Tour of Himachal

My last full week in India, I spent with Nidhi’s entire family (mother, father, sister, brother, and grandmother) getting to know their state inside and out. We hired a driver to take us to all the major destinations in Himachal, and spent one night in each. It was a great trip, with spectacular views and amazing culture.
The first day we drove to Kullu Manali, apparently the place to go for tourists, though we didn’t see what it had that Solan didn’t (Home is always best, isn’t it?). We drove all day, and it was hell. The roads were so small and twisted, and the driver took the turns so fast (so we’d get there before dark) that everyone in the car was sick. Guddu, Nidhi’s brother, spent the whole drive throwing up out the window, which meant that I couldn’t open my window for fear of getting splattered. The rest of us huddled down in silent misery, hoping it would pass. After lunch though, it was better. We’d gotten used to the roads (all except Guddu) and felt well enough to enjoy the beautiful vistas of mountains and rivers and more mountains.

Kullu Manali is just another Hill Station (their term for a town in the mountains) except that everyone goes there, so it’s very touristy. I was counting westerners here, but in Manali I stopped at around 250 because there were so many. I felt weird, being one of many westerners; I think I like it better when I’m the only one – I feel more individual, rather than part of a (not very respected) group.
The next morning we went up to Roatang Pass, on the way to Kashmir. We didn’t go to Kashmir – too dangerous – but the pass was gorgeous. Truly Himalayan as I’d imagined it, with high, craggy, snowcapped peaks in the distance and lower but still snowy mountains where we were. We drove and drove up the mountains on tiny bumpy dirt roads (and I swear that car had no shock absorbers whatsoever) and watched as the clouds grew lower and lower. It felt like we were driving to heaven (“take a good look,” we told each other, “you’ll never get there after you die.”) with the beautiful mountains and the round wispy clouds below us.

We spent about an hour up there, and then drove downdowndown back to Manali and then on to our next destination.

This was a town deep in the mountains accessible only by narrow dirt roads, which is home to hot springs and temples and is a pilgrimage spot for both Seiks and Hindus, Seiks for the beautiful silver Gurudwara and Hindus for the many temples dedicated to Shiva and his wife, Parvati. The water is so hot there that the Gurudwara boils its rice in the pools, and when you walk barefoot into the temples, you have to walk on wooden planks because the stone floor is so hot.

The next day we went to Daramshala, the home of His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama in exile from Tibet. Unfortunately he wasn’t there when we were there, but we walked around the monastery and watched the monks singing and playing their horns and flutes in devotion. It was a wonderful place, very peaceful and spiritual, and I was sorry to get back in the car and drive away.

Drive, drive, drive, drive. That was most of the tour, actually, we spent all day in the car and only got to out destination in the evening. But it was nice, and when I wasn’t sleeping or getting bored with nothing to do (you can’t really read when you’re bouncing around all the time) I enjoyed it almost as much as the places we were going. I loved passing by the tiny villages and watching the glimpses of people’s lives, the women carrying water in big brass pots on their shoulders, the two children, maybe five and seven years old, pushing with all their might on the pump handle to fill a plastic jug, the girl lazily switching the backs of cows as she led them down the mountain to graze, the two walking trees – wait, no, they’re people, with huge piles of grass strapped to their backs so that you can’t even see them, just a pair of legs under a bundle of grass for the cows…it was so simple and peaceful, it once again made me wonder why we bother with all the stuff we have in America when we could live perfectly happily like this.

We next went to Dalhousie, another Hill Station, and officially Nidhi’s father’s favorite Hill Station in the country. It’s very peaceful and quite there, I found myself slowing down and speaking less because of the aura of the place. It was covered in clouds so close I kept reaching out to touch them, and green trees overhung all the quiet little roads and added to the sense of peace.
The next morning we went to “India’s Switzerland” which was a nice place, though it didn’t actually look very much like Switzerland. There was a pond and a big open field where everyone was strolling around and relaxing. We got cotton candy and rode horses around the perimeter (because I said I’d ridden before my guide let me gallop, which was exhilarating, but I was sorry for him running beside me to keep up with the horse) and then started our journey back to Solan.
The last night we spent in a town known for its temple, where they worship, not idols as usual, but blue flames that come out of bare rock. It was an interesting sight to see, but the temple felt all wrong. It was very dirty and the people seemed somehow insincere. Nobody liked it, and we got out as soon as we’d paid our respects to all the little shrines. It was also surrounded by people trying to make money off of piety – shops and shops selling devotional music and offerings and pictures of the gods, which seemed to sap the holiness out of the temple itself.

And then back to Solan. The last day I got sick – a stomach ache – and I couldn’t eat at all, it was made worse by the curvy roads we were driving on. It was something that everyone except Nidhi’s father got, and I actually got off lightly compared to Nidhi’s grandmother and brother. I still feel sort of dizzy, but thankfully my stomach doesn’t hurt as much and I can eat a little bit.

Punjab

Nidhi, her father and I (the traveling trio) went to Punjab on the 12th and 13th and had a great time. Punjab is a state adjacent to Himachal Pradesh (our state) with a very distinct culture – great music, wild dancing, and funny guys in turbans. Most people in Punjab are Seiks, or Sardars, as they’re usually called, and they are the brunt of all jokes in India (Q: where do you find the most Sardars outside of Punjab? A: in jokes!). They’re known for having a great sense of humor and a hot temper, probably because the turbans they wear are really hot and make them disagreeable (Saying: Sardars go crazy around noon because the sun is right above their turbaned heads and it fries their brains). I also found them to be incredibly kind and hospitable, more than anyone else (which is saying something in this country of hospitality).
Seikism is a very interesting religion, it’s monotheistic and they follow 12 Gurus, or prophets, and worship (literally) their holy book which is comprised of poetry and sayings that the Gurus collected, and which lays down the code they are to abide by. And a funny code that is, they have to have five things with them at all times: A small knife, the book, an uncut beard, and uncut hair covered in a turban. They aren’t allowed to cut a hair on their heads, so most Sardars have really, really long hair, though you never see it because it’s always covered. Every male Sardar has the last name Singh so it’s really hard to tell them apart – they all look the same, with a turban and a beard, and they all have the same last name.
Ok, anyway, our trip.
We first visited Nidhi’s father’s old professor in Ludhiana and his two sons who were home for summer vacation from high school in California. It was weird to hear the American accent coming so perfectly from two Indians, but they were very nice, and we had a great time at their house, with their father and grandfather telling us about Seikism and its history.
Then we drove on to Amritser, the holiest city of the Seiks and one of the holiest cities in India because of the famous Golden Temple, and past it, to the border with Pakistan. That was an interesting spectacle: Wagha Border is the only peaceful border area between India and Pakistan, and they make the most of it with a parade every evening on both sides. There are huge stands on either side of the border and they’re packed with people shouting slogans and patriotic sayings, competing with each other to see who can be the loudest in support of their country. Each army sends five soldiers to the border where they salute and then (with great ceremony) lower the flags. Their manner of saluting and marching is hilarious, they don’t just stomp, they literally lift their foot to their nose before bringing it down with a crash three times and they walk with exaggerated heal-toe movements. Both sides were like that, and it was strange to watch them do something so funny so seriously.
Of course I also felt privileged to be at the border, and since Nidhi’s dad had some contacts we were allowed to go straight up to the fence. There were some other Americans on the other side and we shook hands over the border (an American in India and an American in Pakistan shaking hands. Cool!) which was great, until the guard said it was illegal and would we please stop Now.
Back to Amritser where we spent the night, and then in the morning we went to the Golden Temple. Wow, what a place. It truly felt holy, unlike most of the other places that merely looked holy. People from all over the world come there, cover their heads, take off their shoes and bathe their feet before walking slowly around the square lake of holy water, looking at the sparkling gilded temple in the center. As in all Gurudwaras, everyone first eats a communal meal, kings and beggars, Brahmins and Untouchables, all sitting side by side on the floor eating the (quite good) food that’s prepared by dozens of volunteers. And they’re so nice about it, you really feel welcomed to eat there. I think all religious institutions should follow their welcoming example.
The temple was beautiful, covered in gold and crystal and mirrors and flowers and filled with people singing devotional songs and paying their respects to the elaborately decorated book in the center. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring. And just as we left the rain came pounding down, the first of the monsoons, and turned Amritser into Venice, with canals instead of streets. (Literally, there was at least a foot or two of water in most of the roads.) But we managed to get out and come back to Solan (nine hours later) safe and sound.

Delhi (well, sort of) Day 3

We left Delhi early in the morning (7:00) and drove out into the countryside to visit friends and family in the planes villages. The first village we went to was that of Nidhi’s aunt. After passing through the impossibly narrow roads of the tiny village to get to her house, she invited us in, but only Nidhi and me. In these villages, the women cover their faces with the transparent cloth of their saree, or the scarf of their suit-salvaar in the presence of the male elders of their in-laws, and since Nidhi’s father belonged to that category, it would have been awkward having a conversation with someone with a cloth over their face. So he waited out in one room while Nidhi and I went into the courtyard of their house.
All houses have these courtyards or flat roofs where most of daily life happens, because electricity is almost nonexistent. Sometimes they have it, sometimes they don’t and it’s fairly random and never announced. In this village, they said they had electricity until the 28th of June, but they haven’t had it since. So they boiled milk over slow-burning cow dung and we all fanned each other with square, woven fans. It seemed like they could have lived 100 years ago, that nothing had changed since then, except an occasional plastic lawn chair or the sound of a motorcycle outside.
The next village we went to was Nidhi’s native village – where all her dad’s ancestors had lived. It was a lot bigger than the first one, almost not a village anymore, but it still had the narrow stone streets and closely built houses, because everyone in the village was like one large and slightly spread-out family. We were invited into three or four houses, and Nidhi talked (and I listened uncomprehending) with the women on the roof/second storey of the houses, while her father talked to the men of the house on the first storey, with the buffalo. The women were really nice, including me in the conversation through Nidhi’s translation, and smiling at my attempts at Hindi.
When we finally escaped the numerous invitations for juice and tea and milk and any other drink possible, we went to Nidhi’s mother’s village, and spent the night there. That was really nice. I lay on a woven bed with a battery-powered fan next to me and read until the sun set, while Nidhi and her father talked to their relatives they hadn’t seen in years.
That night we slept outside under mosquito nets (that did a fine job of keeping one mosquito inside, which bothered me all night.) and in the morning we woke up early and rode on a bullock-cart to the mango orchards, where we ate mangos and climbed trees and splashed water at each other from the well and generally had a great time. Then we skipped back, got our stuff together, and took three long, hot, uncomfortable busses back to Solan.
What joy, to be back in the mountains! It’s so cool and rainy and cool and not hot…aaahhh.

Delhi Day 2

This day was the low point of the trip, I think. I spent most of the time unconscious or uncomfortable or (mostly) both. We were going to take a tour bus to see the sights of Delhi, but the costs of admission to the monuments are exponentially higher for foreigners than for Indians (i.e. 20 rupees for them and 250 for us) so we decided it would be more cost effective to hire a driver to take us to the places ourselves and then if we wanted to go in we could, or we could just look at it. It sounded like a good decision, but an entire day spent in a hot un-AC-ed car is absolutely no fun. Half the things we only saw through the window or over trees: “Oh, look, that’s the biggest mosque in India! Look, there, can you see it? That’s the Red Fort, a great example of Mogul architecture…too bad we won’t go in.”
The morning we spent looking for Hindi books for Nidhi’s IB, and I truly don’t remember much, I was asleep most of the time. This never used to happen, but I seem to have serious problems staying awake in any kind of moving vehicle for more than half an hour here. It’s useful, actually, it makes the time pass a lot faster, and you don’t notice how hot and sweaty you are when you’re asleep. Plus the snatches of dreams are entertaining.
In the afternoon we went around to various monuments and things to see, and when we were out of the car it was better, because there was a slight breeze and I could stretch my legs and appreciate the things we were looking at.
We went to two temples, one Hindu temple which was huge and amazing and full of fantastic pictures of gods and their deeds. I’m getting better at the temple ritual now: ring the bell when you enter, bow, receive the blessing (in the form of a red dot or sweets or both) then walk around the temple contemplating religious-ish things, then ring the bell when you leave, and touch the steps and touch your forehead.
The other temple was the Lotus Temple, which isn’t actually a temple; it’s a place of religious worship for all and every faith. From the outside it looks like a lotus flower just blooming (hence the name) and from the inside it’s a beautiful wide, sunlit room with marble benches facing a podium that could support preachers from any faith. You’re not allowed to speak in there, so the room is filled with the sound of the shuffle of bare feet and the slight jingle of anklets. It’s a wonderful place, and so peaceful.
We also went to Gandhi’s grave, which is surrounded by wide expanses of grass (which you can’t walk on) and flowers on an artificial hill which drops off to a stone courtyard with Gandhi’s moral remains in the center in a large black marble box with flowers all over it and the words “He Ram” (Oh God – his last words) set into the front. It, too, is a very peaceful and powerful place, thinking of the man who did so much for this country and the world.
In the evening we went to visit a succession of Nidhi’s relatives and her father’s friends, and drank so much tea and juice and water I felt like I was going to burst. We changed clothes at her cousin’s house to go to the wedding (that started at 9-9:30) but we were late, so we didn’t get there until 10:00. We went through the brightly colored archway hung with flowers and sparkly cloth and downstairs where the wedding hadn’t started yet – they were waiting for the groom to arrive with his huge parade of dancers and merry-makers – and were just about to settle in when Nidhi’s father came back to us saying, “oops, wrong wedding. Ours is upstairs.” Unfortunately in our wedding we had missed the parade – the couple had already exchanged wreathes of flowers and were posing for photos. So we ate and then sat there, wondering if anything was going to happen until 11:30 at which time Nidhi and her dad said, “the next ceremony won’t start until 1 or 2 am, so we may as well go.” What a let down, I was so excited to see an Indian wedding, and all it entailed was eating and looking at two people dressed up getting pictures taken.
We went to the India Gate afterwards, a huge gate (very like the Arc of Triumph in Paris) in the middle of a wide plaza that commemorates all the soldiers who died in the World Wars. It was nice, and interesting to see it in the dark when the crowds had mostly gone away.
End Day 2

Delhi Day 1

Our trip to Delhi was vastly superior to our trip to Solan on the first day – this time we got to take that coach bus we’d missed earlier, and what a difference it made! Air Conditioning and comfortable (blue) seats and movies all the way through the 9 hour trip to Delhi. Actually, I’m glad I didn’t take it the first day, it wouldn’t have been as much of an adventure, and I would have gotten the wrong impression of the country, and felt guilty for being treated in a way so obviously different from the common Indian. As it was, I truly felt like I was in India, and by the time I took the coach bus I could genuinely appreciate it because I knew the alternative.
It’s amazing, the contrast between the hills and the plains. You can tell immediately that one is more prosperous and less populated than the other, and it’s a shock to see the poverty I had expected before I came, but had almost forgotten about in Solan The poverty in the plains is made worse by the heat – well over 100 every day, even though the monsoons were supposed to come and cool things off – it must have been hell for the people carrying bricks and digging up the roads. I have never seen so many people sleeping in the streets before, day and night. People on the dividers between the two lanes of the road, on the sidewalks, on exposed pipes, at train and bus stations...
I don’t know how they manage to sleep with all the noise – cars and trucks blow their horns like maniacs or aspiring members of a marching band at all hours of the day and night, whether or not there’s any reason to announce their presence to the world.
We stayed with Nidhi’s Uncle – the one who picked us up the first day – in their little flat with three rooms and a kitchen.
Nidhi and I have to do research for our Extended Essays – 4,000 word essay for the IB that we have to do over the summer – hers is on the reasons for the accession of Kashmir to India, and mine is on Philip Pullman’s treatment of religion in His Dark Materials. So we went to find books on our respective subjects. The first library was useless to both of us, though a nice escape from the heat, so we left it feeling a little down-hearted.
Then Nidhi’s father asked whether we wanted to go to the Parliamentary Library. “Isn’t that restricted?” Nidhi asked, but apparently her dad knows someone in the security from his days as a government worker, and so we went to try. A few conversations and several cups of tea later we were in the beautiful new library of the Indian Parliament. Both of us were more successful there, so we made a trip to the photocopier and then had lunch (south Indian food). Then the security man took us on a tour of the Parliament itself, which was super-cool.
When we left, we went to Gandhi Smriti (an organization to promote Gandhi’s ideals) and had a meeting with the editors of Yamuna, a children’s newspaper for which Nidhi is the “foreign correspondent” (I’ve contributed an article as well). Then the organizer introduced us to a 13-year-old boy that the organization had just adopted. He came from a small village and is a math genius – we watched as he did the times tables of 200,554 as easily as you or I would do the times tables of 6 or 7. So they’re sending him to a prestigious school in Delhi to give him a good education and a future for his intelligence. Wow.
Then we went to the place where Gandhi was assassinated on his way to the Morning Prayer and the multimedia museum on his life – one of the most amazing museums I’ve ever seen. They had staff for each room of the museum to tell you about the exhibit and background information about Gandhi, and the exhibits themselves were so cool – you sing into a straw basket and a speaker nearby plays Gandhi’s favorite song, or you blow into a bowl filled with water and steam and it shows one of Gandhi’s messages as light on the steam, or you spin Gandhi’s spinning wheel and it plays a movie about his life. Such organization!
That night we went to Connaught Place (the main market of Delhi) and shopped. I was overwhelmed at first by the colors and sparkles of countless stalls – where should I start? Each person had a stall about 4ft wide and maybe 10 feet deep, and it was like walking into a tunnel of colors (if you were in a clothing stall) or glitter (if you were in a jewelry stall). But by the end I was having fun bargaining with the shopkeepers – bringing things down to half their original price with the help of Nidhi to translate the more complicated parts. It’s a good thing she was there, because apparently the shopkeepers hike up the price exponentially for foreigners, but because Nidhi was with me they treated me like a native. So we came back laden with bags and Nidhi’s uncle congratulated us on getting good prices for everything.
Yay!