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
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