Religion

I don't pretend to know anything whatsoever about the religions in India. As a matter of fact, I really wish I'd read up on them in order to understand the people better. But a couple of things stood out. Please know that I am only writing about what I experienced -- I am not generalizing about the religions or the religious people themselves.


The Sikhs were the least likely to swarm us or to cheat us (as far as we could tell). They were serene and elegant. Amritsar is their spiritual center, where the Golden Palace is located. In order to enter the grounds, you must remove your shoes, wash your hands and feet, and cover your hair (both men and women). Once inside the temple (after a long wait in line) there were seven or eight maharajis chanting prayers inside a small, beautiful and very hot room. Visitors would simply sit themselves down anywhere (including in line) and start chanting with the maharajis, which was a little disconcerting. One woman was scolded by a guard when her headscarf slipped off.

The Taj Mahal is a Muslim mausoleum, but of course is visited by people of all walks of life. We heard the Muslim call to prayer while we were there, but did not see anyone step out of line to pray. As a matter of fact, there were "line police" specifically there to keep people from mobbing the crypt.

Several times when money was exchanged, whether in a rickshaw, buying bananas at an outdoor market, or paying our hotel bill, we saw the recipient gently waving the money in front of an icon, bowing, and moving his hands in some way, giving thanks for the blessing of having made a sale, I imagine. Many many businesses had incense burning in front of a painting of a god or goddess. Even some rickshaws had a tiny makeshift altar with incense burning!

In McLeod Ganj, where the Dalai Lama resides, was a Buddhist temple where several gods were depicted in statues or paintings. The altars had offerings laid on them, mostly boxes of foods such as Oreos, Ritz crackers, Chips Ahoy. Personally, that detracted a great deal from the solemnity of a religious altar, but being an athiest myself, I simply thought it lacked decorum. Believers would prostrate themselves in front of these altars, so we had to avoid stepping on them as we passed. There was a sign upon entering the temple warning us to watch that our shoes don't get stolen. Hmmmm, how do we do that?

The People

We flew to India on Etihad Airways, the national airline of Abu Dabi. Besides our plane being delayed in Chicago for 24 hours, it was a nice flight. On the TV screen were a million choices of entertainment but when that all got old, I would leave the map on. Slightly different from other airlines, this one showed the time, temperature, miles flown, miles remaining, and miles to Mecca. Before takeoff and landing a prayer was spoken in Arabic and not translated. (I know this because my seatmate was Arab/American and he told me).

I got an Ayurvedic massage from a very old woman in Varkala. She spoke no English but laughed a lot; strongest arms in the world and a great massage--VERY different from any I've had here -- no partial coverage with a sheet, no body part left un-massaged. It started with me sitting in the buff on a stool, and the masseuse pouring several ounces of oil on my head. Took quite a few tepid showers to get all the oil off!!!!

Waiters were a trip. I believe every restaurant we went to had only one burner in their kitchen, because every meal came out one at a time. If there were six of us, waiters gave us 3 menus; if there were three, they gave us one. In one breakfast place (very western-looking, imitation Starbucks) the waiter took our order, left and came back with a half liter of milk, brought our coffees. Left again, came back with two yogurts (which Mags and I had ordered). Brought our yogurt, muesli and fruit; left again and came back with bananas for Michael's porridge. The whole shindig took 35 minutes; no, not to eat; to just get served!

At every train station we were swarmed by taxi drivers, touts and beggars. In the very first moment after meeting up with Maggie I was getting into the taxi and shutting my door when I saw this hand reaching in! I looked down to see a man with no legs, whom I almost killed with the taxi door! (In most of the towns, at the train stations there is a little booth staffed with a police officer whose job it is to find out where you want to go; then he tells you how much the taxi costs, you pay him and he gives you a voucher. This is for the traveller's protection from getting ripped off by the taxi driver. Twice Maggie paid the policeman with a 100 ruppee bill, took her eyes away for a nanosecond, and there was the policeman with a 50, claiming that was what she gave him. So much for protecting the well-being of the traveller!!) Once, I got so frustrated with the gang swarming us that I just yelled out "WHY do we have to have 12 people around us every time we want to do anything??!!" and a tall, handsome, elegant man dressed in the white tunic and white pants, with the embroidered pill-box hat and a beautifully trimmed gray beard, said, "Madame?! This is India!!" Of course I had to laugh. Yes, that is definitely India.

Shopping In India

Shopping in India was a trip in itself! No one would give us a firm price, of course, so all our time was spent drinking chai and trying to agree on a price for whatever little goodie we were trying to acquire. Most prices started at least twice as high as what would be considered even ballpark. The first couple of weeks, this pastime was kind of fun, but after a while it just plain got stupid. Instead of telling us a price, the vendor would pretend to figure out the very best price and show it to us on his calculator. I never figured out why he would do that, so I finally pretended I couldn't see it and he would have to tell me out loud how much he'd come up with.

One of the most interesting vendors we saw we didn't snap a photo of -- it just seemed too invasive for some reason. He was an ancient old man sitting on the road surrounded by a sundry assortment of empty bottles he'd found -- a liter of Smirnoff, a ketsup bottle...He had a plastic bucket with a honeycomb in it, and was filling these found bottles with honey and selling it. No, I didn't buy any, if you were wondering.

We went into a ginger factory. There was a large courtyard completely full of drying ginger. Inside an unlit, windowless room were two women standing next to a shoulder-high mountain of ginger, shaking a screen box full of the stuff; the air was full of tiny pieces of flying ginger, which made our photos come out with strange star-like spots on them. Of course they asked for money after we snapped photos, which we were happy to give them.

In Delhi we stayed in Pahar Ganj, a wholesale neighborhood where people from all over India come to sell their wares to reps from the tourist shops. They had rock bottom prices, but of course I'd already fallen for the silk sari in a totally tourist ripoff store, and had bought plenty of scarves. I fell in love with a bangle bracelet but was required to buy 12 due to it being wholesale. We went to another wholesale district, Sadar, where yarns and threads were sold to weavers; that was quite a learning experience, as there was no real wool, cashmere, linen or silk yarn to be found anywhere, even with an escort from one yarn shop taking us through the labyrinth of dead end alleys full of other yarn and thread wholesalers. We were educated by a vendor who said all the silk products (scarves, shawls, etc) in India were actually made from "authentic imitation silk." It is a viscose rayon, spun into a fine yarn and woven by hand (mostly) into these sumptuous items. It is a beautiful fabric, and the yarns hold dye marvelously, but, alas, it is not silk. Too bad we learned about this on our last day!

Animals in India

(First I must apologize for the sideways photo of the goats above. It was straight when I uploaded it but has gone whacky on me and I can't seem to fix it).

The animals in India have their own jobs to do. Working elephants move tourists, move lumber, move rocks. They are true laborers. We were thrilled to have the Auntie Mame experience of riding one, but felt at the same time the cruel exploitation of these magnificent beasts. The goats and cows on the streets also have their jobs. They are the garbage eaters, and can be found on every block in diligent employ. Trash is handled, in the small towns we were in, by first the livestock and only later by humans, who sweep it into piles and burn it. There is always the smell of burning trash, wherever you go. In Delhi I did see a government garbage truck, but only one, and it didn't make a dent. The "trash" created by the cows is collected and dried in the sun, to be used later for cooking fuel. Garbage in, garbage out.