Pushkar - Holy Cow Holy Place
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Pushkar,
India
Friday, May 20, 2005
I nearly missed the bus from Jodhpur to Ajmer. I lost track of time a little grabbing some food and chatting to other travellers. The guesthouse quickly threw me into an Autorickshaw, with him under strict instructions to get me to the bus station pronto. The Autorickshaw is like a narrow street dodgem car. The can turn on a two cent piece and more often than not are within a couple of inches of pedestrians, horse and carts, other vehicles or cows. The drivers have the most incredible sense of space around their motorbike with canopy, knowing exactly when to swerve away from near disaster.
I slid him an extra 'tenner' for getting me there on time (about 30 cents) and was on my way to Ajmer, a city around 30 minutes from my destination, the Holy city of Pushkar.
The ride to Ajmer takes you through the semi-desert of Rajasthan. Its is far more lush and green than out Jaisalmer way, but its still predomiantly rough rock and weeds on the way. I had made the decision to go on a private bus line, thinking it would be slightly more luxurious than previous, but this one was the dingiest of the lot. And the driver seemed to drive like there was no tomorrow, for him or us passengers. There is no wrong side of the road in India. Theoretically they drive on the left, but I think we were around 60/40 in favour of the right-hand side.
For some reason, the bus decided to stop past my 'destination', which was a roundabout around 10 kilometres put of Ajmer city. It was because he would have had to get out and open the luggage compartment so I could get my pack out. Thus he waited until he wanted to stop and dump the rest of his cargo, which was further away. He kinded pointed down the highway from where we'd came, said "autorickshaw, walk, 10 minutes" and went back to his work of unloading. I was stuck on a highway near the never-nevers, with the locals looking on laughing as to why a white guy would be walking down the road with 25 kgs on his back.
After a quality ten minute walk down the dusty road I was swearing to go back and kick the bus attendant in his pappadums if I had the energy, I found an autorickshaw driver willing to take me the 10 kms to the bus stop in Ajmer, so I could take another public bus to Pushkar. By this stage, I was wishing that I'd gone the lower class Government bus, because at least that way you landed in one go at my Holy destination. With a four hour journey turned into six, I arrived in Pushkar to find it just as hot as my previous Rajasthani abodes.
Desparate for air-conditioning, I took the punt and walked into the flashiest place in town, the Pushkar Palace. I felt immediately at home when the guard saluted me on the way in. I guessed that as it was the summer season, meaning low season, that it was worth a shot. I must have had THAT look down perfectly - just neat enough to belong, but just poor enough to get away with an offer they could only refuse. I blatently told them that all I had was about 30% of their going rate, and since there were hardly any customers they could take it or leave it.
They took it.
Pushkar is a small town which centres around a holy lake. I wandered through the streets looking for a bite to eat and immediately ended up joining 8 other travellers for a meal discussing stories. One of the early questions when you are new in town is, "where are you staying?". Of course rather than sound like a posh bastard, you've got to explain how you ended up where you did - exhaustion, forceful, not paying the full amount. They were most impressed with my negotiation skills, though it was hardly a negotiation. More a demand really.
My stylish abode even threw in breakfast in the mornings. Here I was, seating overlooking the holy lake, eating toast and marmalade, and drinkling coffee served by 50 year old "boys" wearing bright orange Turbans and with moustaches that cast shadows big enough for one of the local wandering Holy Cows to shade in.
The lake is surrounded by concrete grandstand style stairs all the way around. It makes the lake look more like a place to hold a Rowing Regatta rather than a place to come and pay homage. These are known as the Ghats. In the morning (and actually afternoon and evening as well) the locals make the pilgrimege down to bathe in the holy waters. To me they look more bacterial than holy, as you can see the greenish tinge of the water from a mile away even when they toss it up and over their heads. Some even drink the water. The local cows themselves make the trip down the stairs as well, looking about as, well about as comfortable as a cow walking down stairs, as the make their way down to the waters edge.
No photos are allowed, and its probably a good thing. Some of the local gents of a higher caste status appear to be too well fed on Pakoras and other fried Indian delicacies. They strip off to their undies and its Indian muffin-tops hanging over the shorts as far as the eye can see. Holy Cow, Fatman. Kapow.
A wander around the lake brings constant approaches by 'Holy Priests'. They are usually teenage boys dressed in Western clothes, with business cards that say 'Holy Priest' on them, hence they are easy to identify in case you were looking for someone in robes that actually looks like a Holy Priest. They make a quick speech to you as to Pushkar being a holy place and ask you to buy a Pushkar passport. If you make the purchase, you get given your passport, which is a red piece of string that goes round your wrist and apparently gives you licence to go to the water's edge and throw in flowers. I'm a skeptic - the money goes into some pimpley kid's pocket, just for a piece of string, so he can go and buy another "Nike - Just Doo It (sic)" fake T-shirt from the local vendors. Its a crock. Hence I was happy not to throw in flowers, even though I was told by all of them that it was bad karma. I didn't actually want to disturb those genuinely going to the waters edge for prayer, so I figured the god's would over look it even if it actually was an indiscretion.
I seem to have enough good karma - the rest of the town is relatively friendly, and doesn't give a flying hoot that I haven't got a red "members only" piece of cord round my wrist. It's a strange little town. There are temples scattered around the town from offshoot Hindu Religions, such as the Brahma Temple. Non-believers aren't allowed in some at all.
As a holy town, Pushkar is constantly full of wedding parties. This involves a caucophony of sound, color, and miserable faces. A band of male musicians, all wearing poor fitting light blue or brown pinstripe suit and ties, walk at the front. They seem to be playing randomly, a mix of New Orleans jazz, Indian traditional sounds, 80's new-wave piano-synthesiser (connected to a generator and amp) and the kind of out-of-beat drumming that only kindergarten children could accurately recreate. There is no song as such, just noise. Behind them is usually a crowd of family, and then the groom in traditional Turban and clothes, on horseback. The horse too has its Sunday-best clothes on (even though its Saturday, or Friday, or any Wedding Day) with jewels and sequins on its own headgear. If its at night, there will also be a collection of children walking with candlelabra style lighting, all wired up to the diesel-powered generator which pumps out its own noise, and fumes.
And no one looks the slightest bit happy.
And as for the bride - I've only seen one bride parading round town, and its a similar affair, though she doesn't get a horse. She is just as unhappy though. Perhaps she hasn't met her husband-to-be as yet. Actually, perhaps she has.
You would think that this sounds unique. But so far I've seen six wedding parades (well 6 grooms, 1 bride parading separately) and they are all the same. Thankfully I remind myself that my Mumbai palm reader told me that I wouldn't be subjected to an arranged marraige.
There are not many tourists in town, but those that are are a friendly bunch. Another group formed to tell their own stories of battle-scars won on travel, and eat food. Americans, South Ef'rikans, English, Swiss, Argentinian. I am told that the north is beautiful. And beautiful and cool. Here in Pushkar you can 'feel' that its a few degrees cooler in the afternoon than Jodhpur.
Somehow 41 degrees celsuis feels cooler than 44....
My final act in Pushkar involved a final meal - a late lunch snack at the Pushkar Palace before the bus ride to Jaipur. The food has proven strange here. Elsewhere in India you'll find "Chicken" (and on occasions, it may actually be chicken) or "Mutton" (take your pick of sheep, goat, or the strange sheep-goat looking things, if you are lucky) but never "Beef" due to the Holy Cow status. Predomiantly I've been sticking to the vegetarians meals, ownly dining out on our feathered friends at decent restaurants, plus eating as many eggs as I can for protein. Due to religious beliefs, here in Pushkar there is no meat at all, and no eggs. Rices and vegies and their various forms are the only solutions.
I asked for a club sandwich, expecting some form of open sandwich with salad and vegetables and cheese perhaps.... A single toasted sandwich, with banana, cheese and soggy unpalatable cabbage all mashed in as one was delivered to me. I tried a little but decided to pass. The waiter took sympathy and said he'd bring me a "cheese tomato sandwich" as an alternative. Out he came with a freshly toasted sandwich, containing cheese, tomato - and soggy unpalatable cabbage.
Murray's Law of Travel #13 - Cabbage does not belong in toasted sandwiches.
