The Lonely Planet mentions that India thrives on its railroad network and now I can tell you: so do India’s cockroaches. However it doesn’t take long to get used to these tiny creatures. It’s not as if anyone has a choice. Soon I decided to name one, who was exploring an area not far away from my bag, Timmy. Then I wanted to settle on a different name for its companion, who was busy sightseeing nearby my right shoe. They were surprisingly hard to tell apart, so difficult that even Timmy1 and Timmy2 wouldn’t make any sense. As time progressed I noticed Timmy and Timmy were far from alone.
To be honest, I’ve only been in one train so far and I bought a cheap ticket. Completely different experiences than the one I had must be possible too. The thing is, that after being trapped for half an hour, all what I would’ve considered to be an unacceptable nuisance at home, becomes acceptable and, if I might say, even enjoyable to witness in India.
Whereas in the Netherlands talking into your phone can already be a reason to be frowned upon, in India it’s a coming and going of noises nobody appears to really care about. Sometimes it’s the train itself, for example when the carriages bang a little into each other, usually it’s just people talking and listening to music. Now and then a beggar drops by to ask for alms and, regrettably, not waking up that loudly snoring person. Unfortunately though snoring is not the most obnoxious sound. Omitting incredible burps, farts and ear-splitting nose sneezes is something quite a few people seem to find normal.
The rail catering is very present too, selling hot and cold beverages as well as food hidden in boxes with “Meals on Wheels” written on it. They’re loudly bringing attention to their wares and sometimes literally run from bench to bench. Of course there are more salesman on the train, offering anything from lottery tickets to toys or batteries. And, on top of all that, there are those annoying tourists, like me, who are being taught how to count out loud in Hindi.
Apart from these sounds there are also many odors your nose will be forced to make acquaintance with. However, let’s not indulge ourselves in them. I think that it suffices to mention that they range from: “Delicious spicy dinner” to “Things that are supposed to be disposed in the toilet, but aren’t.” and “There’s a reason some people close their window.” I don’t want to describe this realm of horrendous revelations any further because it makes me feel disappointed.
This feeling reached its boiling point when I was in a bicycle rickshaw on the way to my hotel in Agra. I was wearing my large sunglasses and thinking: “Sheesh, what is this man slow.” The driver in question was quite old and sometimes got off to push his vehicle rather than pedalling it, even though we weren’t going uphill. Every few seconds or so coughed up a nasty cough. I paid the rickshaw driver about four times the price we had initially agreed upon. Maybe he was a brilliant actor, but I think he was seriously ill. Because the ride took so painstakingly long, I had plenty of time to ponder over my first thoughts and to realize how disappointed I was in myself.
Not disappointed for noticing what’s different than what I’m used to, but for translating these impressions in mostly negative or mocking representations. I was angry with myself, for hiding behind sunglasses, rather than facing the harsh reality directly. Afraid as I was to allow it to look me straight into my eyes, I had it gaze at its own reflection instead. I was concerned about what I might had turned into. Had I transformed from a sad and lonely alcoholic in Moscow to a heartless tourist in India?
The simple truth, I decided after I had taken off my sunglasses in the rickshaw, is that I wanted to be this heartless tourist. I hadn’t travelled all the way to India to have my heart ripped out, to see how all of my happiness would be squeezed out of it, because I considered the living conditions of some Indians I encountered downright miserable. On my travels I wanted to see beauty. I put my sunglasses back on and paid off my conscience by paying the driver a sixty-rupee tip, that’s about one euro.
If a little disappointment now and then is a prerequisite for me allowing myself to shut down certain emotions and enjoy my holidays, then, that’s a price I’m willing to pay.
So, travelling by rickshaw is pretty fun, although they’re not as much the death trap I had hoped they would be. I can’t really decide on how to describe it, I think I’ll try to take some pictures in the days to come to illustrate it. Something else about being on the road in India is that I think that all the traffic fumes I inhale make my throat a bit sore. This is however a wonderful excuse to drink a banana lassi. Banana lassies are amazing and if lucky topped with coconut chips and a few raisins.
Click here for an overview of all posts about my time in India
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2 reacties:
Disappointment would not be to the point.
Who said you should be an openhearted hero among not-haves? You're in the land of heros and whether you pay them more or less does not matter.
Being who you are and writing carefully about this 'who' in India makes it fun to read. Just as you are and as it is. What do we know?
Andrea
Your story of a Riksha puller at Agra has a lots of negativity in your mind. The life may be quite challenging in India at times but it is comparatively peaceful.
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