Amidst an unseen India and Indians
Sitting in front of my computer screen, just back to Copenhagen after a month long vacation, it is but natural (at least for me) that my mind is not here and is miles back in India. It is often not possible to keep the mind bounded on top of oneself. It is surely good for the mind to keep traveling like this so effortlessly and without any restrictions. No immigration checks, no security checks, no heavy backpacks to carry all the time, none of the hassles of jet lag and so on. It took me nearly 24 hours from the moment I stepped out of my home in India to the moment I stepped in at my home in Copenhagen. Human technology at work seems so slow as compared to the technology of nature that you sometimes wonder if humans could get there ever.
But it is good also for me, as my mind can also send signals back quite instantaneously, making me feel as though I am right there on the spot and traveling and moving, seeing and feeling the buzz around me. Things are quite calm here in Copenhagen, enough to decode clearly every signal being sent back and try to make sense of it all now.
I can see the chaotic traffic around me while I was stuck in a traffic jam in Amritsar. The driver decided to take us through a terribly congested and narrow street. A medium sized bus, stuffed with excess baggage from tourists, all coming from the the Wagah border after the border closing ceremony in the evening. Some of them were traveling across the border from Pakistan itself, unlike some others like me who went to the border just to observe the ceremony from the Indian side.
The street in Amritsar seemed to be getting more and more congested as we went deeper and deeper in it. And the Sikh driver was getting more and more impatient, as were the people stuck on the left, right, back and the front side of the bus. We were literally surrounded by cycle-rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, cycles, motorbikes, cars and pedestrians. Shop owners were getting out of their shops and staring at the helpless people. The exhaust from the vehicles and noise of accelerating engines was creating more pollution.
By the time, we could breathe some fresh air, as we saw the end of this never-ending street, the driver’s foot went full force on the accelerator and back with full force on the brake. He was getting really desperate now with the need to speed. We reached the Golden Temple soon after that, wondering what the hell was that. It was an experience.
A few hours ago at the Wagah border, we had our share of fun. To start with, we reached there in freezing cold, in an open auto-rickshaw. Three of us, tied inside our shawls, just counting the kilometers remaining to reach the border after having started from Amritsar. The rickshaw driver was just still; the cold seemed to have no effect on him at all. His arse was resting on a seat right on top of the engine, which probably helped him warm up.
The energy at the border was astounding. Nationalistic and patriotic songs from Bollywood were being aired with the help of huge woofers directed right towards the crowd. Surely, that did help raise the crowd’s spirits. A white dressed scout, shouting with the help of a microphone, was provoking the crowd as if a war was being fought and the side which could scream their throat’s out the most would win. Definitely, we could not hear anything from the Pakistani side, apart from a few slogans and little sounds. I guess they rather might have heard a lot from the Indian side, as we overtook them considerably in the number of people.
With the border closing ceremony close to it’s peak, what could be seen clearly seen was that the entire ceremony might have been formatted over the years just to make it a show which unveils in the same fashion every single morning and evening. It was good to be part of it and be so close to the border. The feeling that 61 years back the same place might have been burning like hell was disturbing though. And today, it is a celebration; maybe for the peace at hand. Strange, that far away on either side of the border, tensions are so high. But right there, everything seemed quite amiable amidst a benevolent atmosphere.
On the way back I got the chance to sit with the driver of the mini bus, in the cubicle of his. He had been living in Singapore for a long time, before he decided to come back to India and run a multipurpose mini bus in his birth city. Someday his bus would turn into a complete touristic service for a huge family or a set of relatives going to a marriage ceremony to a nearby place or on a religious pilgrimage. And the other day, the same bus would boast public transportation services in the city of Amritsar. Very much like every other small and private businessman in India, I could smell a mixture of several spices in the air, i.e. one man and many ongoing businesses.
A grocery shop would also sell you mobile prepaid cards; just give your number and tell how much recharge you want; instantly your mobile would beep out the updated balance. A doctor’s clinic could also be an idling place for the neighbourhood’s old men who basically hang out there. They gossip on salaries in India, and also find it hard to understand where Denmark really is. All this while the doctor is also busy in the same conversation, making his patients wait a bit more. I hope the urgent cases are not dealt with in this fashion.
A travel agent could also be a mobile phone mediator. As soon as you tell him that you are trying to sell a brand new Nokia phone which has just not been used because the font on the phone is too small for your grandfather to find any comfort, he delves into his secondary business attire and casually says, “Oh! Well I can buy it. How much do you want for it?”. And you reply with a modest, “Well, we were expecting 1200 rupees, as it is just out of the box”. He pleasantly accepts the deal and says, “Hang on right there. I will bring the cash back from my office upstairs”. The deal is done, before you get time to ponder upon it.
And why not this. A valuable couchsurfer who hosts tourists in his city, could also be a small businessman at his level, by trying to help arrange things for tourists. He could take you to some of his friend’s shops and leave you to them to show you some artistic and literally tempting Indian produce. Or he could help you arrange a chauffeur driven car to your next destination. He might get a share in the deal, while the tourist duly gets a chunk of help in return. I totally support this mutual benefit concept, and must say we would have not been able to get things done in India until a local person is in the loop somewhere.
I was a local person in India for my foreign friends; while for me, those people who showed us around and enlightened us with the local facts and information were the real localites. Everyone is a tourist, in at least some part of their own country, right?.
But it is good also for me, as my mind can also send signals back quite instantaneously, making me feel as though I am right there on the spot and traveling and moving, seeing and feeling the buzz around me. Things are quite calm here in Copenhagen, enough to decode clearly every signal being sent back and try to make sense of it all now.
I can see the chaotic traffic around me while I was stuck in a traffic jam in Amritsar. The driver decided to take us through a terribly congested and narrow street. A medium sized bus, stuffed with excess baggage from tourists, all coming from the the Wagah border after the border closing ceremony in the evening. Some of them were traveling across the border from Pakistan itself, unlike some others like me who went to the border just to observe the ceremony from the Indian side.
The street in Amritsar seemed to be getting more and more congested as we went deeper and deeper in it. And the Sikh driver was getting more and more impatient, as were the people stuck on the left, right, back and the front side of the bus. We were literally surrounded by cycle-rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, cycles, motorbikes, cars and pedestrians. Shop owners were getting out of their shops and staring at the helpless people. The exhaust from the vehicles and noise of accelerating engines was creating more pollution.
By the time, we could breathe some fresh air, as we saw the end of this never-ending street, the driver’s foot went full force on the accelerator and back with full force on the brake. He was getting really desperate now with the need to speed. We reached the Golden Temple soon after that, wondering what the hell was that. It was an experience.
A few hours ago at the Wagah border, we had our share of fun. To start with, we reached there in freezing cold, in an open auto-rickshaw. Three of us, tied inside our shawls, just counting the kilometers remaining to reach the border after having started from Amritsar. The rickshaw driver was just still; the cold seemed to have no effect on him at all. His arse was resting on a seat right on top of the engine, which probably helped him warm up.
The energy at the border was astounding. Nationalistic and patriotic songs from Bollywood were being aired with the help of huge woofers directed right towards the crowd. Surely, that did help raise the crowd’s spirits. A white dressed scout, shouting with the help of a microphone, was provoking the crowd as if a war was being fought and the side which could scream their throat’s out the most would win. Definitely, we could not hear anything from the Pakistani side, apart from a few slogans and little sounds. I guess they rather might have heard a lot from the Indian side, as we overtook them considerably in the number of people.
With the border closing ceremony close to it’s peak, what could be seen clearly seen was that the entire ceremony might have been formatted over the years just to make it a show which unveils in the same fashion every single morning and evening. It was good to be part of it and be so close to the border. The feeling that 61 years back the same place might have been burning like hell was disturbing though. And today, it is a celebration; maybe for the peace at hand. Strange, that far away on either side of the border, tensions are so high. But right there, everything seemed quite amiable amidst a benevolent atmosphere.
On the way back I got the chance to sit with the driver of the mini bus, in the cubicle of his. He had been living in Singapore for a long time, before he decided to come back to India and run a multipurpose mini bus in his birth city. Someday his bus would turn into a complete touristic service for a huge family or a set of relatives going to a marriage ceremony to a nearby place or on a religious pilgrimage. And the other day, the same bus would boast public transportation services in the city of Amritsar. Very much like every other small and private businessman in India, I could smell a mixture of several spices in the air, i.e. one man and many ongoing businesses.
A grocery shop would also sell you mobile prepaid cards; just give your number and tell how much recharge you want; instantly your mobile would beep out the updated balance. A doctor’s clinic could also be an idling place for the neighbourhood’s old men who basically hang out there. They gossip on salaries in India, and also find it hard to understand where Denmark really is. All this while the doctor is also busy in the same conversation, making his patients wait a bit more. I hope the urgent cases are not dealt with in this fashion.
A travel agent could also be a mobile phone mediator. As soon as you tell him that you are trying to sell a brand new Nokia phone which has just not been used because the font on the phone is too small for your grandfather to find any comfort, he delves into his secondary business attire and casually says, “Oh! Well I can buy it. How much do you want for it?”. And you reply with a modest, “Well, we were expecting 1200 rupees, as it is just out of the box”. He pleasantly accepts the deal and says, “Hang on right there. I will bring the cash back from my office upstairs”. The deal is done, before you get time to ponder upon it.
And why not this. A valuable couchsurfer who hosts tourists in his city, could also be a small businessman at his level, by trying to help arrange things for tourists. He could take you to some of his friend’s shops and leave you to them to show you some artistic and literally tempting Indian produce. Or he could help you arrange a chauffeur driven car to your next destination. He might get a share in the deal, while the tourist duly gets a chunk of help in return. I totally support this mutual benefit concept, and must say we would have not been able to get things done in India until a local person is in the loop somewhere.
I was a local person in India for my foreign friends; while for me, those people who showed us around and enlightened us with the local facts and information were the real localites. Everyone is a tourist, in at least some part of their own country, right?.
posted by Rajesh at 4:05 PM
2 Comments:
Hi, it's Joanna from CS.
I felt the same nostalgia after our return from India. And honestly, this feeling has not diminished. Quite the contrary. Eighteen months after our trip, I feel compelled to go back. And I feel like I will not go there again, I go crazy! I must admit that I prefer to go there again instead of some new exotic place. So we're going there this summer: July-August. This time, to the south and may in Sri Lanka. Back to India! Wanna join us?
India offers quite a contrast, no, when compared with your Danish experience? :)
I love traveling across the country (and I've traveled a lot!), yet I'm always amazed by the splendid contrast each place has to offer as compared to the others.
India's charm lies in its diversity because of which even resident Indians feel like tourists in their own land!
Good read (could relate it to my recent visit to Amritsar)! Keep writing...
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