A Home in Rural India
Trip Start
Oct 20, 2008
1
88
93
Trip End
Jan 31, 2009
Kota,
Rajasthan,
India
Sunday, January 25, 2009
At least 50% of the time I haven't got a clue about what is going on. For instance, a middle aged lady with a manly voice started touring all the lower berths of my wagon. She would clap her hand twice, stroke the subject's right leg; mumble something in Hindi; collect some money and move on to the neighboring berth. Was she a sorceress?
I had never been on a train for this long. It took 17.5 hours to reach Kota. However, I must add that Indian railways work like a clock. The train took off and arrived exactly at the times printed on my ticket. This was the 2nd time it was happening...
In Kota, there was nobody at the inquiry booth, only a jacket. 2 gentleman nearby invited me to sit with them. So I did. They told me that thee was no train to Bundi and that I had to catch a public bus from the bus stand. They added that I shouldn't pay for the rickshaw ride to the stand more than 20 rupees. In the previous Indian cities I have been to, no one would have given me this information without expecting a thick baksheesh.
The bus took off soon after I had boarded it. 22 rupees for a ride that rook 45 minutes. Kota was smaller than Varanasi, but it was still a city. As the bus moved away from the center, it didn't take long for plantations to dominate the scenery.
Bundi was a town of 88,000 people, which was surrounded by a 14th Century fort. It was established on a valley and historical stone structures were scattered throughout. This is exactly what I was looking for. No hassling... No honks...
A tuc tuc driver dropped me off at R.N. Haveli for 25 rupees. At first glance, the guest house looked closed. I walked in anyways and accidentally woke up the old lady taking a nap in the living room. Immediately, she started showing me the 3 rooms that were available. The first 2 were quite gloomy. Then, she called her pregnant daughter to show me the roof-top one. This was it. It had a private bathroom, a relatively clean twin bed and a beautiful view, reminiscent of Mardin, Turkey. I bluffed hard to have them drop the price from 250 to 150 rupees.
Initially, I was thinking about exploring the neighborhood, but I was too tired. Sat at the roof and watched the sun set. On the roof of a neighboring house, 2 kids were playing cricket, as Hindu and Muslim prayers battled for dominance.
I was downstairs for dinner at 7pm. The living room was pretty lively. The old lady, "Mama" as we got to call her, her talkative pregnant daughter, a Swiss-German traveler, a married French couple, the cook's son Nanu, 2 Australian girls (one being seriously hot) and good old me... The French couple were having something called "Dozo". It looked delicious. This had better be good, because I hadn't eaten much in the past 2 days. The Dozo had a pastry-like cover made of chickpeas. On the inside was spicy potato mixed in a bright yellow sauce. There were some ketchup, red onions, tomatoes and coriander on the top. Excellent. The best part of it was that this wasn't mass-produced restaurant food. It was home-cooked. Now I was certain that I had chosen the right place to stay.
Mama was unbelievably racists. When she noticed that my name was "Murad", she assumed that I was Arab and made an outrageous joke about my blowing up the guest house. She was also horrified to learn that I ate meat. "We are good Brahmans. We don't eat meat. How would you feel if some creature was after your flesh?" Mama commented. Moreover, she was absolutely convinced that women in Turkey had to wear the chador and that President Obama had attacked Pakistan. "I know, because I saw on TV.' she told us. Her source was unshakable...
It was past midnight and religious music was blasting throughout the town. Since my room didn't have windows, I suspected that it was going to be difficult to sleep. Perhaps it's time to use my yellow earplugs...
