I've meant to write about my experiences in India for so long now that I've forgotten most of what I didn't like and can only remember the bits that I did. When I was there, with my friend Richard Willis, there was so much that we both hated that we very nearly gave up after one night, but now, as I look back on those traumatic three weeks, I realise that it was one of the most powerful experiences of my life.
When we arrived in Delhi, the airport was practically deserted. It was early but I expected the place to be buzzing; we had flown out of Dubai at three in the morning and even then it was packed. We took a taxi into the capital, and our hotel on Connaught Place. We had a rough experience on the way, being shouted at by the guy who led us to the taxi; evidently I hadn't offered him a reasonable enough tip for the two minutes' work he'd done. He told us how much to give the driver, only for the driver to demand double, since there were two of us. We were too exhausted to put up a fight but his attitude contributed to the sickness we both felt in our hearts.
Originally we had arranged to travel around Rajasthan by train, but a visit to the central booking office at Delhi station was enough to make me feel sick at the prospect. I had never before been witness to the level of poverty I saw that day, and nothing I have done in my life was enough to prepare me for it. As we approached the main station building we were accosted several times by men trying to convince us that the tourist office was shut; we hadn't even said that that was where we were heading.
We barely slept all night. We talked at length about what lay ahead, and resolved finally to swallow our pride and book tickets home in the morning. First thing we left for the internet cafe, but as luck would have it, it was closed. We spoke to the hotel manager, who we had befriended, about our worries and he suggested that we visit his friend, who ran a tour company. The office was just across the street from the hotel, though crossing the crowded thoroughfare was as simple as swimming across the Ganges, and just as dangerous.
Our discussions proceeded for some time. The original plans drawn up by Richard and I were altered and then ultimately scrapped, with trains replaced for the most part by a form of taxi service. Our travels could be salvaged, at the cost of £300. As I was taken around Delhi looking for an American Express office, or somewhere that would give cash advances on a credit card, I began to feel sick to my stomach, and started almost shivering. The world seemed very far away as I entered the building and marched up the stairs, and I could barely look the teller in the eye as my money was counted out.
I was nervous about this new arrangement - we both were. We had already learnt that there were two principal types in India: those who wanted your money, and those who had your money but wanted more. We were worried that our driver, Bhupinder, might be of the latter, and at times our fears were confirmed as we were dragged from one commission-generating enterprise to another.
The great pain and anxiety I had felt in Delhi, that great heaving mass of a city, that cesspit, that apocalyptic vision of a world gone crazy with over population, all of it faded away when we arrived in Jaipur.
Jaipur is the real Rajasthan. It is why we risked so much and spent so much getting to India. Our first view of Amber fort, as we rounded a hill and cast our eyes up, was magnificent. Jaipur is a visual feast, full of temples and forts and palaces and the most extraordinary colour. By nightfall the horror of Delhi fell away from us as the world does for astronauts.
No comments:
Post a Comment