India
For fuck sake I thought to myself. I’ve literally not even walked out of the airport and this guy won’t stop banging on about this bloody air conditioning.
“Sir, AC is good, AC is better, for you sir India is hot, car with AC is best, only 1000 rupees, you pay me now sir”
“Look, it’s a short ride, i’ll just take a regular car”
“Ahhhhh sir non AC is 800 rupees, only 200 rupees less”
“Yeah I know, lock it in eddy”
Avoiding any further eye contact, I look away and refuse to speak to him again. I proceed to climb into his friends banged up white corolla and struggle trying to find the darn seat belt. The car coughs some black fumes, but we finally begin driving towards the exit.
“Sir airport parking, you must pay me 200 rupees”
“Awwww what”, screwing my face up, “you sneaky little bugger”
Exhausted, I pay and with that i’m finally welcomed into India.
The drive into Varanasi was educational. People, chickens, dogs, pigs, goats, bicycles, rickshaws, cars, trucks, buses….. oh and Cows.
“Fuck me, why are there soo many cows?”
This is madness. And why do all these cows look drugged and confused? And why don’t flinch when a truck whizzes past them only centimetres away from knocking their heads clean off?
With no AC, I wind down the window. The car automatically starts filling with dirt and dust. I can hardly breath. Smells of piss and shit begin to burn my nostrils. As we get deeper into Varanasi the traffic thickens. My driver who I am now questioning whether she is male or female, whips her head back towards me. Straight away I pause, why the fuck is she not looking at the road?
“Today is my first day sir, I just get my license” Ohhhh *i pause again* Great!
Smiling, she speeds up narrowly killing a mother, her small child and a what I think is group of goats, possibly hairy pigs.
When I make it into Varanasi I’m welcomed by a soothing voice that pops up from behind me.
“Luke, it is me Shyam, how are you?”
I jump up in excitement. My host for the next week has finally arrived.
“You are late” I joke.
“No my boy, I am on Varanasi time, I am early” he replies with a slooooow, awkward wink.
Shyam is a chubby, happy faced indian boy. We make light conversation as we walk up a tiny maze of alleyways. We pass women, children, cow shit and piles of fly infested rubbish. His home is three storeys high with a rooftop. It’s a colour wash of lights blues, reds and yellows. My room is on the lower level, it has a basic bed with a mossie net. There is a shower and a western toilet which I get overly excited about.
I’m introduced to Krisha. Shyam’s tall, thin and exceptionally sarcastic older brother. Along with their mum and younger sister they all welcome me heartily into their home.
Two german boys are also staying. They have bad bum fluff and that ‘I-want-to-be-a-hippie-I-smell-and-my-clothes-are-dirty-but-all-I-really-need-is-a-shower’ look. We exchange pleasantries, then are shuffled riverside to where our boat is waiting.
“oh a boat” I think, this is fun already.
The two german boys are incredibly quiet, possibly stoned. So Shyam and I decide to take the spotlight. Cruising along the Ganges, I’m introduced to the insanely bizarre world that unfolds on the banks. My eyes, ears and nose simply cannot comprehend the scenes they are experiencing. Shyam can’t help but laugh at my stunned and confused look.
“Luke, Are you ok?”
“Nooooo, why is he doing that? Why are they all doing that? Surely that can’t be safe. My god was that a dead body that just floated past!
The river is surrounded by huge fort like buildings that look older than old. They sit dormant as if asleep whilst the streets below are alive with scenes worse than any post apocalyptic movie. The next day when I experience it on foot my sense of horror doesn’t dwindle.
I step over lifeless men, dead or asleep, avoid the cries of young children begging for money. Tip toe over the piles of human and animal shit, dry heave at the smells of a hundred year old piss. I give way to dogs, monkeys, goats, chickens and of course the mighty cow.
I watch a cremation ceremony and see a person burn to ashes in a haze of flames. Their ashes then washed down into the Ganges below. “And oh my god are those people actually swimming amongst it?” Wow, thats a bit disgusting!
Behind the river is a maze of alleys. Buildings so old they crumble when touched. Colourful saree wearing women sell flowers, men cuddle and hold hands, children play in the dirt. God cows barge through scraping their arses against the walls and the smells of chai, piss and shit fill the air.
At breakfast the next morning we are interrupted by two indian men screaming and bickering at the top of their lungs. I look around to see whats caused all the commotion.
“Holy shit man, what the hell have you done?”
One of them german boys has banged his head, blood gushing down his cheeks.
“It’s my fault, I didn’t use my eyes and I hit my head”
At the same time an indian man comes rushing over and smears what looks like yoghurt into the gaping wound. Turning it a bright pink.
“Mate lets get you to a hospital”.
Krishna takes us to the nearest private hospital, It’s a depressing scene of lifeless interiors with sad and sick looking people. A pretty young nurse comes out. She takes a quick look and without hesitation digs deep into her pockets. In the blink of an eye she quickly jabs him with a 10ft needle.
“Omg vat vas that” our german friend shouts completely caught of guard.
I start to giggle at his misery.
“Vat did you just stab me vith?”
I now begin to laugh hysterically at his obvious concern and his now thick german accent.
“VAT VAS IT”?
Krishna steps in, “its for your face, its tetanus”
I then speak up “ahhh yeah, it was metal mate, you definitely need a tetanus shot”
Our reassurance calm him down and he walks out holding his shoulder looking very grim indeed.
By this stage me and Krishna had become good friends. Our jokes worked well on each other and he had taken a real liken to me. We would go for joy rides on his motorbike, have quiet dinners and hold hands as we walked down the street. This manly embrace I found out is completely normal in India and within no time I began to rather enjoy our non-homosexual gayness.
I had really come to love Varanasi. I was enjoying the madness of shit, cows and beggars. I no longer cared about the smells, the piles of rubbish, the crowds of people and I had really mastered dodging the constant traffic. I enjoyed walking barefoot and got use to being around disease infested monkeys.
I had made a little family in this weird and wonderful world and I was struggling to say goodbye.
I spent my last night by the river with a young monk boy and an old hindu man. We talked about the cricket world cup and even though India had lost, they assured me India is still the best country in the world. Whilst very patriotic and a tad narcissistic, I agreed and nodded politely.
Next up was Agra. I had to catch a 13 hour sleeper train from Varanasi to Agra and was looking forward to my first Indian Railways experience. The station was filthy, like mega filthy. Slum kids scattered across the tracks picking up plastic bottles and anything else of value. The tracks themselves were full of piss and crap that had been filtered from previous trains. The smell at times was a bit unbearable. The platforms were like a home for the homeless and I constantly had to step over bodies of people. There was no sign for when my train would arrive nor what platform I needed to find. God, I thought, please don't tell me I have ask a local. But who to ask? They all look drunk and disorderly without actually being drunk at all.
Eventually a man comes up behind me,
“Sir where are you going?”
“I need to find the train to Agra”
“Ok sir, come with me”
We walk from platform 4 to platform 2, then platform 7, then back to platform 4.
I was beginning to get concerned. Had this guy any idea where my train was? Not to be pushy but my train leaves in 5 minutes.
“Sir your train is coming, please wait here, is late, your train is late”.
I’m now lead to believe all trains in India are late, sometimes hours late. At one hour past my departure time the 12215 train to Agra clunks into the platform and screeches to a stop. I avoid the lifeless limbs that poke from every window and begin to board what looks like the worlds oldest and dirtiest train.13 hours I think, 13 fucking hours.
At Agra I stay a dingy little hostel on the border of the Taj Mahal. The young Indian boy, somewhat handsome is quick to show me all the guests he’s proudly bedded.
“German girls are so beautiful, crazy to man, so crazy”
Its 11pm and after a 13 hours train ride I give him a look like ‘get the fuck away from me and just show me my room’
I picked a sunday to see the Taj Mahal. It was a bad move. It was completely rammed. A young Indian boy with a bad british accent befriends me. He’s wearing an English football jersey but assures me his favourite country after India is of course Australia. He gives me a quick lesson on the Taj, why and when it was built then grabs my hand, “Sir can I have your Facebook”. I look at him strangely. You’re about 12 years old, here have some candy. He thanks me politely before hurrying off to meet with his family.
I’m in Pushkar now, its like a little Varanasi. I thought I’d love it. So I booked 4 nights here. So far i’ve been attacked by a monkey in the middle of the night and been persuaded to bath naked (well in my undies) in the holy waters of Pushkar Lake.
The water is filthy, like bath water thats never been drained. Bits of food, rubbish and shit float past my face as my head is dunked under the water three times. I throw some rose petals, rice and red dust over my head. I say a whole heap of Hindu, throw some more rose petals and finally rejoice.
“Are you happy sir? Today you wash away all your sins”.
My mind is ticking away. “Please god, please make sure no water went in my mouth”
The priest then assures me i’ll return to Pushkar one day with my wife and two children. I chuckle at the prospects of both.
Back in Delhi my good friend Jessica decided to join me. She’s a writer, a joker, has golden hair and legs like a man. Within her first 5 seconds on the streets of Delhi she makes the first of many rookie errors. Looking dazed and confused she walks head first into oncoming traffic.
BAM, within seconds she’s knocked a family of four from their buzzy little scooter. The mother narrowly captures her baby as it swings around her helplessly. The scene turns chaotic but we all eventually laugh it off. Jess looking a tad embarrassed admits she hardly felt a pinch when the scooter rammed into the side of her legs. This of course only reconfirming her legs of steel would make even superman a little envious.
In Delhi we decided to couchsurf. We found a flamboyant gay make-up artist with orange and pink hair. He didn’t like to drink but loved to party. He assured us there is one lesson when drinking in India, “and that is darling, people who drink, get drunk and beat their wives”
Ohh, we thought.
“and darling, drunk men like to rape”.
Ohhhh even better…. We look at each other blankly. This guys a real charmer.
A few nights into Delhi and Jess was already struggling. Whenever and wherever possible, she managed to give away most of our food. Beggars were coming to her like ‘Mother Teresa’ and I ironically accepted the fact I was perhaps never going to eat again.
She had a real knack for attracting people and if it wasn’t the beggars, it was the men. Lines of indian men would gather around her, like moths to a flame. Not even the police could stop the mass of indian groupies she attracted. All hail Lord Jessica, foreign god of beauty! Paparazzi Princess! Our long lost lover to Lord Shiva.
After each photo the men would come to me, shake my hand and thank me dearly for such an honour. I would laugh it off. God I was beginning to think maybe I should start charging these guys. At this rate my golden-haired freak show could make me 5, 10 or maybe 15 dollars.
When we ventured to Jaipur we hired a driver. The drive was long, hot and sweaty and I think in the end we were scammed. But honestly every indian person alive is out to rip you off, so you just have to get use to it. Our view was desert, dust, men shitting, cows, pigs, monkeys, over crowded Tuk Tuks and colourful trucks with “please horn” painted across the back. Humorously our driver looked like a muppet, you know the one with the big nose, Gonzo I think it is. And I swear he would squeeze his gigantic nose to horn at traffic as we whizzed past.
Jaipur, also known as the pink city is just like any other Northern Indian city except pink.
We got in late and Gonzo had gotten us lost. In the dead of the night he would stop the car, jump out and go searching for directions. Leaving a worried Jess and I a little confused and a tad scared.
“Luke, please lock your door, those men look like they want to rape me”
We were delighted to find our hotel before the category 5 desert storm ripped through Jaipur. Strong winds smashing glass and breaking doors. Had we just entered the gates of hell? What in good god was going on? Jaipur was whipping us into a frenzy!
The next morning after finishing my 10th glass of Chai we chat with two overweight nerdy looking indian men. It was not even 9am and they had already cracked open a few beers and had their hairy nipples out.
“Guys, if you go back to Delhi, you should hit up the underground rave scene, its sickkk” they dribbled.
I think we both nodded, smiled and pretended to take an interest. But looking back now, I’m pretty sure Guru (our pink haired gay couchsurfer) did take us to some kind of underground rave. And i’m pretty sure Jess was on all fours white girl wasted after a few too many tequila’s and one too many Miley Cyrus slut drops.
By this stage Jess was feeling quite authentic and was on a mission to buy her very own Saree. We found a nice and honest Indian man and proceeded to the basement of his shop. There Jess stripped down and learnt the basics steps of saree dressing. We were overwhelmed by the sea of wonderful colours, Indian women are truly stunning. But for Jess it was proving rather difficult to find something that matched her strawberry blonde hair. A few steps in and our little indian host was getting a tad cheeky with a rather 'hands on' approach. Frustrated and tired of having her fun bags felt up, she picked out a nice purple and gold saree, paid the 100 rupees and walked away feeling mildly satisfied but a tad violated.
To finish Jaipur we trekked a monkey temple to watch the sunset. Jess got a few snaps of the infamous ‘Bubba’s’ also know as ‘holy men’ that wear adult diapers. And I faced my fears by getting up close and personal with feral, rabies infested monkeys.
High above Jaipur, we bathed in blissful silence as the sun dropped behind the city.
“Monkey, monkey” “come quickly” “bad, bad monkeys” a young girl comes screaming.
Maybe it was the bad karma from not paying the Bubba, perhaps it was just bad luck. But little monkey thieves had gotten away with Jess’s golden Haviana’s leaving her shocked, shoeless and a little sad. I was in hysterics as a search party was organise to retrieve these golden slippers. As dusk turned to night, we eventually found her thongs and she wasted no time in paying the ‘bubba’ all the rupees she could find. Both the bubba and Jess were quick to snap into smiles of joy. It was a real Cinderella meets jungle book moment. And we departed happily with our new found karma.
As Jess left back to London, I decided to jump on another train and head west to the blue city of Jodhpur. A city famed for its big Fort and Greek style architecture. On first inspections the fort is massive. Like it really does sit high in the sky atop soaring cliffs. As hawks circle above it kinda stings the eyes really. I was super impressed.
Im staying deep in the old town high in a cave with epic views across the city. The city itself looks like a bunch of blue lego blocks all squeezed tightly together. As I peer down it became obvious that roads are non-existent. People (and monkeys) prefer to bounce from staircases, rooftops and secret passageways. It’s fucking brilliant. I sway back on my balcony chair, I begin to ponder.
I think just found my new favourite place in India.
I meet two young British girls who are both suffering from severe Delhi Belly. We sit atop a charming rooftop and watch the sunset. They order a mango Lassi in hope it will kill the monster torturing their lower intestines. We chat fashion. How Indian women love to show their chubby bellies. How Indian men all wear suit pants and collared shirts. And how funny it would be if they all swapped clothing. Like a big gay Indian Mardi Gras.
We ponder over how cheap everything is, but how we still manage to spend loads of money. About how theres only two places to escape the heat in India and thats ATM booths and AC trains. How mens body odour smells of chutney, sweat and old spices. And finally we all agree that there is just too much fucking rubbish across India.
“I saw a cow barf up a plastic bag the other day”
“Oh I actually think thats a problem, like it kills them”
“Really” I think “Here they are walking the streets like they own the road, not a car, truck or bus will touch them, humans worships them like gods, but they're eating rubbish which is slowly sending them to cow heaven” unbelievable.
I order a vegetable kofta and realise I’ve accidentally been vegetarian now for nearly six months. Not purposely but I haven't touched meat since travelling Japan, Nepal and now India. I smirk. I day-dream. Maybe I should embrace my new found freedom. Maybe I’ll become a hippie. I’ll order some weed and get some dreadlocks. Move back to Varanasi. Talk Shiva with toothless Holy Men. Or maybe i’ll just order a meat lovers pizza when I get home. I'm still undecided.
But when I think back to what I’ve learnt from my time in India. I can't help but think this is a country that offers support, a sense of healing, a place of freedom. Whilst you should never walk away from your problems, its nice to know theres a place that will lead you in the right direction. For me it was never supposed to be a spiritual journey, nor was I desperately trying to find myself. I still struggle with the complexities of life, of love and happiness. But everyday I am learning new things and finding new ways of thinking. We are all so different and it is perfectly fine. Just be kind, be understanding, be true to yourself, stop rushing through life and just smile. It really is infectious.
And for that I’ll love India.
