Rajasthan : Jaipur, Pushkar and Ajmer (Part 1 of India: Solo on a shoestring)

Jaipur was dusty town glowing pink and orange in the late afternoon sun and I was already looking forward to exploring it. I got my lonely planet guide to India out of my bag and caught an auto to the Hotel Pearl Palace where I had made a reservation. The Pearl Palace was the third hotel that I had called, the previous two had refused me a room on pretext of my Pakistani nationality. I was greeted as I walked into the backpacker joint;

“Sorry sir we don’t accommodate Indians”

“I am not an Indian and besides I have a reservation”

“Oh ok, but where are you from?... Bangladesh?”

“No, Pakistan, can I see the room please?”

“Oh, but I don’t think I can give you a room”

I lost it at that point and demanded reason for not being given a room. He made a few phone calls here and there and checked my documents and agreed to give me room. He then took me upstairs to cubicle with no windows. I asked for a better room. He lost it there:

“People like you don’t deserve to stay here. I have no rooms for you! Leave!”

Feeling very out of sorts I asked the auto driver to take me back to the bus stand where I had seen a Rajasthan State tourism corporation office. I walked in the office and asked if there were any accommodation options available. The polite man in charge acquiesced and asked me where I was from. I said, Pakistan.

“Oh welcome, welcome to India sir, how do you like it so far”

“Not very much, it seems that not many people want to give a Pakistani a room for the night”

“Oh no sir you must be mistaken because….”

“Save it please and if you can help me out in getting a room please let me know”

He set me up with a young man who ran a guesthouse and he offered me a room for a hundred and fifty a night. The only catch was that there was hole in the wall where there was supposed to be an air conditioner and swarms of mosquitoes were pouring through.

“Can,t you do something about it?”

“No sahab, you see the room is only for 150 rupees”

Getting eaten alive by mosquitoes wasn’t a plausible prospect so I picked up the guide and went through the list of hotels. The young man was nice enough to make a few phone calls here and there and arranged for a room in a place, which was off the beaten track. The owner of the 'Karni Niwas' apparently refused to pay commission to the hotel-auto rickshaw driver mafia of Jaipur and hence got good reviews from the guide and others. My auto driver tried to divert me on to other hotels along the way but consistent threats resulted in arrival at Karni Niwas. The rooms were basic and the manager, popularly referred to, as Bubloo was very nice. I chatted that night with a couple of American and German backpackers and proceeded to dine at an eatery on the Mirza Ismail Road, which happens to be the high street of Jaipur.

Food was generally cheap, and even at upscale joints it was reasonably priced except for the chapatti’s. They were horrendously priced, costing up to fifteen rupees in some places.

Bubloo put forth a proposition for the next day. He knew an auto driver, Sattar Bhai, who would show m all of Jaipur in 12 hours for 250 rupees. I thought it was a good deal and agreed. Another kingfisher accompanied me to bed.

Goddamned Pearl Palace was the last thought in my head.

Sattar Bhai turned up at nine sharp in his jet-black deluxe diesel Auto. I could tell by the leather seat covers and the spick and span condition of the vehicle how much pride Sattar Bhai took in his machine. Sattar Bhai took me everywhere. We started at Albert Hall, went to the city palace, Hawa Mahal, Hazrat Ziauddin, Jantar Mantar, had lunch at the famous LMB Hotel, and then went outside Jaipur to Jal Mahal, the Amber Fort, Tiger Fort and Jaigarh Fort. The monuments were extremely well maintained and major renovation work was going on the forts. The Hawa Mahal had recently been completed. Perhaps the best place to visit in Jaipur is where the Cenotaphs of the Maharaja’s of Jaipur are located. It is on the outskirts of the city and is quite a peaceful place. Each maharaja had his own constructed and a couple of them are decorated with extremely intricate patterns. The only negative aspect of the place was the two noisy American ladies who were making a racket with their local guide. I lay there for quite a while just soaking the aura of the place in. I never expected place of the dead to inspire so much peace and tranquility.

The day had been long, hot and it even had its share of celebrity fun as Amir Khan turned up at Tiger Fort to record a song for his upcoming flick. I tried my best to get close to him like star struck fan but his security wouldn’t allow it. I found him to be quite a short person with a monkey-like persona.

Sattar bhai and I had bits and pieces of comments about India and Pakistan. I really didn’t understand where Sattar was coming from until the part when he started bragging about how ‘everything’ was made in India.

“Haan Sattar bhai, it is true but its not fair to compare a smaller country like Pakistan to India. Plus India has such a huge infrastructure so they can manufacture almost anything”

“Haan jee, India is so large, Akhir Pakistan tau India kee Jooti key baraber hai”

I paid Sattar Bhai as he dropped me off and bid him farewell. I think that Inzimam scoring the winning runs in Ahmedabad may have had a little to do with Sattar Bhai’s mood swing.

The next morning I told Bubloo that I was going to explore Jaipur city on my own and didn’t want Sattar Bhai called up again. I caught a cycle rickshaw to a private tour operator and got on the bus for Ajmer And Pushkar. My visa didn’t allow me to go to these towns but I thought, how many times in my life am I going to get the chance to go to Ajmer?

I passed myself off as Raj from Delhi who was traveling around the country, pulling off a Shahrukh Khan from Swades. The bus was small and there couldn’t have been more than fifteen people on it. There was nice family from Tamil Nadu across the aisle. There was a boy who offered me a couple of fries from his share. The conductor was a real smart aleck but also fun to talk to. I was happy and felt quit comfortable although I still followed my policy of not disclosing my nationality unless I absolutely had to.

The bus went to Pushkar first which is a holy Hindu town with hundreds of temples dotted around a lake. A numbr of phony Hindu Brahmin run a racket by roping people in for pooja but not many fell for it except yours truly. I also had wanted to do a pooja so I thought, why not. After the pooja and visiting the landmark Brahma temple I felt like eating so I consulted the guide for options. No eggs or meat were sold in the town so I settled for a veggie sandwich at the highly recommended Moon Dance café. I also ordered a special lassi to wash the sandwich down with. I only had thirty minutes before the bus left so I finished my meal and asked for the bill.

“By the way what’s so special about the special lassi. It tastes like plain banana shake to me”

“Oh no sir… we have very special lassi. You wait one hour and then you see…. he rolled his eyes towards the heavns”

I think I was going to have difficulty in finding the bus to Ajmer if I didn’t get there in time.

I pretty much ran to the bus, and sat down. Nothing much had happened by then and I knew exactly hat was going on. A Japanese tourist seated herself next to me. After half an hour of driving in silence I suddenly thought of how amazing Rajasthan was. The desert landscape, the barrenness and the wonderful; town of Pushkar with the fake Brahmins and the temples and the ghats, and the…and fifteen minutes later I found myself speaking in pidgin Japanese with Yuko , the Japanese girl. I lived in Japan as a kid and after all these years I racked my brains for vocabulary and where memory failed me I threw in Russian vocabulary. I finally realized that the special lassi had kicked in full effect when I noticed the puzzled look on her face, which showed how thoroughly, confused by the Russo-Japanese she was.

“I am riving in Pushkaa for one month and I eat no meat. Can you berieve it? I eat no meat!”

“Wow, really ? no meat?”

“Hai! Absorutery no meat. Zat is why I go to Jaipoo and zen I go straight to macudonarudo”

“You go straight to where in Jaipur?”

“Macudonarudo!”

“Say what?”

“Macudonarudo! Macudonarudo! I want Macudonarudo!”

It was only much later that night when memories from my childhood in Japan flooded my brain and I remembered all those commercials on TV. The Japanese usually experience great difficulty in pronouncing McDonalds, which is what poor Yuko was trying to explain to me.

The bus approached Ajmer and I felt this strange feeling overpower me. There was something very spiritual about that town and something very powerful about the lassi. I was seeing more colors than usual and felt really happy. I got off the bus and boarded a tonga which was to take me to Dargah bazaar gate. The walk from the gate to the dargah itself was a kilometer long but it felt as if I crossed ocean of time. I felt time melting all around me like Dali painting. I saw the multitudes of faces melt all around me. The narrow bazaar seemed like an endless wormhole with no end. I knew nothing about where I was going to end up but all I knew was that I had to see the tomb of Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti.

After dealing with the Muslim conmen outside the Dargah gates I finally made it to the tomb of the Saint of all saints. There were all sorts of people, all religions and al breeds to be found. In front of the main door of the tomb itself there was Qawalli session in progress. The qawwals were exhorting the Saint and singing that only he who is summoned by Khwaja makes the journey to Ajmer…my legs gave away and I collapsed on the floor. The chants of the Qawwals were having a powerful effect on me and my heart swelled up to the size of a football. I prayed for my family and for humanity. I prayed that there be no poor in the world and that there be no injustice. I prayed that if my life was worth ending the suffering of another soul, it be taken from me.

On my way out I felt very satisfied. It was definitely the highest point of the trip and visiting the holiest site for Muslims in South Asia turned out to be every bit the awe-inspiring experience that I thought it would be. As I sat on my tonga, waiting for other passengers to get on board so we could all head back towards the bus for Jaipur, a Muslim girl passed by. There was another tonga parked behind my tonga and that driver hooted at the girl. She turned around and asked him if he wanted to be clobbered by her shoe, and then she walked off. My tonga driver thought it was the opportune time to become the preserver of all morality and took on the mantle of being her elder brother and taunted the other tonga driver. He responded with minor curses i.e. Salley, abbay chull, teri behan hai kiya? etc etc. nothing too provocative until my tonga driver brought in an exaltation which referred to his sister and how incestuous the brother-sister duo were. From here on my tonga driver’s mother got dragged in the picture and before long there were two mothers and numerous sisters being thrown around all over the place. Each female getting done and undone by various ‘beings’. Then someone invited a dog on the other’s sister and I thought that had this been Lahore, the brawl would have been manifested in physical fight by now. But this was not to be and then in retaliation a donkey was also introduced into the picture to screw mothers and sisters. I thought they had reached the ultimate point of no return and a brawl was going to break out and instead something else was said to take the mudslinging match to its pinnacle.

“Abay saley Pakistani!”

“Kiya bola bey maderchod? Meray ko Pakistani bola?”

“Haan bey gandoo, saley mere ko tu Pakistan ka dikhta hai”

“Acha, tau mein Pakistan ka dikhta hoon? Abbey maderchod, jab teri maan ko Pakistani charhey the na, tb jaa key tu paida huwa tha!”

“Abaaay…!”

And it actually turned into a minor fistfight before bystanders broke it up. Well they didn’t know I was a Pakistani so I can’t be angry but that really was the pits. Half an hour ago I thought I was making one of the more poignant pilgrimages of my life and here I was reduced and broken down in rubble of curses and misunderstanding.

On our way back to the bus this rather short man approached me and commented on my fluent Hindi and how was it that after being in America for so long I spoke such fluent Hindi. I looked at Yuko and thought about my fluent Japanese earlier. I responded by saying that I was not American. The bus conductor keenly listened in to our conversation, after all it was him who went around saying that I was definitely not from India despite speaking fluent Hindi and the passengers in the bus came to the conclusion that I was an American. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I was declared an American citizen. I couldn’t let this go on and plus the lassi proceeded to give me confidence in myself and I proudly proclaimed my self to being a Pakistani. The short man’s pupils widened and he gently felt up my arm and declared that I was just like an Indian.

We were about to board the bus but people came off the bus and wanted pictures taken with me. I thought it was sweet of them but when the bus finally got going and was stopped at a police checkpoint close to Jaipur my heart, which was the size of a football at the mausoleum, shrunk to the size of a grape. My throat went parched dry and I felt the onset of a panic attack. In a bid to look even more desi appear normal in front of the cops and less American I started scratching my genitals and as soon as the cop looked at me I cleared my throat and duly dispatched a ball of mucus to the floor. He walked off.

I reached Jaipur after his momentous pilgrimage where I visited the 'Saint of all saints', got conned by Barhmins in Pushkar, flew halfway to heaven-compliments of Moon Dance café, met some really nice human beings like the people on the bus-especially the nice family from Tamil Nadu. I also experienced the nasty side of Muslim India and their spite for Pakistan. I guess its really tough being an Indian Muslim and it certainly didn’t appear to me as all that easy. I also discovered that after 12 years I could still make myself understood in Japanese and that my Russian is not all that bad. At the same time the biggest mystery of the day is how and why would the bus conductor go around spreading nasty rumors and calling me American????

Later at Karni Niwas I showered and changed and lay in bed chilling for a while thinking of the paradox that was India. I understood the paradox that Forster and Jhabwala were referring to back in A-levels. I flipped through the lonely planet and strolled out towards Mirza Ismail Road to dine. A nice chilled beer before dinner seemed like a great prospect before hitting the sack. As I walked along the road, saving money by not taking a cycle rickshaw A motorcycle pulled up alongside me.

“Hi!..... do I know you from somewhere?”

“No.... I don’t think so” and I politely shook his extended hand, thinking that this may be someone from the bus.

“I think I have seen you somewhere before…what do you do and where are you from?”

“I …am from Delhi and I am an engineer. The name is Raj…and what may I ask you do because I seriously can’t place you”

“My name is Shiv, and I m from around here. I like to make friendships. You also like to make friendships?”

“Oh…no I don’t, I think you got the wrong guy” and I hurriedly walked off

“Hey you!” he called out after me. I turned around

“You have a very good height, you sure you want no friendship?”

I flagged an auto and asked to be taken to the other end of Mirza Ismail Road.

The next morning I traced Khurrum and Faiza who were staying at an upscale hotel close to Sindhi camp. It was great to swap the dos and don’ts and catch up on stories. We rejoiced over the cool of Inzi who strode to a stylish victory in Ahmedabad. Khurrum just went on and on about Fatehpur and the two of them looked at each other when they referred to the Taj. Sweet. I was really looking forward to Fatehpur Sikri and took leave from the Khurrum and Faiza as soon as the CID guys turned up to take them for registration. I had an afternoon bus to catch for Agra, which was referred to as a larger Gujranwala by Khurrum.

The bus ride from Jaipur to Agra was economy class and it wasn’t too much fun especially since there was massive traffic block right outside the city. I had desperately tried to get a booking at the backpacker district in Taj Ganj but had been refused by 4 places because of my nationality. The fifth place, Hotel Kamal had agreed ONLY if my documents were in place. So I was quite anxious.