New Delhi

October 24, 2015

This one is just sleeping

We've been waiting for the wifi to come back on here at hotel.  Things are a little hit and miss, to say the least.  But hey, what can you expect from a $20 a night hotel in one of the biggest cities in the world.  As we heard from almost everyone we met today - including an Assistant Bank Manager from Amritsar who showed us the way to a street stall where we could get an omelette, and then insisted on paying for our meals despite not having anything to eat himself - we are living in one of the worst slum areas of New Delhi.  And certainly it's pretty grotty.  Indeed, as we were walking back to our hotel this afternoon we saw a dead man - that's a first for me, but Doug says it's his fifth, not counting the ones in coffins.  It's pretty sobering.

 

As we were having lunch in an Indian 'restaurant' (we tend not to frequent the places that cater to Western people and serve Western food), I looked out on the street teaming with people and thought about the fact that for some reason, despite the garbage and filth, the people dressed in rags or worse, the beggars, and the press of unwashed and hopeless humanity, I love India.  Maybe it's because India forces you/me to confront reality in a way that no other place does.  This is how most of the world lives.  Westerners live in a fantasy world where everything is clean and we can pretty much have whatever we want whenever we want it.  We take it all for granted.  I appreciate the kick in the ass that India gives me.  India wakes me up, reminds me of my humanity.

 

We couldn't eat all of our lunch - should have ordered one 'kulchi' (a stuffed naan bread) between us.  So I wrapped up the left-overs in a couple of napkins and looked for a beggar kid to give them to.  Wouldn't you know it that we walked around for quite a while and didn't see any beggar kids.  Then saw a blind old man standing in the middle of the road, hands out for .... whatever.  I gave him the kulchis.  He was so appreciative, kept looking at me and 'Namaste-ing' me (putting his hands together in prayer and motioning towards me.  Then of course we came across several beggar kids and other desperately hungry-looking people.  Some of whom will likely end up, and maybe not too long from now, like the guy we saw a little later lying dead in the street.

 

Anyway now we're hanging out in our $20 room.  Doug just went downstairs to order some food to be brought up to the room.  (It's not a particularly good or safe area to walk around in at night.  And I haven't carried my camera around with me yet, not that there is anything I would want to take pictures of - it would just feel too crass.)  Apparently there was quite a lot of excitement in the lobby as all of the houseboys (they have four or five people working where we might have one) were running around trying to catch a rat by throwing a cloth over it.  They did manage to get it and were carrying it out to put it out on the road (there's a real aversion to killing anything here, including rats).  Doug suggested they take it to another hotel.  They thought that was hilarious (of course).  Indians do have a very good sense of humour.

 

What I can't believe they haven't killed yet (or still) are all the stray dogs.  Thousands of them, everywhere.  Scavenging like the rats and cats and other vermin.  So far none of them have been aggressive, but a lot of them are pretty scruffy looking - and of course very thin.  Dogs kill children in India with alarming regularity.  When we were last here, nine years ago, we'd read about these dog attacks in the local papers.  Awful.

 

Tomorrow we're heading for Simla, an old British hill station where those who were stationed in places like Delhi, or anywhere else where it was insufferably hot during the summer months, would pack themselves up and literally 'head for the hills'.  Sometimes just the women and children would stay, the men 'commuting' as often as they could.  Simla should be quite a change - cool, green, and maybe even quiet???  

We bought a India Rail information book that not only gives the schedules for all of the trains in what is the largest train system in the world (and one of the best), but also tells you exactly what meal you are going to get (veg, non-veg) including how many grams of each item, including sachets of ketchup, etc. will be in your meal.  Because we are traveling 'Executive Class' we get a welcome drink of real fruit juice, morning tea (tea/coffee kit, a digestive biscuit, and a refreshing tissue), and breakfast (cornflakes or oats with milk and sugar, slices white/brown bread, marmalade/jam sachets, butter chiplet, (2) stuffed paratha and branded curd (100 grams each) and pickle (15 grams), 2 kulcha channa and branded curd (100 grams each) and pickle (15 grams), 2 veg cutlets (50 grams each) with finger chips and boiled vegetables (25 grams), assorted fruits (banana/orange/apple), 1 tomato ketchup sachet (15 grams), 1 salt and pepper sachet each, and tea/coffee kit.  We assume these are choices.  

With any luck we won't be coming back to Delhi, 'New' or not.

 

Amritsar and the Golden Temple

October 2015

The Golden Temple is ... beautiful, breath-taking and deeply inspiring.  To Sikhs it’s known as the Harmandir Sahib, or ‘abode of God’, and is the most important shrine in the Sikh religion.  Over 150,000 people come here every day – most to worship, and many to volunteer their services, especially in the kitchen, but many, like me, just to see it and experience it.  To do that, we made a special trip to Amritsar, in northwestern India, not far from the border with Pakistan.  The town of Amritsar didn’t hold much of interest for us, although the food stalls at the night market served up some terrific food.

 

Doug with a temple guard

We headed to the temple in the morning, walking towards the main entrance, along with hundreds of others, many of them dressed in their finest clothes, women in colourful salwar kameez, men more casually dressed in shirts and slacks. Young boys with their hair slicked down, girls with their hair in tight braids, beribboned and barretted.  I had put on a dress, and covered my head with a light scarf – both women and men are required to cover their heads in the temple.  Everyone was excited.  For many families, their visit to the temple might be a first; they might have traveled some distance to get here, and they might have a special reason for wanting or needing to attend.  We, on the other hand, were just curious tourists, but it was easy to get caught up in the excitement of the crowd.

 

We spent all day at the temple, first walking around the entire site, which is large.  It’s a square of bright white buildings around a large pool.  The Golden Temple is clearly the most important of the buildings, and gets its name from the gold leaf that was used to cover the sanctum when it was rebuilt in 1809.  The temple’s been the site of numerous conflicts over the years, most notably in 1984, when Indira Gandhi sent the Indian army in to crush a rebellion.  Over a thousand people – civilians and soldiers – died during what was known as ‘Operation Blue Star’.  And parts of the temple complex were destroyed or damaged and had to be rebuilt, as so many of them had been, over the years.  All was quiet and peaceful when we were there, and it was difficult to even imagine this serene place as the site of bloody battles.

 

One of the most interesting places in the temple complex is the langar – a massive kitchen – where thousands and thousands of people are fed, every day, for free.  Anyone and everyone is welcome to partake, not just Sikhs.  The temple too welcomes those of all religions.  This welcoming and generosity of spirit is a hallmark of the Sikh faith.  The meals are strictly vegetarian, and are cooked in huge vats, some more than six feet in diameter, by a team of ‘chefs’ with very large and long utensils.  

 

The dining hall is equally huge – much bigger than a school gymnasium.  Everyone was seated on the floor, in relatively tidy rows, their metal plates of food before them.  Servers walked up and down the aisles ladling out more food – dahl, rice, vegetable curries – from buckets they carried in from the kitchen.  When they’d finished their meal, the now sated people came out of the hall with their empty plates, and handed them to a person stationed right at the door.  

The plates were then passed from hand to hand down a long line of volunteers to the dish washers.  And from them handed to another line of people who placed them on huge  stainless steel racks to dry.  

 

Many people come to the temple to volunteer in the kitchen, primarily as servers, dish washers and chapati makers.  I lingered by the door of a somewhat dark and smoke-filled room where a group of women, seated on the floor, were making chapatis.  They invited me in and showed me how to do it.  Fortunately, having been a bread maker for much of my life, the rolling and kneading came easily.  The women were suitably impressed.  After making a few chapatis I got up to take my leave, thinking as I did so that I could stay here, or somewhere like here, and do this, get involved with a group like these lovely women, doing something to be of service to others.  There is something deeply satisfying about serving.  But not here, and not now.  Instead I took with me a memory – a photo of me with two of the women – the two who had sat beside me and coached me in the art of chapati making.  

 

As we continued our stroll around the temple, heading now towards the exit, we saw an older woman carrying a large cement slab on her head.  Was she a paid worker, or a volunteer?  My guess is that she was a volunteer, and that she chose this particular task for a reason.  But what?

Amazingly, despite the crowds and all of the activity in the temple area, there are still places for quiet prayer or contemplation.

For more information about the Golden Temple go to: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_Temple

The Maharaja and I - Same Same, No Difference

December 2015

Right from the start it was a day of striking, and for bleeding hearts like me, often disturbing, contrasts.  After a morning relaxing, reading, communicating electronically with geographically distant family and friends, catching up on the news, and then lunching on the quiet plant-filled roof-top terrace of our hotel, we descended into the squalor of the streets of Jodhpur, risked life and limb to cross the street, fording with false bravado the chaos and din of everyday Indian traffic, and got into a pre-arranged tuk-tuk with driver Govind.  He was an uncharacteristically slow driver who, even more uncharacteristically, did not beep his horn every two minutes as he drove.  Once we were a little ways out of the centre of town the roads became broader and quieter – we could almost relax and pretend, for those few minutes, that we were not in India. 

Umaid Bhawan Palace is situated atop Chittar Hill, just on the outskirts of the city.   At its base the hill is carpeted with green grasses and scrub vegetation, but higher up the landscape culminates in giant slabs of ‘pink’ sandstone, which in most lights appears either burgundy or orange.  The recently paved road up the ‘front-side’ of the Palace wound through a new, and very upscale, housing development.  I wondered who would live there – certainly not the vast majority of the people I saw daily on the streets and in the markets of Jodhpur.  Expats?  Political big-wigs?  It was disappointing, given the obvious expense of the development, to note that there were, at least as yet, no solar panels, despite adverts on India’s tv stations about the importance of, and India’s commitment to, green energy (solar and wind).  Ah well…

Once we got to the Palace gates, and paid our $2 ‘foreigners’ entry fee (after all, the Maharaja’s gotta eat!), we got our first unobstructed view of the Palace.  It was suitably impressive – a massive edifice on a 23 acre site, including 15 acres of gardens.  According to a sign inside the palace, it is the ‘last of India’s great palaces and one of the largest in the world’.  It has 347 rooms, including a throne chamber, an exclusive private meeting hall, a Durbar Hall where the Maharaja could meet with the public, a vaulted banquet hall that could accommodate 300 people, private dining halls, a ball room, a library, in indoor swimming pool and spa, a billiards room, four tennis courts, two unique marble squash courts, several courtyards, and multiple long passages connecting all the rooms.  It was built by Maharajah Umaid Singh over a period of 15 years (from 1929 to 1944), ostensibly as a ‘drought relief’ project.   Some 3000 ‘famine-starved’ people (men, women and children) were thus employed building an uber-luxurious palace for just one of the many royal families of Rajasthan.  

The chosen building materials – golden sandstone, marble, polished black granite and Burmese teak for the interior woodwork – were not nearby, and had to be brought in by train.  That of course required the construction of a special rail line… . The sandstone blocks used in the construction of the Palace are very large, and skillfully dry-fitted together without the use of mortar.  Because of the massive weight of many of the blocks, vast quantities of ice were also imported (there was no water nearby) to facilitate the exact placing of the blocks – the blocks were placed on ice supports, and fitted carefully into place as the ice melted.  Donkeys were brought in to haul tons of soil up the hill for the 15 acres of gardens.  The cost of all of this is estimated to have been well over 11 million dollars, which although it may have helped the drought-stricken population, pretty much bankrupted the people and the state of Rajasthan.

Very little of the Palace is open to the public at large.  Around two thirds of it is now a luxury hotel run by Taj Hotels. It has 70 guest rooms, including the luxurious "Maharaja" and "Maharani suites" with art deco style decorations.  The Maharajah Suite has black marble flooring and a curved mirrored dome.  The Maharani suite has an attached kitchen and a bathroom with a bath tub carved from a single block of pink marble.   Both the rooms are decorated with murals.  The Palace’s banquet hall is now the hotel’s (large) restaurant.  Most of the rest of the Palace is the very private residence of Maharaja Gaj Singh II of Jodhpur-Marwar, the grandson of Maharajah Umaid Singh.  

The Royals did manage to dedicate a small portion of the Palace to a museum, which is the only place most people can visit (at $800 plus per night the hotel is out of bounds for all but the rich and/or royal).  The museum is of course dedicated to the life and pursuits of the Royal Family as well as the construction of the Palace.  A special ‘Sporting’ section of the museum showcases the Royal’s love of polo (the Maharajah was known to take his entire team, and all their ponies, to matches in England, where he rented entire floors of upscale western hotels) and to his favourite sport, pig sticking.  There are also a couple of stuffed leopards on display in lifelike stances, presumably shot by one of the Maharajahs.

The entry door to the museum was guarded by a white-suited, orange-turbaned straight-backed, serious and mustachioed fellow whose photo I had to take several times to get him without back-pack laden, scruffy jeans and t-shirt wearing tourists.  Upon entering, I did notice that there were large holes in the toes of the guard’s shoes, and he of course had no socks, but he wore a big smile, and waved us graciously in to the sanctified main hall of the museum, where we were greeted by the first big portrait of the Maharajah himself.  Throughout the museum we saw many more large photos of the Maharajah – sufficient for me to coin the place the ‘All About Me Maharaja Museum’.  

Of all of the displays in the museum, perhaps the most fascinating one, maybe because of the current steampunk craze, was a collection of steam clocks – in the form of train engines, submarines, light-houses and windmills.  Otherwise the museum was somewhat disappointing.

Upon exiting the museum we heard a drum roll and trumpet fanfare from the direction of the hotel entrance, some 75  feet from the museum entrance (and the closest we were permitted to get), and saw a car drive up.  Two smartly uniformed (in a military style) men, a colourfully dressed bellboy and a beautifully dressed woman met the typically casually dressed, bag-and-backpack toting tourists who emerged, rather gracelessly, from the car.  We witnessed this ‘welcoming ceremony’ two or three times more in the course of a half-hour or so.  Not sure how the tourists enjoyed the show, but certainly the crowd of Indians watching from their vantage point, safely secured behind solid barricades, were enchanted.  Royalty and finery brings out the voyeur in all of us.

We skirted the gardens (do not walk on the grass, do not pluck flowers) to view the Maharajah’s vintage car collection, housed in a glass-fronted garage the size of an airplane hanger.  Several Rolls Royces, a couple of BMWs, Cadillacs and, improbably, a Morris Minor – maybe it belonged to one of the kids, or was purchased in a time of relative Royal austerity. 

As we were about to leave we stopped to chat with one of the many Palace guards.  His job was to keep people off the grass – Indian children have a way of straying from their parents.  We asked him how much it cost to stay at the hotel.  His response was 40,000 Rupees per night – with no food included, just the room (and not one of the fancy suites).  That’s $800, more or less.  We whistled – ‘that’s a lot of money for just a room’.

‘Yes’, but that’s nothing to you,’ he asserted.  ‘ You are airplane people – you came here on an airplane, and that costs a lot of money.  I am a cycle person.  I am a poor person.  You are rich like the Maharajah.’  We pointed out to him that the gap between us and the Maharajah, in terms of wealth, was no less than the gap between him and us.  But he would have none of it.  ‘The Maharajah is an airplane person.  You are airplane people. You and he are the same.’  In the end, he is right.  We are the same: white foreigners = Maharajahs.  If we really wanted to, we could pay the $800 or $1000 to stay at the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel.  He will never be able to do that.

We left the Palace by walking down the quiet ‘backside’ road which leads directly into town.  (Interestingly, we were the only tourists who chose to walk down – the rest took tuk-tuks or taxis, which come and go by the more dramatic front road.)  Nearest to the Palace entrance the road was lovely, flanked by well-tended grass and trees; we spotted a couple of peacocks on the top of a wall, silhouetted by the sun.  But not that far from the Palace, certainly still within its grounds, we noted the ubiquitous piles of litter and garbage, and the yellow-stained and pungent smelling walls that locals have marked as public ‘latrines’.  It must feel good, at times, to piss on the Maharajah and all he embodies.

As we reached street level we came upon a shabby, ragged tent colony of homeless – people about as destitute as any we’ve seen – right under and in view of the Palace.  Across the street from them were a row of expensive tourist antique shops showcasing the old doors, statuary and other artifacts that have apparently often been taken (some would say stolen) from old Rajasthani havelis.  Their price tags were well out of our reach.  A very old broken-down wooden cart, good for nothing but a garden decoration, was priced at $1000.  Well, why not?  I wondered what it would cost to ship it back to North America – about as much as a one night stay at the Umaid Bhawan Palace – with breakfast, of course. 

But I don’t think I’ll be staying at the Umaid Bhawan Palace Hotel any time soon, or any time at all.  Having moved among the people of Rajasthan and India, having witnessed the incredible hardships and deprivations that they live with and accept as given, I’m afraid I would feel nauseated at even the sight of a sumptuous multi-course dinner, served in a dining hall large enough to seat 300.  I may be a Maharajah (or Maharani), to the guard at the Palace, but I’m just a Western working gal counting my rupees in order to stretch my budget for as long as I can to explore this amazing place – Incredible India indeed.

Further Information

Umaid Singh (1903-1947) was Maharaja of Jodhpur from 1918 until his death. During his reign, Umaid Singh reformed and reorganized the Jodhpur State Forces and the judicial department, introduced a scheme for extending primary education, revised the land revenue settlement and established state pensions and a Provident Fund for state employees.

Umaid Bhawan Palace is one of the largest private residences in the world, with over 347 rooms.  Part of it is still the principal residence of the former Jodhpur royal family. Another part is a museum, and yet another part is run by the Taj Hotel group.  

For more information on the Palace go to: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umaid_Bhawan_Palace

For more information of the Hotel go to: 

 ^{http://www.tajhotels.com/luxury/grand-palaces-and-iconic-hotels/umaid-bhawan-palace-jodhpur/accommodations/maharaja-suites.html}

Here's what the site has to say about the Maharaja suite: “A much earthier and certainly a more masculine mood prevails in Maharaja Umaid Singh's suite just across the crystal fountain separating his suite from his Maharani's.  Obviously, Norblin saved his finest works for his generous patrons' personal apartment. The Maharaja Suite has murals of leopards, tigers, horses and even of the famed Jodhpur sport, pig sticking. Flaming torch lamps in chrome, plush Ruhlmann sofas in faux leopard skin, the delightful mirrored bar in the drawing room and the original artifacts that still adorn the shelves make this an incredibly handsome suite." 

Maharaja Suite Amenities

• 3700 square feet.
• Exotic painted murals by self-exiled artist Stefan Norblin.
• Chrome flaming torches.
• Plush Ruhlmann sofas.
• Mirrored bar.
• Original artifacts.
• Wifi services for resident guests (terms and conditions apply)
  * Basic access - complimentary
  * Premium access - at a nominal charge
• 5 fixtures bathrooms, including a double vanity counter, bathtub, shower stall and WC cubicles.
• LG or Samsung 33 inch LCD TV with DVD Player with a centrally located DVD library.
• In-room electronic safe.
• Dual line telephones with voicemails.
• 24 hour in-room dining.
• Evening turndown service with sweets.
• Glass tiled bathroom with private steam room & en suite couple therapy room.”
• Bath menu with four distinct choices.
• Rani Padmawati milk bath - rejuvenating Bath.
• Rajput princess bath - Healing Bath.
• Narangi bath - Energizing Bath.
• Vishuddhi Bath - Detoxification Bath

 

 

Pushkar and the Naked Gurus

Pushkar and The Naked Gurus
December 2015

 

Our hotel, where we stayed with the naked gurus

Having suffered through three days of Diwali, with its attendant tomfoolery of 'crackers' (aka bombs) being set off everywhere, all by young men, and many by children, who throw them in the streets - at cars, motorcycles, people and each other - we have been rewarded for our forbearance by being the only Westerners to witness the gala event of the visit of two naked Jain gurus.  This because we happened to be staying at the hotel where the event was taking place, and where the naked gurus stayed, just above us.  It was almost too exciting!

 

Preparations for the event started several days in advance.  At this point we had no idea what was going on.  First a back-hoe arrived and cleared several trucks full of construction rubbish (mostly old stones and bricks) from a lot just infront of our hotel's pool.  This took the better part of a day.  After half-smoothing the whole area (why do Indians never seem to complete tasks?), it left.  As it was going out the gate, a fellow who'd been intently watching the back-hoe's work (there are always at least as many people watching, directing, and supervising the ones who are actually doing the work) pointed to a rock that was sticking up.  The back hoe driver used his bucket to tear up the entire area - about 6' x 2', pulling up some sizeable rocks - and then drove off, leaving a much worse mess for someone else to deal with.  Typical.

 

At the same time, a couple of other guys were repainting the cement deck of the pool - a rich red.  We assumed all of this was routine maintenance, or perhaps that our hotel owner was thinking about building additional rooms at the bottom of his property.  

 

Our hotel owners

While all this was going on we were approached by the hotel owner and very politely asked if we wouldn't mind vacating the 'deluxe' room that we actually had not booked (we booked a 'standard' room) because all of the deluxe rooms were booked from that night forward.  No problem we said, we'd had three 'deluxe' nights at the 'standard' rate, so we moved down to the room right below ours, which apart from not having a mini-fridge and a flat screen tv (with nothing worth watching, just horror cum alien movies like King Kong, Godzilla - movies with appeal to 13 year old boys, the maturity level, if not the age, of most of the viewers) was a bigger and better room.  

After our big move we went off for a walk, and a decent breakfast, the 'included breakfast' here being no more than tea and a couple of pieces of thin white toast.  We returned to find that the entire lane leading from the street to our hotel - which serves other hotels and shops - had been cleaned up and covered with a thick layer of fresh sand.  We wondered who had done that and why.  Was all of this in anticipation of special guests for the famed Pushkar camel festival?  That seemed a bit of a stretch.

 

As we rounded the corner towards our hotel we saw several workers pounding tall posts into the ground on either side of the freshly sanded drive.  It appeared they were constructing a fence - a tall fence.  The hotel grounds were a hive of industry with workers - men and women - everywhere.  A stage had been constructed in the lot below the pool, and the entire area was being covered with purple carpets.  The path leading down to the lot, also freshly covered in sand, and a purple carpet, was festooned with red and white balloon arches.  

A long table had been set up on the pool deck, and several stainless steel tureens were already in place.  'Caterers' were beginning to set up an area for food prep - two older women sitting on the ground making chapatis, one guy cooking the chapatis over a charcoal fire and another cooking papadums in a great cauldron of hot oil. 

Women and children were busy within the hotel decking the building and the hallways with flowers.  The penny dropped - a wedding!  Of course, it must be a wedding.

When I saw our hotel owner I asked - are you preparing for a wedding?  'No' he said, 'our guru is visiting.  We're Jains - do you know Jains?'  'Yes', I said, 'I know Jains' (we'd been to Jain temples in India on a previous trip, so I was somewhat familiar with Jains).  'When is he coming?' I asked.  'Today - he is coming today at 5. The three hotels in this area are all owned by Jains, and are all involved in the celebration.'  

 

We went back into our room to do a little quick internet study, finding out that Jainism is an off-shoot of Hinduism, the Jains having decided that there were too many gods and too much hoo-ha associated with Hinduism (which to us Westerners seems a more than reasonable point of view).  The Jains espouse a simpler life, circumscribed by 'Right' beliefs, thoughts, and actions. There are two branches of Jainism.  In one branch the gurus take simplicity to the limit - they wear no clothes and (apparently) have no possessions other than a gourd and a peacock feather duster (a rather large one, with which they 'bless' people and things - and animals?).  

 

I ventured outside again to see what was going on.  Our hotel owner saw me and asked me to take photos of the hotel and post them on Trip Advisor (Trip Advisor is THE big website here - all of the businesses want to be recommended by Trip Advisor).  I agreed to take the photos and give them to him.  For the rest of the afternoon I was busy taking photos of the final preparations - the receiving room being set up in an upstairs room of the hotel, barren except for a wooden chair and dais, with a reverse swastika carved on its front side.  Flowers artfully arranged in patterns on the outdoor hallway to the room and on the staircase leading up to it.  

There were more preparations in the once-empty lot.  A 'wall' of colourful fabrics was being hung to enclose the area, and hide the less than lovely vacant lot on the other side.  Two white mock-marble (aka plastic) statues - an elephant and a peacock - were being carefully placed on the stage.  White leather-look couches and scores of red and stainless chairs were being lifted up and over the garden wall, the chairs then covered with gold fabric.  A blue carpet runner was being carefully laid over the wider purple carpet, running from the bottom of the property up past the pool, into the hotel's garden and right up to the stairs leading to what was now clear would be the guru's rooms. 

Workers were filling the trays and turreens on the buffet table.  Men were bringing in cases of bottled water.  The guys building the 'fence' on the path leading from the street to the hotel were almost done pounding posts.  Now great rolls of fabrics were being carried in - this would be a fabric-lined passageway.  

I wandered down to see what else might be going on.  There were more red and white balloon archways along the alley leading from the road to our hotel.  

And then people started arriving - women in beautiful saris, some men in suits, others in their usual shirts, jeans and sneakers (the women like beautiful flowers, then men more like the stems or the trunks).  I looked at my watch.  The guru should be arriving soon and they were still hanging fabrics down on the bottom lot.

Right at five, as I was down watching the progress on the stage, there was great drum and trumpet fanfare, and there he was, the naked guru, flanked by his followers, all clothed, marching along the red and blue carpet and through the balloon arches.  In fact there were two naked gurus, one much older than the other, and clearly 'number two'.  

The older guru, with his peacock fan

The gurus and their followers quick-marched up the path, through the garden and up the stairs to their receiving room.  Typical of India, an impossible number of followers streamed up the stairs after them and crowded into the room.  

Doug came up from having witnessed the gurus' arrival as they came up the street - in their silver - or at least silver-coloured - chariot.  It was drawn by two white horses, their fetlocks painted red and encircled with bracelets.  

He said the horses were in the best condition he'd seen yet in India (most of the animals we've seen - from cows to camels and horses - are pitifully thin and frequently diseased - or dead).

 

I climbed the stairs to the receiving room where our hotel owner again asked me to come in and take photos.  The guru was blessing a baby. He looked up at me.  I signalled to him to ask if it was okay for me to take a photo.  He nodded.  I took a photo.  The family then asked me to take another.  I took another.  The guru looked at me then and it seemed to me his spectacled eyes conveyed a sense of boredom.  I stayed a little longer and noted that as his followers came forward to pay homage his eyes were focused on a flat screen tv on the wall opposite where a montage of images of his face was playing.  He was drumming his fingers on his dais.  He appeared, if anything, impatient.  

 

Down by the pool people were starting to eat.  We sat on our little deck overlooking the garden to watch the proceedings.  We'd made ourselves a couple of ersatz mojitos (rum and limeca) and drank them surreptitiously, as in addition to being a no meat and no eggs town, Pushkar is a no alcohol town.  Although there weren't likely any other imbibers of alcohol at this event, we'd seen evidence of alcohol consumption in town, and were pretty sure, with the number of foreign tourists here, that alcohol must be served somewhere.  Anyway we kept our drinking discrete.  Our hotel owner came over and invited us to come and enjoy the feast.  So we ambled over to the pool deck and filled our plates with what was, not surprisingly, the best food we've had yet - all vegetarian of course.  For the first time here the various vegetable dishes tasted quite distinct from one another.  And the chapatis and papadum were super fresh, and ridiculously delicious.

 

Right after dinner the evening's ceremony started.  The two naked gurus came down from their room and were literally herded by their followers to the stage.  They sat on two special chairs - not quite thrones - behind a small raised platform and four white elephant statues.  A white-suited impresario sang and exhorted the crowd into a dancing, hand-raising, religious frenzy.  The gurus sat silently watching it all.  Kids went up on stage and danced, took photos and looked cute.  At one point candles were lit and a bevy of men pushed through the dancing women to mount the stage and pay homage to the gurus. 

 

As quickly as it had begun it ended.  The silent gurus were marched back to their rooms, the crowds left, and it was all over by 7 pm, and the night was serenely quiet.  I had the best sleep I've had in a while, perhaps due to the calming influence of knowing there were two naked men sleeping in the rooms above me....but more likely due to the ersatz mojitos.

 

This morning at 7:30 or so the guru's followers started arriving again, mounting the stairs to his rooms, presumably for 'private' meetings (nothing is actually 'private' in India - everything is attended, observed, eaves-dropped upon, by at least three or four others, and often dozens - it's amazing babies are conceived here - I often wonder how and when...).  

 

Younger of the two gurus, on the move to another hotel

At around 8:30 there seemed to be a little more excitement, and sure enough the main guru emerged, descended the stairs, and was marched through the fabric-lined path to another one of the three sisters hotels.  There we met with a young couple who spoke excellent English.  They were happy to provide us with a little more information on the guru, and Jainism.  We learned that there are 1600 Jain gurus.  The ones visiting now are from Ajmer.  The younger of the two became a guru in his late teens, and is now just under 40 years old.  He forsake his life and family for the life of a guru.  One attains guru-dom through learning.  Gurus eat just once a day, at 10 am.  They also drink only water, again once a day, at 10 am.  Their diet is restricted - of course no meat, fish, eggs.  But also no onions, garlic, and likely any food considered to be 'heating' (and therefore exciting, or stimulating) to the body.  Apparently the younger one walks around 15 kilometers a day, and does not ride in tuk-tuks or, we learned, in the horse-drawn chariot.  That was for the older guru and maybe some of his attendees.  The gurus also do not speak after 8 pm.  They mostly listen to the questions and concerns of their followers and, before 8 pm, provide advice about Right living - and praying.  So it would seem, compared to most of the people in India, that gurus have a relatively 'easy' life - one wonders what these gurus gave up (a life in the slums? on the streets?) in order to become gurus...

The two young people with whom we spoke confessed that while they are Jains, and do try to do daily meditation, they do not pay strict adherence to the dietary restrictions or the prescribed ten days of fasting that occur in September.  They said many of the 'elders' (as in their parents and grandparents) do, but the younger generation not so much.  This would appear to be the way of many, indeed most, religions.  If religion is 'the opiate of the masses' and finds its strongest adherents among the illiterate and uneducated, then it is hardly surprising, as the internet and widespread ownership of computers and cell phones, that the new age of instant communication is opening up the eyes, ears and minds of those same masses, and many religions are losing their hold.

 

When we left our hotel the gurus were back on stage, and the younger guru was holding forth - he can speak! - presumably about prayer, mediation and Right beliefs, attitudes and life.  We waved good-bye and thanks - for the memories and, more importantly, for the carpet-lined path that made rolling our suitcases to the street a heck of a lot easier!

Now at our new hotel the young owner has informed us that the hosts of the gurus have provided them with 'a very generous gift' (presumably money) for assisting with the festivities (but didn't say how).  In a way there is little difference between gambling and religion - both impose taxes on the poor, those who can least afford it, and have followers who are addicted to the teachings, attitudes and ceremonies associated with the practice of their chosen system of belief.  The big difference is that although the gamblers can eat and drink what they like, they have little to no hope of salvation or trips to paradise on the wings of angels.