Memories of the Subcontinent - Part 3

I arrived back in Delhi to catch a night bus that would take me 570km north to Manali. After negotiating the evening rush hour we pulled out onto the free-way. Whilst listening to 'Songs for the deaf' on my headphones, the driver pressed along at dramatic speed. In 16 hours I would be on higher ground. As night descended the passengers grew weary and began to sleep. The sudden rocky motion of the bus confirmed to me we had departed from the free-way and begun to make our ascent to some 2000m above sea level. I closed my eyes and slept for 2 hours. When I awoke night was now dawn and the vista had changed dramatically. The arid dust-bowl of the plains had vanished, now a lush bounty of wilderness unfolded before my eyes. Climbing higher and higher, I spared not a thought for the potential danger of the slender roads and how without too much fuss we could skid and plunge to our deaths thousands of feet below. I was just too captivated by the limpid rivers and the glades of the valley. Even the general physical-racial profile of the people seemed strikingly different. The typical Indian characteristics were absent; replaced by a more East/South-East Asiatic appearance. With the landscape less squalid, the litter and pollution less ominous, i asked myself: Had I entered another country?

The mammoth journey from Delhi had frazzled my brain, and i hadn't eaten or slept since the previous day. Inevitably I was stoked to have reached my destination. But making one in a catalogue of faux pars - much owing to acute fatigue and stubbornness , I checked into a cheap and insipid guest-house; even the rickshaw driver who dropped me off seemed bewildered by my choice of lodgings. I threw my bags down and climbed straight into bed. Beyond exhausted I tried to sleep. The noise from outside was invasive: a mother shouting at her children boomed from just outside my window, and the perennial soundtrack of my travels: livestock and construction work were, as always, present. The Cacophony was a fast-track to despair. Just when I thought I had attained some sort of peace and quiet the reality of the situation came crashing down on me: i was far from home and with no creature comforts; all was foreign and nothing familiar. Curled up in the foetal position, i preyed for the sound to abate. And just like that a rare rational idea popped into my head: 'Relatively speaking, i was a wealthy man. Money was of no real object.'. Instinctively i started packing my bags. Within 5 minutes i was out of there and making my way to a guest-house with facilities that would make me feel a little more at home, namely a TV and a bit of hush. I checked into my new, more luxurious digs and sat down on the veranda outside my room to admire the range of snow capped mountains. The tranquillity, the panorama and the TV produced in me that one feeling of satiation a hungry man gets when he has a hearty meal inside him.

Though the town itself wasn't all that exciting: souvenir shops, restaurants, hand-crafts and people selling various illicit knick-knacks, I look back in regret I didn't commit more time to discovering Manali's surrounding beauty. The ecology was broad and diverse. The river untamed and wild crashed alongside the town; it's colour the hue of purity, of unspoiled charm – by far the most refreshing river I have ever laid hold to. The forests carpeted the land rising high into the sky. Saffron and cannabis grew wild. In all my misguided preconceptions and notions of India this wasn't one of them. The surrounding landscape seemed more akin to that of the Swiss Alps. And so with It's natural grace and abundance of wild growing psychoactive plants Manali attracted throngs of peace-seekers and pot-heads - who, to their credit were thoroughly well behaved and laid back. A prominent memory of my time in Manali was a visit to a gnarled looking temple in the woods. Whilst I had a few moments to myself on a bench outside the temple, an Indian tourist approached me with his shy teenage daughter and family in-toe. They took turns to have their pictures taken with me. Though I certainly wasn't offended, more bemused if anything, this was to be the first of many photos I would pose for with Indian families.

Escaping the heat, the pandemonium and the over-population of the plains, my paranoia and anxiety began to allay. I had experienced some uplifting and positive things. I had conversed with locals without feeling the weight of financial expectation. The Taj Mahal was just an after-thought. By comparison its impression was poor, unsustainable. Nature was unparalleled and inimitable. The erratic whip of this country was obvious. Those highs, the rewards, could only be accessed through a passage showcasing some of the very worse aspects of our nature. The pendulum, always in motion, would swing from one extreme to another.

Memories of the Subcontinent - Part 2

High-tailing out of Delhi, i spent just a few days in the dry desert like state of Rajasthan. Relieved to have eluded the city, my optimism quickly diminished: i just couldn't shake off those deep penetrating stares. All this attraction had the effect of making me feel both a freak and a celebrity (though aren't they one and the same?!). In hindsight my appearance was tragically in-congruent: fair skinned and freckled, tattooed and pierced, ginger haired and European. Longing to blend in and pass by unnoticed I cursed my features, especially the tattoos. Adorning my arms, the tattoos inevitably signified more than just a piss-poor attempt of me contriving to cultivate a shallow identity for myself. Ultimately they represented wealth. The question of how much they cost 'to make' was a popular one often put to me by the locals. Something i admire of the Indian psyche is its resistance to let sleeping dogs lie. My bid to evade the shameful truth of answering their question with an ambiguous, 'Oh, they we were expensive...' did bugger all to placate their curiosity. They would only deal in exactitudes. When someone who struggles to maintain the bare material necessities of life asks you such a question with ruthless pursuit, for me, there could only be the enveloping feeling of guilt. On the whole this wasn't a bad thing, i began to wake-up, in part, to the fact i was something of a privileged brat. The liberties, the material freedom and luxury of the circumstances my life were often oblivious to me. If i had to speculate as to why they pass by without much appreciation, my money would be on liberties failure to grant people the inner riches they so dearly need. But that's by-the-by and nothing more than mere wiseacring

The highlight of Rajasthan was visiting a small town called Pushkar. The dusty town was home to a lake (which had all but evaporated), an annual camel fair and the 'Pink Floyd guesthouse'. My favourite memory of Pushkar was a temple situated at the top of a large hill. Ascending the hill was tiring and long, but awaiting me at the top was a glorious view of the valley and plains. I learnt that India often gifted with you with rewards. These rewards made the shitty times worthwhile. All the hassles, the sweat and tears, broken sleep and upset tummies were instantly forgotten and the maddening memories subdued. During moments like these i understood and recognised the nature of India's wealth, and that nothing, nothing worth while would be attained without effort and a little suffering.

Next stop Agra, aka: Taj Mahal. I got up early to see 'the world's greatest testament to love'. I trundled down to the gates at 05.30am. Already hordes of tourists, guides and more souvenir selling dudes than you can shake a stick at had passed through the entrance gates. So there i was standing before one of the 7 wonders of the world. It seemed surreal, stupid in fact. I won't lie and say it didn't impress me, it just didn't touch me. I stood there passive, thinking that i should be feeling ecstatic or something. I moved closer towards the structure to try and appreciate its 'wonder'. Good luck if you ever have the fortune to visit the Taj Mahal and want to quietly enjoy it - because you can't. The droves of unofficial guides, keen to dispense information for a modest tip, were genial but shattered my concentration. I just wanted to tell them to leave me be. Cynical as an atheist, i wandered round the grounds musing if the Taj Mahal was really a monument to love or whether it was an ode to egotism - on the grounds that the money could have been used for a grand philanthropic enterprise.

Coming back from Agra the traffic came to a grinding halt. Our driver decided to try progressing along the wrong side of the road (a normal thing to do in India). An angry mob of youths blocked our path, commanding us to go and rejoin the traffic. The driver obeyed. Once we rejoined the 'safe' side of the road, the side of the road were we didn't have to contend with cars driving towards us head-on, my driver left me in the car to go and see what was causing this hullabaloo. Not so far in the distance I noticed thick plumes of jet black smoke. A foreboding sense of trepidation came over me and i sensed things weren't OK. 5 minutes or so elapsed before i noticed a gang of 20 youths marching down the opposite side of the road. They set themselves upon a bus, smashing it to bits. A riot ensued. Seemingly abandoned by the driver and surrounded by people who couldn't explain to me what was going on, I felt vulnerable and scared beyond belief. Egoistically i wondered whether, being a tourist, i was safe. An invisibility cloak or a magic ring would have been very comforting. Imitating the other people who had moved off the road and down an embankment, i followed suit to keep out of view . The mob was chanting itself into a fever. My mind raced, trying to avoid thinking about the psychology of mobs and how the dynamics of them can make 'decent' people do heinous things. After 30 minutes of sweaty tenterhooks my driver returned. He eventually explained to me the riot was actually a protest and the violence wasn't as arbitrary as i had assumed. The protest was a response to the rise of college tuition fees! So after a clean change of underwear and a few more hours in the car i arrived back in Delhi to catch a bus to Manali

Memories of the Subcontinent - part 1

The reasons to travel were not clear to me. The rational behind my choice of destination less clear. Driving my decision to undertake this cultural upheaval was a need to discover life. 2007 had been an arduous year for me. I was buckling under the weight of my own expectations. Mentally and spiritually i was at a low ebb - really in the doldrums. I believed Travelling would act as a tonic to engender a much needed love for life and humanity. Of all the places: India, and to travel solo. Bereft of any real knowledge or appreciation of its culture i ignorantly signed up. In my mind it would be a whirlwind of adventure and excitement. My foresight was critically flawed; i hadn't an inkling what i was really letting myself in for. If i had possessed a clear understanding of my endeavour to come i doubt i would have gone. Rereading the emails i sent to people whilst in India fills me full of inspiration and pride. I can look back and admire that i'm more durable than i believed myself to be.

I arrived in Delhi, 05/09/09. Almost everyone who has ever experienced the Indian capital will tell you with great fervency how awful the city is. My introduction was a 3am taxi ride from the airport to my hotel. Everything seemed so surreal and alive; my every sense stimulated. The death-defying driving culture, the packs of dogs roaming the streets, the heat and its humid smell, the vast legions of homeless people asleep on the pavements - i was in a very different country. The poverty was intense. The dogs, the people, the buildings - all aspects of life seemed to suffer from neglect and malnutrition My taxi stopped, i wanted to keep going. I had hoped we might drive beyond all this misery.

For reasons unbeknown to me i had booked a room at a hotel in Old Delhi. From dust Old Delhi emerged and to dust it was returning, it was in some sort irremediable entropy. I felt fearful. This was the wild unknown. After sleeping for a few hours i stepped out on to the street to see India under the light of day. The anxiety of those first few moments shattered my nerves. All eyes were on me. Penetrating stares scrutinized my every movement and inflection. After a while a degree of calm descended within me. Old Delhi was benign. Curious they were, but i was of no real concern to its people. Poverty dictated they had bigger and more important things to worry about. Most remarkable was the perseverance i witnessed. Any scrap of material was a valuable resource; our rubbish were their tools, their shelters and their homes.

New Delhi, by comparison, had order and structure; the buildings more were robust, and the electrical wiring looked less like a canopy of Amazonian vine branches. Unlike Old Delhi, life seemed more buoyant and less likely to sigh a final breath of resignation before collapsing into a heap , 'I might get to like this place yet', i distinctly remember thinking before I found myself to be walking from one scam to another - quite literally. In the Lonely Planet (the travellers bible, or ball and chain) there is a list of scams to be wary of around Connaught square (the main shopping hub). I was got by the shit on the shoe scam (a kind man who smears excrement onto your shoe, claiming it to be the dirty work of birds and offers to clean it for a nominal fee), next came the man who offered to clean my ear canals with needles (bad idea if you like your ear drums), then finally came the helpful youth who wanted to befriend me to 'practise his English' - apparently a commission shark. All operating within 100 meters on one another, it was like running an unnerving bullshit obstacle course. The guest-house i stayed in, run by Kashmiris, urged me to visit a local travel agent to discuss where i might want to go next. Coincidentally also run by Kashmiris, the travel agent tenaciously pressed me into visiting their homeland. He serenaded me overtures of faux friendship and the like. Were these scam artists in telepathic communication? Every step seemed to draw them closer. Paranoia breeds paranoia. Who was watching me? who wasn't! The whole of Delhi seemed to be in on this one. With great urgenecy i wanted to leave the city, before the net snared me for a keeper. I quickly adopted the mantra 'Trust no one'. This became my mantra for India. Trust no one and suspect everyone. I escaped Delhi, though i was stung by a supposed government travel agency. But hell i was moving on. The morning i attempted to check out of the guest house i found my path was blocked. Phone calls were made. The Kashmiri travel agents were banking on my nativity. I'd fucked over their pay-day. 'i don't want to speak to you...' was all he said on the phone. Bye bye.

I felt like a hunted animal in New Delhi. Everyone wanted a piece of the action. The scams were a real piece of work. Real intelligence and meticulous effort had been applied to their craft, Confusing the line between honesty and deceit. I suppose in a way Delhi wasn't a bad place to start, it had me on my feet in no time. It teaches you to be sharp, to be suspicious. But paranoia and mistrust can be ruinous. I guess that's why intuition is a fine and necessary tool to possess