Monthly Archives: October 2014

Let’s Make a Deal

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Indians know how to throw a good party, and the Pushkar Camel Fair is no exception. Days before the “official” opening there is the frantic activity of vendors setting up their stalls. A ready made audience of 5,000 camels,2,000 horses and about 50,000 tourists(the majority of them Indian) requires lots and lots of food,feed and entertainment.

Our favorite food stall selling samosa, pakora, and a variety of savory snacks is located  at the entrance to the fairgrounds. On the first day we stop by for a quick samosa and pay 20 rupees (about 33 cents). G sees an Indian family seated inside and asks them in Hindi (he’s getting pretty good at it) how much they paid. When he finds out that they only paid 15 rupees,G renegotiates the price we pay. Stunned and annoyed at the same time, our money is reluctantly returned.

Our favorite samosa staff at the entrance to the Pushkar Camel Fair

Our favorite samosa stall

Our reputation is redeemed by complimenting the samosa man with smiles and a thumbs up sign. When I order another samosa AND the pakora, he smiles broadly and the grin spreads to all the cooks.

After four hours of filming camels (and losing my sun shade for my lens) and deal making, we stop at the stall again on our way out. This time I whip out my little water spray bottle and start spraying myself to get a bit of relief from the oppressive heat. Soon everyone wants a spritz and I go around to each one of the cooks giving a short spray. With a bevy of warm good byes we promise to return the next day.

The activity of buying/selling camels grows to a crescendo the day before the fair. Groups of turbaned men,( pink, orange or multicolored) sit squatting on the ground bargaining, yelling and strutting their camels. It can become loud and aggressive and sometimes it seems like a fight might break out. Then either the buyer walks away or buyer and seller stand up and shout something, which binds the deal, and money is exchanged.

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The carnival atmosphere is infectious. Indian families from all over the country come to the fair to enjoy themselves and buy kitschy souvenirs. There are tribals, middle class Indians, Saddhus, and everything in between. As many people want to take our picture as we do theirs.

Nothing can compare to the riot of colors, exotic textiles,and the eagerness (often too much so) of people wanting to know everything about you.

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Kofta by Candlelight/ Better to Light a Candle…

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According to legend, the sacred Lake Pushkar sprang up in the spot where Brahma dropped a lotus flower.  Although there are roughly six million Hindu gods, the main three are Brahma (the creator), Vishnu (the preserver) and Shiva (the destroyer). Pushkar is the site of one of the few Brahma temples in India and thousands of pilgrims flock here daily to perform holy pujas.  The reason there are so few temples is quite mundane.

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As legend goes,Brahma wanted to perform a  holy sacrifice, but his wife, Saraswati, also a God, was  very late. In his impatience, Brahma married a milkmaid, Gayatri. When Saraswati arrived, she was angered by his unfaithfulness, and  spit out a curse confining Brahma worship to Pushkar.

Meat, alcohol and outward displays of affection are prohibited, which created a challenge in the planning of G’s B’day celebrations.  Not even eggs are allowed.  While seated on a roof top terrace yesterday I saw a beautiful hotel, looking like a Maharajah’s palace, perched high on the hill,  and thought this would be the perfect spot for a birthday dinner. I inquire about the name, and determine that’s where we will go.

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At seven o’clock in the evening we ask a rickshaw driver to take us to the Gulab Niwas hotel.  The road is dark, dusty and isolated, and a feeling of dread and foreboding is beginning to grow inside my brain.  After ten minutes of bumping up and down on this road,G and I look  at each other , the same fearful thought running through our minds. “Where in the hell are we going? Is he taking us someplace to rob us?!” G takes out his Swiss army knife and keeps it on his lap, just in case. What he would actually do with it if something came up, I don’t know. A few minutes later we see a small sign “GULAB NIWAS HOTEL” 1 km.

We alight the rickshaw, the two of us giddy with the thought of what we were about to experience(so we thought), and arrange with the driver to pick us up in two hours. As we walk toward the beautiful Rajasthani style lobby, the power suddenly goes out.  Everything is pitch black, no backup generator to illuminate the path, and our mood quickly changes although we are assured that the power will come on “soon,soon”. Up the staircase we go to the open air rooftop terrace, carefully counting each step and trying not to trip in the darkness.  We had forgotten to bring our flashlights.  We content ourselves with G’s favorite Malai Kofta and Dum Aloo.  Intermittent lapses of power, now on, now off.  Same thing with the provided candle.  It was all  a very romantic, magical view.

As often is the case in India, the journey was more interesting than the destination.

Namaste

Hard Days Night/Diwali Diversions

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“Would you like to come out with us tonight for Diwali” our guesthouse owner,Atul, inquires expectantly.  Not to seem overly excited, I answer quietly, “We’d be honored!”.  We have arrived in India on an auspicious day, Diwali, the Festival of Lights, and one of the most important festivals in India.   Each household pays homage to Laxshmi, the goddess of wealth and material well-being with a puja (blessing ceremony).

Devna and Atul, our hosts, live in one of the poshest residential areas in Delhi and they rent out three rooms in their home to guests.

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Puja with the Priest and Devna and Atul

Filled with old photos from the Raj era and Indian carvings, the place is a peaceful escape from the hustle and bustle of the city.  The traveling Priest was scheduled to arrive momentarily (Indian Standard Time) and the household was busying itself with preparations. Candles were lit along the walkway leading to the house, and garlands of marigolds were strung on the entrance gate.

“We will leave at 6pm and go first to my Mom’s house and then to some friends, OK?”   “Ten minutes more”, from Atul, becomes one hour as Devna burns her finger on a hot candle pot, requiring a frantic search for bandages and salves.

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Entranceway festooned with garlands and candles

Mamaji’s house is festively lit, like the others in the neighborhood, and tables are set with all sorts of goodies- samosas, chole, soups, chat and various breads.There is a quick puja with chanting and singing at their house shrine and  the off we go onto the next stop.

Down the road we enter a home  that looks straight out of Architectural Digest- designed by the husband/wife architect  owners. The house is built on four levels and each room has a unique design,with contemporary Indian touches.

“Don’t forget to leave some room for sweets, my daughter is a baker”, pleaded our hostess. Mini cupcakes scented with cardamom,  and truffles of dark chocolate filled with Nutella, are offered to us as we tour the house.

I am  now in the back seat  of the car sandwiched between Devna and her mother.  Devna has her burnt finger soaking in a bowl of ice water and each time we hit a bump she shrieks.  The water is splashing all over her elegant sari. We barrel down the road with the sounds of BOOM BOOMS from fireworks and fire bombs in our path.

When we reach our final destination at 10 pm, gambling and liquor are added to the mix.  I am so happy that I brought some decent clothes to wear on this trip, although it pales in comparison to the fabulous saris the women  are wearing.  The diamonds and rubies on their wrists and fingers are as big as golf balls.

 

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As the midnight hour approaches, Gerald and I start to fade. The party will surely go on until the morning, but we bid our fond farewells and drag ourselves around the block, back to our guesthouse.

You Just Can’t Keep a Good Girl Down

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As late as last week I was thinking about canceling the trip.  I was elated about my Tour Season ending, and dreamed about getting into a hammock and doing nothing for two weeks.  Be careful what you wish for.  Two days after returning home I came down with pneumonia in both lungs and lay flat on my back.  Sustained only by chicken soup( thank you Cece) my situation seemed to  improve. But going to India with one billion people carrying all kinds of germs-and what about the airplane?

The compromise seemed clear- instead of traveling with the “huddled masses yearning to be free”, why not go business class!  We had enough miles to upgrade, so here I am.  United Club at SFO was nothing to write home about, but the flight did not disappoint.

.  “Hello, Ms Huth” I am warmly greeted as I ascend the stairs to the upper deck. The flight attendant ushers us to our seats and promptly hands us a glass of champagne.  We are in “pods” that convert into beds at the appropriate time.  I could get used to this.

Life is about trying something new

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Getting ready to leave for India next week and thought I would expand my technological know how by writing a blog this year.  “It’s easy”, says Orion, a thirty something master of all things.  Yeah, sure. I’ve spent three hours already trying to figure out how this  works.  But isn’t that what keeps our minds young, doing things out of our comfort zone?

We’ll see.