India - take a picture

When I lived in Bolivia, and later Nicaragua, I had this strange feeling that my blue eyes could bore holes into people. I had this idea that they were beacons of light that shone out of my face and were noticeable from across the room. But my glacial blue gaze was nothing compared to the intensity of the stares that M and I got in India.

There are signs posted in tourist attractions that chide people for teasing or taking pictures of people without asking permission. I thought this was aimed at American tourists who might want to take pictures of monks or the flocks of women in colorful dress... but no, it's because the flocks of women in colorful dress try to take pictures of the pasty white tourists in khaki. The signs don't specify that you must receive permission of course. So even after receiving a "no"to their queries M and I had many photos taken of us. So many that we considered charging 100 rupees per.

We brainstormed ways to avoid getting our pictures taken:

1. say no
2. stick your tongue out in every snap
3. pull your hat down, cover your face, turn your back, or otherwise obscure the view
4. charge money
5. say, in Tamil or Hindu or Urdu or Telegu, "I'm so glad you want to take picture with little old albino me."
6. have a bodyguard yell at people
7. pretend you are deaf or mentally challenged
8. take their phone/camera and run
9. flash them boob
10. speak only in Quechua or Romani or other obscure/potentially made-up language
11. kick them in the balls

After a day at the caves, we stopped at Bibi-Ka-Maqbara a palace and mausoleum built in 1650 for Aurangzeb's dead wife a la the Taj Majal. For some reason there were hordes of teenaged boys trying to take our photos. We tried 1, 7, 10 and enlisted T in 6. At first he was resistant but he soon blossomed into a very good yeller. 

Perhaps because I'm a delicate flower and star of many unwanted photo, it was determined at one point that I was too dainty to use a squat toilet. At a roadside restaurant, I was stopped from approaching the outhouse by Auntie with the admonition that I "wouldn't like it," I almost knocked her down in my insistence that if she didn't let me use it I would pee myself...well not really, I'd just squat elsewhere. People would have definitely snapped photos of that. 

India - CAAAAAAAAAAAVES

At 7AM, we stepped off the train in surprisingly good spirits to find our chariot awaiting:

party bus!

After a brief stop at the hotel and for breakfast (where we tried every variety of dosa except "noodle" we were whisked off to Ajanta Caves, 29 Buddhist temples carved out of rock between the 2nd centrury BCE and 650 CE. (Are you impressed by my use of the updated common era versus year of our Lord convention?) A UNESCO World Heritage site (my 33rd), the caves were used as ancient monasteries and worship halls and feature paintings that depict the lives of Buddha and tales from Ayasura's Jatakamala and sculptures of a variety of deities.

In practice, it was a lot of climbing stairs in the hot sun. Because the caves are still considered active worship sites, we were asked to remove our shoes outside each one. As I was wearing sandals with no socks, at one point S offered me his socks. At first I thought that was supremely weird and sort of gross but I accepted them anyway and let me tell you -- lifesaving move. As the day progressed the outside of the caves got hotter and hotter and due to the increasing crowds (which were never terrible actually) we had to remove our shoes farther and farther from the entrance. Pro tip: wear socks with easily removable sandals.

I'm afraid that besides saying that the caves were terrifically impressive and the paintings and sculptures beautiful, I can't comment on their historical, artistic, or religious implications. My nephew-in-law echoed my feelings when he said at one particular cave, "I think we've seen this one before."

At one point, my sister - who never travels without snacks - broke out her collection of Kind Bars. Everyone got some - including one of the guards and a particularly aggressive monkey. As we sat there enjoying dark chocolate and sea salt or maple and glazed pecan or caramel almond bars, we spotted a white woman with pretty impressive dreadlocks. K chitti turned to me in amazement to ask how her hair got like that. I likened it to the hair of a sadhu - Hindu hermits who regularly sport dreads.

After hiking 24 flights of stairs to see 32 caves all I wanted was a blissfully cold sugar-filled Coca Cola. You may not be aware but in the USA Coca Cola is made with high fructose corn syrup which is gross. The real sugar cola of other nations is the real thing. Anyhoo Mina, like all good Indian mothers, was trying to get me try every single variety of Indian food and drink - even resorting to stealing food off other peoples' plates for me to try. Each time she would suggest a different type of juice, I would more emphatically insist on my preference. It went sort of like this:

M: They have pineapple juice here! You must try.
Me: I'll have a Coca-Cola please
M: sweet lime! delicious!
Me: Coca Cola please
M: juicy mangos! the best in the country!
Me: Coke
M: How about tamarind? You like that, right?
Me: CO-CA-CO-LA
M: And Mary, what juice would you like?
Mary: I'll have a Coke too.
Insufferable Americans.

The very next day we set out for Ellora Caves. Ellora Caves, my 34th UNESCO World Heritage site, sort of picks up where Ajanta leaves off. Built in 600 CE, the 100 caves represent the Buddhist, Hindu and Jain religions. Only 34 caves are open to the public and we decided to work our way from the outside in - 1 through 16.

By Cave 10 or so, in an effort to keep the kidlets engaged, I asked them to help me learn to count in Hindi. (My brother-in-law's family actually speak Tamil, but live in an area where Telugu and Urdu are spoken and learn Hindi in school.) Anyhoo at one point, my niece-in-law and I were walking up a set of stairs counting them as we went when behind us a guide joined in: ek - do- teen- chaar. As such, we bonded with the guide who let us into the inner sanctum of the cave.

In the Buddhist tradition you walk around the Buddha, or stupa, or temple itself three times clockwise. The kids and I (despite not being Buddhist) did so. I do think the guard may have actually negotiated a big tip from S. So thanks S, it was totally worth it, (I also think this situation might have occurred more than we realized. The perils of herding Americans through India.)

Cave 16, which is actually at the center of the complex, and also known as the Kailahsa temple, is considered one of the most remarkable cave temples in all of India because of its size and architecture. Most remarkably, it is carved entirely out of one rock. The interpretive signs explain that it was carved from the outside in and that the "sculpture carved here are not there by accident." Double duh. The Kailasha temple, dedicated to Shiva, is a freestanding multi-story complex larger than the Parthenon (per WIkipedia). I think most tourists just go to this one cave out of the 34.
This is conveniently where my phone died and my brother-in-law has yet to send me the photos I took on his phone.

After climbing 31 flights of stairs, and seeing half the caves, we decided to call it a day. This decision was not met with approval however; T's mother thought that since we were so far away from the US and may never get back to Aurangabad that we should finish seeing all the caves. M and I, without lunch, and already having walked all day were unwilling to continue. Our argument that we would no longer enjoy seeing caves was met with resistance but eventually accepted with the promise that we would one day return to see caves 17-34. I have a ten-year visa. It's doable.

train dreams? cabin fever? all aboard?

I always thought of sleeper trains as glamorous chambered cars like in British murder mysteries or Harry Potter. As you might have guessed, despite years of British meddling, Indian trains are a little different. Allow me to elaborate:

Directly after the ceremony, the entire family packed into taxis to the train station. By whole family I mean my sister and me, her husband, his elderly mother and aunt, his brother and his brother's wife and two children. At first, because the taxis had not arrived to the house together, all the luggage and all the women were packed into one car. In a fleeting moment of clarity I vetoed this plan in favor of having at least one person of the male persuasion in each car. (When I say clarity I mean terror at the thought of the two white chicks and the two old ladies arriving alone with ten suitcases.)

So that's nine people to keep track of as we wended our way through crowds, up escalators, over bridges, down stairs, and running to a train we were typically late for.

You should note that many Indians have never seen an escalator before coming to the train station and are therefore a little fuzzy on its proper use. I am not particularly good at escalators either, living in perpetual fear that I will be sucked into one and disappear forever, but I am a relative pro. I am also, all things considered, pretty pro at navigating train stations, but I will admit that I was overwhelmed to the point of having a mild panic attack. I didn't cry but I was close.

S (T's brother) had graciously made all the arrangements and sprung for an air-conditioned sleeper car. We settled into one of the train compartments and broke out a porridge dinner. This was the only meal on the entire trip that I passed on in favor of more American fare: a cheese sandwich and a granola bar.

The cars do not have compartments per-se. Only curtains separate the bunks from the hallway and the beds themselves are numbered and assigned to people. As such our berths were scattered throughout the train. We were lucky though to be pretty close together; M and I had top bunks above T's mom and auntie (K chitti).

I didn't take this picture but it's a fair representation

Pro tips:

• Wear closed toe-shoes or at least socks if at all possible.
• Bring a sleep sack and travel pillow. They provide blankets on the train but they're not suuuuper clean. 
• There is a Western style toilet and a squat toilet. Your choice but if you think aiming is hard without a toilet to sit on, try it on a moving train. (That's where the closed-toe shoes come in.)
• Keep your "carry-on" and shoes on the bunk with you....even if you might have peed on them. 
• The tea is really good and didn't kill me so it might not kill you either.
• If you happen to be sharing a "compartment" with strangers and you have the bottom bunk, you may want to stake your claim by laying down as soon as possible. Otherwise, a family like T's who have bought the top bunks will insist that they have the right to sit with you and this will set off a string of heated arguments to the point of potential insult. Maybe. (Ok this really did happen on the train home. Ironically M and I had already moved to K chitti's bottom bunk elsewhere on the train to sit there together so the arguments weren't strictly necessary.)
• HAVE FUN! IT'S AN ADVENTURE!

Let's eat raita way (ha!)

After Golconda Fort we went to lunch. Because of their religious responsibilities the men were limited to a bland diet: no garlic, no onion, no chili. M and I, under no such restrictions indulged in the smokiest, butteriest paneer makhani on the planet. (Evidently it's better because it's yak milk.)

From there we went to the Salar Jung Museum. The Museum was established in 1951 and declared an institution of national importance in 1961. As in many tourist institutions, it is more expensive for foreigners and there was a separate charge for taking photos, something I'd never seen before and which we unnecessarily paid as I took one sole photo in the entire museum:

There was an entire room of canes with carved handles!

For some reason, T and his family insisted on going through the galleries in order. We made it through 17 galleries before melting down and returning home to prepare for the next day's ceremony.

The next morning, my sister and I ate breakfast and lounged around all morning. To be perfectly honest, I thought she was being antisocial and weird as upstairs the ceremony for T's father was happening. I kept pressuring her to go but she showed little interest. Finally we walked up to find all the men sitting bare-chested and in dhotis (like a loincloth) around a fire built on bricks on the tile floor. M and I were quickly escorted into a back bedroom where we sat with the rest of the women relatives until the ceremony was over...well that explains M's reticence to join. She knew that the easiest way to survive the ceremony as a Western introvert is wait until the praying is over and the food begins!

And what food it was. According to custom, all the food must be local to India and not have any spices that could inflame the passions. Spread over a banana leaf we were served sweet banana in sugar, raw bananas, green bean curry, cucumber raita, sweet cheese, sesame jaggery (molasses), mango with lime, sweet poori (pancake), badai (lentil donut), paysam (lentil with milk), cilantro curry leaf chutney, and lentil with jaggery and basil and a wide variety of milk sweets.

This was also the moment that M's family noticed that I was taking notes and so I was subject for the rest of the trip to a little bit of good-humored nosiness: what are you writing? did you write that down? do you know how to spell that? are you writing about me?

Yup, I'm noting all the wild and crazy customs. So for my readers a reminder: in Indian society it is very important to only give and accept things with your right hand. Many Indians also eat with their hands and that is a right hand only endeavor as well. Luckily my Nepali friends from grad school had trained me extensively in the art of balling rice (and not inquiring after what specific animal part I'm eating) but I'm still pretty messy. It amuses me to reflect on the fact that I am unskilled at eating. To be perfectly honest, I also don't enjoy the feeling of having oily fingers or curry under my nails; it is the same sensation as having a wet sock. But I'll just have to practice more. Bring on the daal!