2009 India 1

Incredible India I

Journal kept by Susan Hanes during a five-week journey in northwestern India from January 5 to February 7, 2009. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, copyright 2009.

Incredible India January 5-February 7, 2009 India ‌ older than human history, 1.5 billion people, 400 languages, 33 million gods, and it all started with silk, rice, and pepper ‌

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Despite my bout of nerves, canceled flights, and changes in hotel reservations associated with the Mumbai terror attacks of November 26, 2008, Jake and I embarked on a 34-day adventure in northwestern India, from Delhi to Mumbai. Traveling by planes, trains, and automobiles—as well as bicycle rickshaws and “tuc-tucs”—we passed through seven Indian states and visited sites in 18 locations. We stayed in five-star hotels and quirky havelis, and a couple of places we would not recommend. We feasted on spicy Rajasthani Laal Mass and Ker Sangri and sampled the sweetness of a Gujarati thali; we listened to sitar, tabla, kamancha, and santur; we wandered through teeming markets, shopped in elegant boutiques, and explored ancient temples. We shuddered at teetering, overloaded trucks and marveled at the creative methods of transport we encountered. We saw colors, vivid and bright, in saris and turbans and hand-blocked textiles, even more brilliant against the barren landscape of the dry season.

We discovered that the Indian people like to be photographed, not just by us, but even more, with us.

And we experienced the spirit of namasté—of mutual respect—wherever we went.

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Monday, January 5 Isaac piled our bags in the taxi; off before 4:00 PM, managing to catch the 4:15 Blue Line from the Thompson Center to O’Hare.

Quick trip, as the 45-minute service has been restored. Good thing too: went to Terminal 2 thinking that the plane would leave from there, being Northwest Airlines. Told we had to go to Terminal 5 as the shared flight was considered KLM. A/er waiting 45 minutes in line to check in for our flight to Amsterdam, learned that it was delayed two hours and thus we would miss our onward connection to Delhi. Managed to switch to non-stop American 292 to Delhi that le/ a half-hour

In Flight earlier. Rushed back to Terminal 2; problems making the change as the rep couldn’t find our KLM reservations on the computer, but just managed to make it.

Lousy seats way in the back, but a kind woman moved so that we could at least sit together. Interesting meals—Indian vegetarian—were very tasty, especially for airline food. Pretty bumpy for a good part of our 7477-mile, 14 ½-hour flight that took us over Russia, Ukraine, Afghanistan, Iran, and Pakistan. But the whole thing not as grueling as I feared. Arrived at 9:35 PM on Tuesday.

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Tuesday, January 6

New Delhi

Flew over Delhi in a haze that turned out to be pollution. Customs and passport control a breeze but had a fit when my newly purchased cell phone would not work. Jake’s Turkish phone did, so at least we are covered. So annoying. Came through and waited for our Corus Hotel pickup—and waited and waited. Finally made contact with the hotel desk that told us to just go outside and look around for him. 2 ½ hours later, learned that he had been standing outside the whole time. Sure enough, there he was with a crudely lettered sign that said, “Mr. George.” He led us through the smoky haze and into a large parking lot where a miniscule Tata was parked at the end. The trunk would only hold one of our modest bags; no seat belts (I checked). Nice road for the 16-km trip to Delhi: at that hour, only lorries (painted with “Please Honk” on the back), auto rickshaws (most with no lights), and cars which seemed glued to the lane lines and made copious use of their horns. (Learned quickly that horns are used to say where you are going, and not to get others to move. So, it is most quiet when traffic is at a standstill!) Saw evidence of the Delhi Metro in the process of construction. Passed signs for Connaught Place and turned into a series of circles before the driver stopped down an alley at a closed gate marked “Bonsai Tree Bar.” Two pye-dogs scurried out of the way as the driver knocked at a small window with the sign, “Closed A/er Midnight.” Several men ushered us into the modest hotel—no other guests in sight. Checked in with a great deal of confusion. By 2:00 AM we were settled, having requested an additional towel to the single one in the room, as well as some toilet paper. Our “bellman” explained that the room had no heat but that there was plenty of hot water if we would let it run for 10 minutes or so. I noticed later that the little bottle of shampoo provided in the bathroom had the name of the hotel misspelled—thus Corus was rendered “Cours.”

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Wednesday, January 7

New Delhi

Breakfast buffet at the hotel restaurant (in the evening it

stepped. Passed by Gurudwara Sisganj Sahib Sikh temple, which

becomes the Bonsai Tree); we were the only ones partaking.

we chose not to enter because of the shoe removal, foot

Bahji, a stew with potatoes and peas, along with rounds of poori

ablution, and head covering requirements. Through a warren of

bread were especially tasty. As soon as we walked out of the

medieval-looking narrow lanes to the Spice Market—paan sellers,

hotel to the Inner Circle of Connaught Place, were approached by

fruits, bags of nuts and grains. At the metro station retained a

several potential “guides” offering to show us the shops and

bicycle rickshaw, realizing as soon as we got on how difficult it

sights of Delhi. Motor rickshaw to Jama Masjid at Meena Bazaar

was to stay on the slippery, slanted, narrow seat as we contested

in Old Delhi. Walked over the broken pavement to the steps of

with ox-carts, pedestrians, bicycles, scooters, heavily laden

the mosque. Paid 100 rupees for a camera permit. Le/ our shoes

handcarts, cars and trucks. For an hour, we rode from the Chandi

at the entrance—glad I’d brought slip-on socks. Entered the open

to the Lahore metro station. Hailed a second bicycle towards the

square that is the main portion of the largest mosque in India.

Red Fort, getting off when we came to an area where we hoped

Walked stocking-footed among pigeons and their deposits. Chose

to get a taxi. Failing to find a four-wheel variety, settled for

not to ascend the tower as the morning haze still hung heavily.

another motor rickshaw back to the Corus, returning by 4:00.

Mildly disappointed—no real interior: covered walkway with

A/er a needed shower and rest, Dr. Rakesh Chopra, an old friend

guano-spattered prayer rugs. Crossed the busy road to Lahore

of Chicagoan Merle Gordon, picked us up and took us to the

Gate of the Red Fort. Evidence of increased security with

lovely home in the Vasant Vihar area of south Delhi that he

machine guns mounted atop jeeps and a kiosk facing the

shares with his wife, Veenu and daughter, Choti. Noticed that

entrance. Cursory inspection, separated by sex. Walked around

Rakesh wore a Sikh metal bracelet (called a kada) and touched

multiple buildings of the Fort—a Mughal version of Topkapi—

the images of Ganesha when he entered his house. He explained

including public and private reception rooms and the throne

that following his older daughter’s severe medical crisis, he

building (throne is now in Iran); inlaid images still were lovely.

decided to give up alcohol and meat and to become more

Extensive grounds, but water component that would have made

spiritually aware in gratitude for her return to health. A

many of the buildings spectacular was no longer present. Sadly in

delightful evening with them—a home-cooked Indian dinner and

need of maintenance; the fort’s splendor sadly diminished by

Indian scotch and lemongrass-ginger vodka, great conversation

subsequent invasions and destruction. Proceeded by foot along

and helpful suggestions. They returned us to the hotel just before

Chandi Chowk, looking into shops and watching where we

1:00.

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Connaught Place in all its faded glory

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Jama Masjid

The largest mosque in India

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Thoughts from a bicycle rickshaw—The slim young man in front of us stands on the pedals to he/ our weight across the muddy, rutted road. Struggling to keep our balance on the narrow, slippery and slanted seat, we have a surprisingly intimate view of the crowd of humanity lining the street and contesting space within it in all methods of transport. There seems to be some sort of order in the chaos spread before us. The slower handcarts yield to most others; if one gets a burst of strength or an unexpected downward jolt, he gently butts the wheel of our rickshaw; we hardly notice but our driver does. He looks behind and says something; it doesn’t sound sharp or rude; he is just communicating something about the situation in front of us. We pass a jam in the other direction. Impossible to tell what the problem is, other than the fact that it involves an oxcart, a truck, and a car that sits at a 90-degree angle between them.

We edge past, few in our direction taking any notice.

Along the road, great piles of canvas sacks, some scattered, others carefully stacked. Men, mostly in unraveling turbans, lounge over them. Other men sit cross-legged on nearby wooden handcarts.

Presumably the bags have been delivered and unloaded; now it’s time for tea and conversation.

Vendors crouch along the broken sidewalk; sliced pineapple, unbelievable pomegranates, betel leaves tantalizingly arranged in so/ green stacks, sacks of the accompanying areca nuts conveniently displayed nearby. I ask a man preparing a paan if I can take his picture—actually I just motion towards the camera; he shakes his head, “No.” An old paanwalla fanning his betel leaves, readily agrees and is pleased when I show him the results. The scene is full of motion, and of rest too. It all seems to flow in a single benign current of humanity; a humanity that accepts its lot and expects no more from life than doing a job, delivering the goods, exchanging a word, and going home, only to do it again tomorrow, as fathers and grandfathers did before.

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The Paanwallah

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Red Fort Complex 12

Thursday, January 8

Muharram

New Delhi

Up at 7:15 for the breakfast buffet, again had it to ourselves.

who feed their parents. He also pointed out the rusty, dinged

Is anyone else staying here? Not quite as good as yesterday.

Blueline buses that by the end of the year will be replaced by

Avoiding cream, fresh vegetables, and most fruit, there was

new municipal coaches. These overcrowded “killer buses” are

little else besides toast and a banana. Walked outside at 9:00

privately owned and are packed with as many passengers as

to meet our guide, this one legitimately arranged by Veenu.

possible to earn maximum return. Ravi dropped us off at the

Called Em, Mike, and Chris to tell them our mobile number

ticket booth at Qutb Minar and we entered the gate of a

and then called the guide. He had come in the front as we le/

lovely park that encloses a mosque, tombs, and other

the back of the hotel and we’d been waiting for each other

monuments. Included is the tallest minaret in India, dating

for 20 minutes. Finally connected and he introduced himself

from the 13th century and commemorating the victory of

as Meritenjay Pandey and the driver as Ravi. Packed into the

Mohammed of Ghor—and of Islam—over the Hindu

back of a spotless Tata Indigo and were on our way south to

monarchy in 1192. It is named a/er the general who led

Qutb Minar. As Ravi skillfully maneuvered us through Delhi

Mohammed’s troops and later became sultan of Delhi.

morning traffic, “Jay” told us that he was a Hindu and a

Nearby the cube-like Ala-I Darwaza stands with its red

Brahman and thus had a responsibility to teach. He informed

sandstone and while marble walls completely covered with

us that it was the Muslim holy day of Muharram,

Koranic inscriptions, scrolls, and interlaced motifs. A few

commemorating the martyrdom of Imam Hussein at the

steps away are the remains of Quwwat ul-Islam (“The Might

Battle of Karbala in 680 A.D. Shops open later and schools are

of Islam”), India’s oldest mosque, built in 1193 of materials

closed. Stopped at a traffic light and were entertained by

removed from some 20 Hindu and Jain temples. The carvings

child street performers, their faces painted with mustaches

on the pillars are amazing, depicting a profusion of figures

and red cheeks, who tapped on the windows for baksheesh.

and vines and inscriptions. Found so many green men that I

Jay pointed out the parents, sitting along the side of the road

stopped counting them—chains, snakes, vines, and even

while their children darted in and out of traffic. He explained

women’s legs protruding from their grotesque mouths.

that the parents don’t feed the children; it is the children

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Leaving the complex, stopped briefly at the Baha’i Temple,

the famous Raj Path. Barriers were placed around the square in

rising like a giant lotus from its surrounding garden and looking

preparation for Republic Day. Thus were prevented from a

strikingly like the Sydney Opera House. Continuing north,

closer view of the massive 1931 structure honoring those Indian

visited Humayun’s Tomb, a “residence of bliss” built in 1565 and

soldiers who died fighting for Britain in WWI. Down the Raj

surrounded by an enormous formal Mughal garden. The red and

Path, formerly King’s Way, the 2 ½ km. avenue leading to the

white structure is so perfect in proportion that it became a

presidential palace. Seats was being set up for the Republic Day

prototype for all Indo-Muslim tombs, including the Taj Mahal.

parade and we noted police dogs and a military contingent

The fountain was operational and the canals were all filled with

already dealing with the logistical issues of security. Passed

water in contrast to the disappointing gardens in the Red Fort.

government buildings designed by British architect Herbert

Before leaving the complex we stopped to visit Isa Kahn’s tomb,

Baker and paused at the top of Raisina Hill at the gates of the

a white octagonal structure built just 17 years earlier than the

official residence of the President of India, designed by Edwin

tomb of Humayun that showed the remarkable strides made in

Lutyens. Back to the hotel on Jan Path, noting the shops for

the study of architecture during that short time. Brief stop at

another time—now we were ready for a nap. At 7:30, Ravi took

CIE Saga, an elegant store with impressive security that sold

us to Bukhara, located in the sparkling ITC Maurya Hotel, where

jewelry, carpets, clothing, and handicra/s. The quality of the

we enjoyed an Indian meal of skewered lamb and peppers that

jewelry was indicated by the presence of several huge safes. Too

was served with giant bibs and no utensils. Food was good and

tired to think of shopping at that point; walked though and

presentation novel but somewhat spoiled by a large table of

tried to make a graceful exit. North a few kilometers on Dr.

noisy American college students.

Zakir Hussain Road brought us to the India Gate and the start of

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Qutb Minar

Qutb Minar

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Baha’i Temple 18

Humayun's Tomb 19

Raisina Hill

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Friday, January 9

New Delhi

A mistaken ring of our doorbell at 2:30 and an unrequested wake-up call at 4:30 were bookends to a sleepless night. Mercifully we are leaving the malfunctioning AC, grey towels, and 7-meter rolls of toilet paper to move to the famous Imperial Hotel for our last two nights in Delhi. Breakfast was good; had the Bahji again. Decided to see what the Delhi metro was like. Less than 10 years old, the system consists of three lines—red, yellow, blue. New lines are being constructed, including out to the airport. Work should be completed in fall 2010, in time for the Commonwealth Games. Evidence of excavation for the new lines (as well as venues for the Games) is prevalent all over the city and is disruptive of traffic everywhere. There was significant but perhaps ineffective security at the stations—an armed soldier behind sandbagged position met us as we descended the escalator. A metal detector and peremptory his and hers searches were conducted. There is a prohibition on photographs, I learned. I took two photos in the station, both using flash. A/er the second, I was accosted by a metro official and forced to delete that photograph. Stations are very modern, notable for their absence of graffiti, as are the trains themselves. Stations are large as well, with multiple exits separated by perhaps 100 meters.

Entrance to the trains is by lines, fairly well-ordered. Priority seating for elderly and an area for ladies. Traveled RT between Rajiv Chowk and Kashmir Gate just to get a sense of it all. Tokens of plastic with a computer chip or fare cards are available. Bought tokens —would have kept one for a souvenir but a posted sign warned of possible incarceration or a fine if a token was removed from the station so I let it go. Fares are based on distance traveled and our 4-station RT fare was less than a quarter each. Back to the Corus to check out and meet Ravi, who transported us to the Imperial for check-in. Took a half hour to marvel at our surroundings, see our room, and gather what we’d need for the day, before heading out to make maximum use of our driver.

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First to the observatory, Jantar Mantar, a surreal outdoor

how much they were getting out of it but they were certainly

collection of fixed astronomical instruments built in the early

enjoying themselves. Of particular interest to us were the

18th century, 100 times larger than normal size and incredibly

miniature paintings and textiles. The Cra/ Museum, laid out in

accurate until the surrounding modern buildings made them

the form of a village, provided a fascinating step into Indian rural

unusable. Visited the Jawaharlal Nehru and Indira Gandhi

arts of an earlier time. Disappointing shop but did negotiate with

museums, both in what had been their homes. Nehru’s was

a vendor outside for a pashmina shawl; later discovered we could

impressive, set in a large garden complex; Gandhi’s was more

have bought it for the same price at our 5-star hotel. Returned to

modest. A crowd of schoolchildren precluded our entrance to her

the Imperial a/er 4:00, exhausted and ready to enjoy our

house but we saw the crystal walkway in the garden that marked

opulent surroundings. From the art-filled walls to the jasmine-

her last steps before she was shot by assassins in 1984. Then to

scented halls, the Imperial exudes the essence of the Raj. Took a

the Mahatma Gandhi Memorial where we saw the room where

bath, using the French toiletries provided in our room and had a

he spent the last 144 days of his life. Walked the path marked

rest before going down to dinner. Drinks at the Patiala Peg,

with his last steps before he was assassinated in 1948. Took a

named a/er a particular polo match in which the Maharaja of

photograph of his iconic eyeglasses. At the National Museum,

Patiala beat a visiting Irish team by plying them with an

shared our visit with hundreds of giggly, uniformed schoolgirls

abundance of alcohol during a lavish dinner in their honor. A light

who were marched briskly in and out of each gallery. Wondered

Indian meal on the 1911 Restaurant veranda followed.

Jantar Mantar Delhi

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National Museum

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The Imperial

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Saturday, January 10

New Delhi

Elaborate breakfast buffet at the Imperial offered huge selection and we enjoyed exotic fruits, fluffy omelets, and smoked salmon. At 8:00, I reported to the spa for my prearranged Ayurvedic body massage. Heavenly does not adequately describe my hour with Andrea, daughter of an Ayurvedic healer and 16-year employee of the Imperial. She applied hot oil and massaged my entire body, finding all the knots of tension and telling me all about myself in the process. I accused her of having eyes in her fingertips.

A/erwards she guided me into a waiting shower. I le/ feeling both relaxed and energized, if that is possible. When Jake returned to the room a/er his individual tour of the hotel’s extensive art collection, we decided to walk down to the shops on Jan Path.

Discouraged from window-shopping as any slight pause brought an onslaught of offers to sell. Found it somewhat disconcerting to be followed at every turn with injunctions to go no further on the “dangerous” way we were heading (down a major road) and rather visit the “special” shopping center (down a side street). Crossed the busy road by attaching ourselves to a local who was more adept at stopping (or at least dodging) traffic and visited the Central Cottage Industries, the government-run emporium that affords the opportunity to see and buy Indian cra/s at set prices. Got a good overview and ended up buying a hand-embroidered Kashmir pashmina stole. Jake made me promise to wear it and not keep it hidden away in a drawer. Veenu came by at around 5:00, lugging a suitcase filled with examples of her latest hobby, jewelry design. She also brought along a selection of silk and pashmina scarves. I chose several for the girls and we had a good chat. Jake joined us later for tea on the veranda and Veenu offered further assistance with our travel plans a/er we leave Delhi. She has been an invaluable help, especially with my peace of mind. Later, Jake and I enjoyed the tasting menu at the Spice Route, voted one of the top ten restaurants in the world by Condé Nast. As the Imperial’s Guest Services book describes it, “In its museum-like interiors, the restaurant invites you to an armchair journey to the wonders of Southeast Asian cuisine through the historic Spice Route.” All to the accompaniment of a crispy Indian Sauvignon Blanc.

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Sunday, January 11

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Agra

Unlike our last morning at the Corus, this morning’s 4:30

Train 2002 to Agra rolled into the station at 6:00AM. A mad

wake-up call was legitimate. Even so, it did not make us feel

scramble to find the right car, find seats, stow bags overhead.

any better about it. Our taxi to the New Delhi Station was a

The train pulled out promptly at 6:15. As the landscape

funky old Ambassador. Were just commenting on the quiet

started to appear in the hazy first light, I could see scattered

early Sunday streets when we became entangled in a massive

trees and small huts dotting grassy fields. Primitive

traďŹƒc tie-up. Turning into the station, it was total gridlock,

smokestacks belching dark smoke passed by intermittently.

cars and motor rickshaws pointing every which way. No way

Sped by the village of Palwal, its crumbling brick and cement

to get closer so we got out and pulled our suitcases through

structures painted pink, blue, and green, many bearing

the mass of humanity, cars, parcels, and bags. Entering the

painted signs in Hindi. Cattle grazed in the litter along the

station, we encountered a tangle of dusty old men and

tracks. En route, turbaned servers brought English

women, most of whom had apparently spent the night on the

newspapers, bottled water, tea and sweets, a rose, and a meal

floor, their belongings tied into loose bundles. Touts were

of Wonder Bread and some kind of egg casserole served with

abundant. One fellow first tried to get us to go up some

catsup. The air pollution is appalling. Rolling through the

cement steps and then told us that our tickets were no good

farmlands of Uttar Pradesh, the sky was obliterated in a

and we needed to go to another building to get some kind of

smoky cloud. Pulled into Agra at 8:20, a few minutes late.

stamp. I had none of that. We joined the tide of people

Met by Shiv Kumar, the driver arranged by Veenu. Didn’t

entering the platform area, overwhelming a lone, rickety, and

waste any time, but went straightaway to the Taj Mahal.

constantly-buzzing metal detector. The guard gave up and

Through the crumbling and chaotic city center, we emerged

literally opened the flood gates as the people poured in.

at the east gate entrance where we le/ the car and took a

Inside on the platform, the chaos was a bit more organized.

government bus the short distance to the gate.

On our way to the

Taj Mahal 31

Exquisite detailing of the

Taj Mahal

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Passed through a gauntlet of hawkers (“Only 20 rupees for

Unfortunately the river was completely dry in that area and

you, Lady”), a security check, and a metal detector and

the pollution (4 times the highest safe level according to a

entered the red sandstone and white marble gate. As we

posted sign) all but obliterated the view. The drive there

emerged from the dark archway, the glistening white Taj

took us through the small village of Katchpura, where the

appeared, larger that I expected and almost unreal in the

people’s livelihood depended upon the reworking of old

misty light. I felt quite overcome as I gazed on it for the

saris. Jake got out to photograph the colorful cloth spread

first time. My father once told me that the Taj Mahal was

out in a field to dry, as small children and goats scuttled

one of the few things in life that surpassed his expectations.

over it. At 3:00 we checked into the ITC Hotel Mughal, an

I had to agree. Built in 1631 as a love token to his wife by

award-winning building constructed in 1980 and arranged

Shah Jahan, it has to be the most beautiful building in the

around three landscaped courtyards. A much-needed nap

world. Nearing it, we marveled at the intricately-carved

prepared us for our special dinner reservations at Esphahan,

floral motifs and the brilliant stone work, inlaid with semi-

the Middle Eastern restaurant at the Oberoi Amarvilas

precious gems. The nearby Agra Fort, built by Shah Jahan’s

Hotel. On our way, we marveled that there was a glorious

grandfather Akbar in 1565, is another World Heritage site.

full moon. Exceedingly rigorous security procedures to

We weaved our way through graceful palaces, courtyards,

enter the gate necessitated showing our passports and

and residences, marveling at their beautiful inlay work and

written confirmation. Once inside, we were assigned an

carvings. Continued to the I’timad ud-Daulah mausoleum,

escort who did not permit us to be alone at any time. An

known as the “Baby Taj,” that was built four years before

elegant meal with exceptional service, accompanied by

the Taj Mahal and reminded me of the Persian ivory mosaic

evocative music provided by sitar and tabla. Our departure

box that my parents once had. The delicate multi-colored

was complicated by security associated with the hotel’s

mosaic of the façade was stunning, especially from a

proximity to the Taj, forcing us to meet Shiv 500 meters

distance.

Shiv took us on a hair-raising drive across a

down the road. I refused their injunction that we walk out

narrow bridge that spanned the Yamuna River so that we

into the night and a golf cart was produced. Met up with

could have a view of the Taj from Rambagh Garden.

Shiv who safely deposited us at our hotel.

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Agra Fort

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I’timad ud-Daulah mausoleum 38

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Katchpura

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Monday, January 12

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Fatepur Sikri

Shiv picked us up at 8:30 for our trip out to Fatepur Sikri. Asked his

jali (screens) that looked like lace. Small clusters of thread had been

help in topping up my phone; very glad I did for his presence

tied to some of the screens as prayer requests. The tuc-tuc returned

avoided a scam. A cacophony of horns and all manner of vehicles

us to the bottom of the hill where Shiv was waiting. Visited Akbar’s

renewed our gratitude in having him to drive us. Leaving town, the

tomb at Sikandra on the return to Agra. A multicolored marble gate

road wound through a fertile plain, widening to a highway for a

led to a peaceful park that surrounded the building, where deer

short distance. Shiv told us that the government is in the process of

munched in the green expanse. The tomb, built in 1613, was the last

constructing a divided ring road that will one day carry tourists

of the Mughal era to be built of sandstone. Inside, a dark, incense-

from the Taj Mahal to Fatepur Sikri; observed that in the meantime,

filled corridor led to the crypt, which was entirely without

the partially excavated highway has been opportunistically used as

decoration. A man demonstrated its eerie acoustics by uttering a

a cattle pen. Arrived at the site at 10:00. A “tuc-tuc” (as he called

single sound that resounded and evolved for several seconds. By the

the motor rickshaw) took us up the hill to the gate. Upon entering,

time we returned to Shiv, the Agra traffic was at its peak. He told us

were delighted to find the red sandstone buildings highlighted

that only Delhi and Mumbai have traffic rules (oh really?) but Agra

against a brilliant blue sky—the first time we had escaped the smog

has none. The crush of vehicles headed every which way was

since our arrival in India. Few visitors, a couple of hopeful guides,

beyond description. Nonetheless we were back by 3:00 and had the

and a scattering of beggar children meant that we pretty much had

opportunity to enjoy the lush garden and striking architecture of

the place to ourselves. Explored the connected palaces, living

our surroundings. Unfortunately, there was an evident lack of

quarters, and public halls with stone carvings so intricate they

maintenance: deteriorating brickwork, broken and missing tiles, and

looked like wood. Walked to the Jami Masjid where we had to

walkway drainage problems somewhat spoiled what was a lovely

remove our shoes—no booties this time. I hate that part, especially

hotel. Had dinner in the hotel at Peshawri, another restaurant in

since I stepped in something wet, I shuddered to think what. Took

the no-utensils style of Bukhara in Delhi. Walked through the

turns entering the striking white marble tomb of Sheikh Salim

arcade shops a/erwards and bought a small marble inlay box typical

Chisti. Most impressive was the closed pavilion of incredibly delicate

of Agra.

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Fatepur Sikri

Akbar's Tomb, Sikandra

Hotel Mughal Agra Winner of the Agha Khan Award for Architecture, 1980

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Tuesday, January 13

Gwalior

Up at 5:45 AM to make sure we’d have plenty of time to get to the train

turquoise tiles and charming freezes of yellow ducks, and elephants,

station for the trip to Gwalior. Shiv was late, causing us some concern.

tigers, and crocodiles in blue and green. Built in 1516, the palace is a

He’d had a flat tire on his 15-km. bike ride into town to retrieve the car.

fine example of Hindu architecture. Explored the courtyards with their

No problem, as he whisked us to the station and had us on the platform

detailed stone carvings and descended to a maze of subterranean

in plenty of time to catch the same train we had ridden to Agra. Had the

chambers; glad we had our little flashlights. Walked north through a set

same seats for the hour and 20-minute trip. Needing a ride to our hotel,

of gates that led to more ruins. Found a man washing a shrine to

we sought out the state tourist office in the station in Gwalior. The

Hanuman in front of the ruined Vikram Mandir temple; he let us

manager brought in three candidates and Jake made his selection

photograph the altar but not him. Walked among the ruined, graffiti-

based on car model. Short drive brought us to the Taj Usha Kiran, the

covered buildings in the complex to an overlook of the city. A short

120-year-old auxiliary palace of the royal Scindia family where we were

drive away, stopped at a pair of 11th c. Vishnu temples, the Saas-Bahu

greeted with hot towels, a dot of sandalwood paste on our foreheads,

(Mother and Daughter-in-Law), covered inside and out with sculptures.

and spiced apple drinks. Unique room with an even larger bath. Made

Three little boys asked us for money and then darted in and out of our

driving arrangements through the hotel for the next two days. Departed

pictures. A little further on stopped again at the Teli ka Mandir, a 9th c.

for the Urvai Gate of Gwalior Fort. Ascending the steep one-way road to

Vishnu temple that is almost 100 feet high. It too was covered with

the fort, stopped to photograph the 15th c. giant rock-cut Jain

sculpture, most of which, like the Saas-Bahu, had been defaced.

sculptures. Found the towers of the Man Singh Palace adorned with

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On to Gwalior by train

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Gwalior Fort

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Teli Ka Mandir

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Stopped next at the Sikh Gurudwara temple. A Sikh

Joginder accompanied us to a little stand where we

gentleman greeted us as we emerged from the car. He

each bought a Sikh bracelet (kada) for 50 rupees (about

said he would be our “attendant” and led us through

$1). He told us that the kada should remind us that we

the process of entering the temple: we removed our

are handcuffed to God and to each other. He was

shoes and socks, washed our hands, donned orange

delighted to pose for a picture and asked if we would

bandanas, and (shudder) waded barefoot through a

send him a copy, writing his address in my little

shallow trough of water. I clenched my teeth and

notebook. Before returning to the hotel, visited the Jai

stepped in. Joginder, our guide, assured us that

Vilas Palace Museum, an eccentric collection of 19th c.

although one might think the water dirty it was holy

relics and Scindia family memorabilia, including a solid

and therefore OK. As we mounted the steps to the

silver train, stuffed tigers, and a life-sized sexy

temple, a group of young pilgrims asked if they could

sculpture of Leda being seduced by her swan. A second

take a picture with me. As they did, so did Jake.

wing housed a dining hall where royalty was

Joginder guided us through the temple, explaining that

entertained and an upstairs reception hall that was

the Sikhs welcome all religions as one religion and offer

illuminated by the largest chandeliers in the world.

hospitality (including food and shelter) to all who ask

Back at the Usha Kiran, explored the grounds and took

for it. A man seated inside placed a dollop of brown

pictures of the intricate screen work. Watched a silly

paste from a large bowl into Jake’s cupped hands. We

puppet show before going in to the Silver Saloon for a

tasted it (gingerly)—somewhat sweet—and then gave

pleasant Indian dinner and a couple of Kingfisher beers.

it to our guide to finish. At the conclusion of our tour,

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The Puppetmaster

Wednesday, January 14

Orchha

Makar Sankranti

At breakfast, discovered a new favorite, chhole, a chick-pea stew

not been cleaned in ten years. Had to ask for the dirty towels to be

cooked with tomatoes and onions that was hot and spicy. It was

replaced and for additional T.P. A/er settling these minor problems,

served with bhature, a puffed bread. I am becoming quite the Indian

set out to investigate. Had to descend over 100 steps to the ticket

foodie. Upon checkout, I prevailed upon Jake to ask if it might be

booth and remount them to tour the deteriorating Jehangir Mahal, a

possible to buy the intriguing lock on our door. To our surprise, we

challenging course of steep stairways and precipitous walkways. The

could. At 700 rupees, ($14) it seemed a bargain. Pick-up for the train

golden domed pavilions that marked the corners and centers of each

station was 9:00. Kelash was our driver as Ravi, our driver from

side of the palace and the elephant-flanked carved gateway were

yesterday, was on his way to Jhansi to pick us up from the train!

special features. In the adjacent Raj Mahal, the caretaker opened up

Found our old seats once again for the 96-km. trip. This will be our

the painted bed chambers where murals of Rama and Krishna were

last train ride, as we will be driving and flying from this point. Arrived

revealed for a small tip. Pilgrims who had completed their visits to the

in Jhansi at 11:00, Ravi meeting us for what we thought would be a

temple ran through the palaces and asked us to take their pictures or

quick 18-kilometer ride to Orchha. However, the last five km. took

wanted to take ours. Jake first thought that money was the object but

over an hour because of pilgrims on their way to celebrate Makar

we quickly realized that these lively young people were merely

Sankranti, a festival that signifies the beginning of the harvest season.

friendly and inquisitive. As we crossed the bridge into town, we were

The traffic congestion was aggravated by a one-way bridge and gates

greeted with, “Hello! Hello! What’s your name?” or “What country?”

too narrow for 2-way travel. Tuc-tucs were stuffed with riders, some

Vendors lined the way, selling fruits, pastries, trinkets, and garlands of

hanging off the sides and the back. Motorcycles had the greatest

marigolds and red roses. The central square was a riot of colorful saris.

advantage, creeping in and out between other vehicles, and cars were

Bowls of brilliantly-colored sindur were displayed on the ground and

a definite problem. The roadsides were flooded with pedestrians who

groups of women clustered around to purchase this powder used to

poured out into the pavement; I told Jake that driving into the crowds

decorate the hair part. Everyone was obviously dressed in his best and

was a bit like driving into water: people just flowed out of the way

out to enjoying the celebration. When we returned, we had tea on

and then surged back as we passed. Finally made it into town and

the hotel roof and took pictures of the vultures on the nearby cupolas

checked into the government-owned Sheesh Mahal. We were shown

and of the sun setting over the temple below. Dinner in the dining/

to the Maharaja Suite, consisting of a large sitting room with brocade-

reception area, where we had vegetable ko/a, chana masala

upholstered furniture from another era and an arched bedchamber;

(chickpeas), and rogan josh (lamb curry) with rice and naan. Burning

the toilet cubicle had the best view in the house. There were some

incense and a lithe belly dancer with three-piece musical

problems: hot water with a 20-minute lead time, an on-again-off-

accompaniment made it quite an authentic evening.

again electric generator, and a large marble tub that looked like it had 66

Going to Orchha for Makar Sankranti

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The Sheesh Mahal Orchha

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Jehangir Mahal

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Thursday, January 15

Khajuraho

A good night’s sleep despite the fact that our maharaja bed was

temples of Khajuraho were built in the 9th and 10th c. by the

little more than a sheet-covered board. Cool temps and utter

Chandela Dynasty, which dominated central India at the time. Of

silence helped. Woke up at 6:30 to a foggy morning. Additional

the original 85 temples, 25 still remain. There are over 800

notes about the room: water carafe and glasses but no water, mini

sculptures of gods and goddesses, hunters, warriors, musicians,

bar with nothing in it, mothballs in all the (mostly open) drains to

dancing girls, and of course, the mithuna, or loving couples. The

fend off mosquitoes. Funny little omelets on Wonder Bread and

beautiful and explicit carvings seem to unabashedly celebrate life,

cups of delicious masala chai. Ready to leave with Ravi at 8:00. On

love, and creation. One had to look hard at some to figure out

the way out of town, briefly stopped at Laxmi Temple, a

what was going on with arms and legs every which way. The

deteriorating 17th c. building that bore garlands of marigolds from

temples themselves were a warm golden color in the midday sun.

yesterday’s festival. On the upper story, a film crew was making a

It was almost overwhelming to try and photograph it all. Visited

movie. Appreciative applause as a successful scene was completed.

the east and south groups as well, although there is far les to see

Headed towards Khajuraho by 8:30. Stretches of good road but for

there. Watched some men up on scaffolding cleaning a row of

the most part, narrow and heavily patched with one usable lane.

figures. They looked like they were enjoying their work. Back at

Right of way priority seems to be based entirely on size. Wrong

the hotel, we bathed and organized ourselves for an early start in

turns cost us a half hour and we arrived at Hotel Chandela at

the morning. Indian buffet dinner in a sterile area off the lobby; it

11:40. Ravi waited for us to check in and then we le/ immediately

was obvious that the hotel was hitting hard times with tourism off

for the western group of temples. Waded through the usual group

as it has been everywhere. The main restaurant was closed, the AC

of “official” guides and hawkers selling postcards, Kama Sutra in

could not be turned cooler, and there were frequent power

various forms, and little figurines. A World Heritage site, the

fluctuations. The whole place felt like a shell of what it was

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Friday, January 16

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Sanchi / Indore

Alarm went off at 4:00; ugh. No hot water so we made only

and the view out over the plains, we decided that this was

the barest morning preparations. No lights at this early hour

one of our special places. The road from Sanchi to the Bhopal

either; eerie to make our way down darkened corridors.

airport was quite good and we made it in just under an hour,

Strange lack of staff around this big hotel as well. Started our

arriving at 2:30. With four hours before our flight to Indore,

drive to Bhopal at 5:00 when Ravi picked us up. Rode to

we had plenty of time in the empty airport to review photos,

Chhatarpur in the dark as we retraced our drive yesterday. On

write postcards, and journal. Noticed that the stamps didn’t

to Sagar (165 km.) some portions of the road were really

stick and found an India Post office where the man just

lousy. From Sagar, road significantly improved but still some

happened to have a spare glue stick that he kindly gave me.

bad patches. I slept a good bit, which was probably good for

Thorough security check, though open bottles of water went

my nerves. Like all drivers in India, Ravi drives with his horn.

through with no problem. The women screeners were

A/er asking directions several times (it appears that no one

intrigued by my curlers—they had no idea what they were for

wants to admit he doesn’t know and there are many dubious

and were amused when I indicated their use. A great photo-

suggestions given), Ravi delivered us to Sanchi. Up on a

op missed when we saw a woman carrying a bundle of sticks

tranquil hill lies one of India’s best-preserved and most

on her head, walking beside a waiting plane. Such is the

extensive Buddhist sites. The sculptures that decorate the

contrast that is India. Pleasant 30-minute flight to Indore;

gateways (toranas) date from the 1st c. but the art of the

retrieved our bags and were ushered into a waiting car within

complex spans 1000 years. It is a remarkable place, quiet and

10 minutes of landing. A comfortable room at the attractive

serene, with few visitors. Walking our way around the main

Fortune Landmark. So tired I begged Jake to get room service,

stupa, our right shoulders to its walls in proper Buddhist

but in the end we decided that the food would be better if we

fashion, we marveled at the delicate sculpture that resembled

went down to dinner. A good decision; a long Indian buffet of

ivory. The stupa, or bowl-shaped structure, has been central

fresh, spicy food served in the garden of the new Earthen

to Buddhist worship since the 6th c. BC when the Buddha

Oven. We’ve not had a better meal in India. A group of four

himself modeled the first one using a cloth, an upturned

musicians provided a pleasant backdrop. A/erwards, bed was

bowl, and a stick. Pausing to enjoy our peaceful surroundings

very welcome.

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Sanchi

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Saturday, January 17

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Mandu / Indore

Indian breakfast at the hotel. Discovered dosa—thin crispy

two heavily loaded trucks that had tipped over. As we

pancakes folded over a spiced potato mixture. They were

approached Mandu, we ascended a hill beside a deep gorge

made fresh at the buffet, much as omelets are made to

to reach the deserted citadel, built between 1401 and 1529 by

order. At 9:00, Dusrut, our driver for the day, picked us up

the Parmar rulers of Malwa. Covering 23 square km., its walls

for the 105 km. drive to the ancient hill fort of Mandu. As we

enclose palaces, mosques, and pleasure pavilions, many

weaved and honked our way through traffic, I anxiously

accented with lakes and pools. Walked through the royal

looked forward to clearing town and getting on the open

enclave to see the graceful Jahaz Mahal and the Hindola

road. But as soon as we sped up and started careening

Mahal (the swinging palace), romantic ruins surrounded by a

around trucks and swerving back in the nick of time, I

pleasant garden with roses and bougainvillea. Drove to the

realized how good we’d had it earlier. It took about two

Rewa Kund group, a short distance away, to see Jami Masjid

hours to reach Mandu. The road was poor and packed with

and the glistening white tomb of Hoshang Shah. Climbed up

every imaginable kind of vehicle from oxcart to giant lorry.

for the view from Rupmati Pavilion and encountered a large

Dusrut was far more aggressive than our other drivers and

family group coming down. The patriarch came over and

the trip was not very pleasant. Saw no accidents but passed

thanked us for coming to India.

Stopped at a step well to see if there were any pictures to be

couple with their baby was also visiting the temple and they

taken there and four or five schoolboys bounded up and

too wanted to take a picture of me. The camera is certainly

asked if they could take our photo with their cell phones. We

an icebreaker in India. They offered me some little white

agreed and then Jake took one of them and showed it to

sugared chirongi nuts that reminded me of Tic-Tacs. Started

them. They were delighted; soon they were joined by more

back to Indore at 2:30; asked Dusrut to let up on the pedal a

and more of their classmates, followed by their teacher who

bit this time. More crazy stuff on the road: people travel with

asked if we would pose for a class photo. He volunteered that

the most amazing things—stacks of chicken crates, giant

he was their math teacher and that Americans were not very

bundles of sticks or hay, even saw two bicycles with a 16-foot

good at math. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by 40

ladder lashed between them. Try maneuvering that in a

or so smiling boys and girls saying “Hi!” and wanting to shake

crowded city street. Back at the hotel around 4:30; found

our hands. Someone was recording it all on video. I slipped

that fresh roses had been placed in the bath and on the table

out so that I could take a picture of the crowd with Jake,

in our room. A little down time, journaling and going

celebrity of the moment, in the middle. Drove to Nil Kanth, a

through the day’s pictures. Sat out in the garden, enjoying a

Hindu temple down 65 steps and overlooking a precipitous

couple of Kingfishers under the cloudless evening sky before

ravine. An old monk with long hair and orange robes was

returning to the Indian buffet at Earthen Oven for another

reading and chanting nearby. I asked him if I could take his

great meal. Entertained ourselves by trying to master the

picture and he nodded in agreement, saying, “Life is short,

Indian head nod. Close as I can come is making a kind of

and only memories last. These are your memories.” A young

figure-eight.

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Mandu Fort

Jami Masjid

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“Life is short, and only memories last.

These are your memories.�

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Faces of India

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Shiv Ravi

Jonny 98

Our Favorite Drivers

Patel

Manoj

Mohammad

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The sheer unpredictability of travel—the delight of one moment, the discomfort of the next—is what I dread in advance but love to recall.

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