hands, an IT industry booms, and where designer labels can be bought along the more affluent MG road area. Yet I found little to inspire. Bangalore’s minor attractions, the Fort and Tippu Sultan’s palace, were very average, though the Botanical gardens were an impressive retreat from the usual madness.
I overheard some Kiwi accents in the art gallery. A man in a hat and grey beard had familiar look about him. Moving around to see him in profile I was dumbstruck to recognize Trevor, an art school buddy. He’d spent some time in an asram in town and was flying home that night. We made an excursion to a Hare Krishna temple he’d heard about, an odd contrast of ancient Jain style stone with modern mirrored glass planes on its sides.
Inside things got stranger. ‘ONE step at a time, SLOWLY’. I took one pace onto the first marble stepping stone. ~ Chanting ~‘Hare Krishna Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Rama Rama, Hare Hare’. Next step. Eventually, up the stairs and into the temple, I followed the roped path up to the golden idols on the alter. And then on, past another donation box, and sheparded to a representative’s desk to hear the good work the temple is doing. I was pressed for a large contribution. At which point I thanked the Temple for the opportunity to visit and reminded them I was a guest, and had made a small donation as a guest. My disgust at the money driven practices inside the temple was compounded as the roped path to the exit led me by an endless line of temple stalls feverously selling anything related to Hare Krishna. I felt like ‘doing a Jesus’ and tipping the tables over.
I spent a little more to get a room with a TV in Hyderabad. I suffered silently as I watched the Black Caps capitulate (again) to the unstoppable Aussies. I was encouraged to put in an appearance in Hyderabad as the LP suggested it was home to the highlights of Andra Pradesh state. The Charminar, a turretted 16th century mosque, rises above the chaos in the streets below. I coughed up the entry fee to climb its spiral staircase and stare into the energy of Laad Bazaar. Golconda Fort, built in the 13th century atop a granite hill 120m high was billed as a ‘must see’, though it has obviously seen better days. My first real fort was a disapointment, agrivated by the eyesores of grafetti and rubbish near the top. I saw a school kid tagging the walls with a girls mascara, seen by a teacher, and instead of being reprimanded was told to catch up with the group. I seriously doubt that any sense of respect for their heritage is taught at school.
The city was another to miss. The begging is confronting and it is impossible to look on the disparites here with indifference. I even lost my patience with a group young ragtag street kids who were in my face. I think the lingering air pollution was the culprit for my throaty cough.
From Hyderabad’s sister city I left Secunderabad station for Arangabad on a sleeper train. I planned to use the city as a base to explore the nearby cave temples of Ellora and Ajanta, world heritage listed sites. Daulatabad Fort was a worthwhile stop on the way to Ellora; impressive for its heavy gates with Elephant spikes, sheer walls rising from the moat, and dark bat inhabited tunnels leading up commanding views at the top. The caves of Ajanta date from as early as 2nd century BC, while those of Ellora a few centurys later. From the sheer granite cliff face Buddhist craftsmen carved out these huge pillared caves. Buddha statues gazed out of the dim light with knowing smiles. Faded and damaged tempura paintings still gave a hint of the advanced religeous work by these artisans. Cave 16 at Ellora, a Hindu cave, was the high point of the rock cut caves of this period, appearing more like a huge temple nuzzeled into the rock.
The English guy I met and travelled with to the Ellora proved to have the personality of a wet sock, so I again went my own way. I left Arangabad the next afternoon, but not before seeing the ‘Baby Taj’ as it’s affectionately known. My classic Taj photo is a splitting image for the real Taj, but sadly it again was a case of good from far but far from good. The ornamental marble work is still in pretty good condition, though such a brilliant palace in it own right deserves more maintance attention than its obviously getting. The families lying like waste on the barren defense land by the bus station need attention too.
When my sleeper bus rolled into Ahmedabad I had worked out that any city with ‘bad’ in its name was an omen. There was nothing here for me, just more street scenes like cows eating rubbish and where the scent of urine could be picked up on a breeze. The river flowed like a sewer. Oh, something new, the bullock and cart was joined on the main road by the camel and cart.
This past week things that I used to look past had got to me a bit. Like the obnoxiousness of Indian men in these non touristic parts, their constant hoicking of red spit from the betal nuts they chew and street urination. I mulled on some contradictions: Indian pushiness on buses and manic hooting on the roads, while on the side of the street its easy to get the impression everyone just sits around all day. Or that for a cash society nooone ever has change.
Now Rajasthan is close. I boarded an immediate bus out, optimistic a fairytale awaited in Udaipur…
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