Kicked out of India
I am being kicked out of India. All signs point to exit here, on my last day. The animals don’t like me and Mother Nature herself has decided to give me rain as a parting gift…
Monsoon rains poured down as I walked the old city of Jaipur. Minding my own business, suddenly a cow butted me with one of its horns. People laughed, cars honked, pigeons flew everywhere but for some reason this cow did not like me. Rubbing my sore leg and suddenly discovering an immense fear of cows, I continued on through Jaipur with Alex and Mathieu, two great French guys I met in Delhi. As we walked, we were repeatedly invited to participate in gem scams, help Indian men practice their French ‘in their shop’ and incessantly offered grotesquely painted maharajah marionettes.
We saw the intricately decorated Hawa Mahal where the wives of nobles would sit five storeys high above Jaipur and watch the world go by. We ascended the building and found the windows of the fa�ade to be extremely low and small. Delicate Indian women?
We repeatedly tried to find the entrance to the Jantar Mantar, an incredible astronomical observatory but found that Lonely Planet had mis-numbered the monuments on their map. (LP readers take note!) As we tried to locate the observatory we accidentally stumbled onto a Hindu temple, the Kalki Temple, where there is a large marble horse famous for some reason. Apparently tourists come to just see the horse and the son of the Brahmin priest was dismayed about this. So we got a complete tour of the temple and were given orange floral garlands to wear and saffron coloured chalky stuff (I’ve never actually asked what it is…) for the third eye region of our foreheads. We were given a short explanation of the Hindu gods (wait, is that possible?) and led to see other parts of the temple.
The reason I have no idea why the horse was famous is because before we entered the temple we saw the outdoor schoolyard where students learn Sanskrit daily. But on the benches and chalkboards were not hints of the students who sit there, but rather about a dozen monkeys and their babies. We took a couple of pictures and they seemed okay with that.
And then the clicking noises began and before I could register the quick patters and grunting that followed I was being attacked by charging red-bummed monkeys. One grabbed onto my right leg as I ran, yelling “No!!!” Now that I look back, these were not likely monkeys who had sat in on many classes, but perhaps he sensed my inherent stupidity and fear, because before actually causing me any great harm, he let go.
So, on my last day I managed to offend a large cow and one alpha male monkey.
After all of that, Mathieu and Alex and I went to the center of town because I wanted to pretend for my last day that I was a Maharani. We were off to Gem Palace on MI road.
Gem scams are abundant in India, but the majority occur in Jaipur, India’s gem capital. Gem Palace, however, is the place to go if you want quality pieces. Everyone from the late Lady Diana and Goldie Hawn to French designers did some shopping there and even Lord Mountbatten patronized the establishment. Alongside the letters from Bill Clinton, Mountbatten and pictures of the late Lady Diana are stunning, shimmering jewels. The place is understated in its d�cor, certainly approachable, unlike the large jewellery stores in Toronto, (or Paris, London or New York), yet the jewels it carries are some of the most beautiful to be found.
Even though my bank account and VISA are in the negative, I saw a small, elegant sapphire and diamond ring that was so unique I fell in love at first sight. And this backpacker-cum-maharani couldn’t resist. For $200 Canadian (6000Rs) I put it on VISA and bought myself the most beautiful souvenir I never imagined. I’m already figuring out what job I can get during school to pay it back…
So after we bought the ring (sample vignette: Emily claps her hands in delight, gazes lovingly at the ring, giggles and grins broadly while showing it again and again and again to Alex & Mathieu) we returned to our hotel for dinner.
The Hotel Diggi Palace used to be a nobleman’s house and is absolutely the most spectacular backpackers accommodation I’ve seen. For $5 Canadian or $3 US per night you can have a small room without bath, but in a real Indian palace with lawns and a lovely secluded space. I couldn’t believe I was living my imagination on a budget.
And so we went up to the terraced restaurant with its yellow and blue Indian design, metal latticed chairs and arched windows and had my final Indian meal – biryani, aloo palak, tandoori chicken and nan bread. Having had lassis earlier on at the lassi walla on MI Road, my Indian feasting had come to its proper and complete end.
When I arrived back in Delhi just before heading to Jaipur, my final touring spot, it was like coming home. The smell, unique in all the world, the shit, cows, chaos, horns, paan stains, food stands of golgopa, samosas, pakora, the traffic, silks and cottons, blaring Hindi music, beggar women sitting on the streets picking out lice from their hair, the pollution that turns my skin gray – it all felt right. At my hotel they were glad to see me, brought me a banana lassi because they know I think theirs are the best, and prepared me a nice room.
Finally, I loved India. In my last week I could accept her as is and love the fact that there simply is nowhere else on the earth like her.
I think the rain on my last day was a form of pathetic fallacy, mirroring emotions. It’s true, I’m sad I’m leaving. I kept repeating “this is it, this is it”. It still doesn’t feel real. So I am kicking myself and the cows and monkeys are helping. With every nudge from them it’s not “go” but a “why must you go?” from the cow, and a “but you didn’t see it all” from the monkey. To them I answer, you can never see it all.
I saw enough. For this time.
