Rajasthan – Jai Ho!

March 2009

Dear Family and Friends,

Jai Ho! 

As you would expect, Slum Dog Millionaire has hit India like a tsunami. The signature song by A. R. Rahman can be heard playing everywhere, and around the time of the Oscars, newspapers were full of stories praising Director Danny Boyle and the cast which featured real residents of Mumbai’s slums.

Kama Sutra for Dummies

Dear Family and Friends,

Khajuraho is said to be on the road from nowhere. To nowhere. But for tourists going to India, a trip to this remote area to see the village’s many famous temples has become as big a draw as has been the mandatory trek to Agra, to view the Taj Mahal, and to Varanasi, to visit the spiritual home of Hinduism.

My Bus From Gwalior to Jhansi

Incredible India

Dear Family and Friends,

Incredible India! This is the motto Tourism India has chosen to entice visitors to this amazing country. More than one billion people toil and roil in this, the second most populous, and seventh largest in geographic area, country in the world.

India is a country of considerable beauty ranging from the snow capped Himalayan Mountains to western deserts, to beautiful beaches, to forest lands and to the dazzling green paddies of rice in the south. It has 5,000 years of recorded, often glorious, history and it is the birthplace of four of the world's major religions, Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism. As well, India has a generally working democracy forged from a culturally, linguistically and genetically diverse population.

Incredible it is for sure. But also in ways not intended by Tourism India. It is simply not possible to ignore the incredible squalor. Arriving in India is an assault on the senses more stupefying than anywhere else I have been. For the third time I have now come to visit, and each arrival takes my breath away, nothing seems to prepare one for the chaos one confronts, not even previous visits.

Me & My Rickshaw, Delhi

A cuppa tea in Darjeeling

Mt. Kanchenjunga backdrop of Darjeeling

Dear Family and Friends,

The chaos of Kolkata can be wearying, and I think it is probably best experienced in small doses. So after two days, I headed to the very northeast corner of India and the famous Himalayan destination of Darjeeling, known as The Queen of Hill Stations. I caught a taxi from Sudder Street to Sealdah Train Station for an overnight journey to Siliguri, the commercial capital of North Bengal (or more accurately, to nearby New Jalpaijuri, where the train station is). I was told by the travel agent at the Astoria Hotel that Sealdah is the busiest train station in the world, and that at any time between 6:00AM and midnight there are 75,000 people on its many platforms. I thought that was a bit of a stretch until I actually got to the station. I arrived at about 8:30PM, and met such a mass of humanity, vendors, coolies, passengers, pushing, surging, shoving, all apparently going in the opposite direction from me, I was almost overwhelmed.

Calcutta: The City of Joy

Market Near Howrah Bridge, Kolkata

Dear family and friends,

Calcutta. Kolkata. Once called ‘The Jewel in the Crown' of the British Raj, whatever it is called, this city is a seething mass of 14 million people; an unimaginable 33,000 people per square kilometre in the city center, the overwhelming numbers of whom are struggling just to live. I suspect there is nothing that could prepare one for the first onslaught of sights, smells, and sounds of Calcutta. Even by the standards of other cities in India, the realities of Calcutta are guaranteed to take your breath away. I know that having been to India before did not quite prepare me. The squalor, the smells, the poverty, the misery, people by the hundreds sleeping in the streets, beggars, noise, and chaos are like no other place I have been. My first thoughts are 'What the hell am I doing here'? But surprisingly the initial horror is soon replaced by a kind of fascination about how all this works.

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter V - the Teardrop Isle

February 19, 2002.


Dear family and friends,

The teardrop, tropical island of Sri Lanka, is splashed down in the Indian Ocean just miles from India. In fact, the two countries are almost joined by a series of small islands called Adam's bridge, and it is not hard to imagine a bridge being built one day. But Sri Lanka is light years away in most respects. But before I get to Sri Lanka, a few post script notes on India.

My last letter was sent from Varkala as I was preparing to depart from Trivandrum, the largest city near the southern tip of India. The train from Varkala to Trivandrum is an easy trip of just over one hour. From Trivandrum I wanted to go to Kanyakumeri for my last day in India as it is the very southern tip where the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean, and the Arabian Sea all meet. A government workers strike on that day caused all tours to be cancelled, so I decided to go on my own on regular buses, and I'm glad I went. It was quite exciting actually, to be at that point, dipping my toe simultaneously into all three famous waters.

It was an interesting trip back to Trivandrum as several buses were also cancelled and I ended up having to take an alternate route back, but managed it with the help of yet one more of the locals.

My mind has just been crammed with the sights, sounds, and smells of India, and I leave with some considerable mixed feelings. On the one hand, I cannot overlook the poverty and squalor. India is being buried under a pile of plastic; bags and bottles are discarded everywhere. I have been told that the average cow in India dies with 20 pounds of plastic in its gut.

Deb Kindness, our Intrepid tour leader, told me of one of her clients, an American lady, who, while travelling on a train, was invited to share a lunch with an Indian family. After finishing her lunch, she gathered up her plastic wrapping etc. and was looking for a receptacle to put them in, when her Indian companion took them from her, and along with her own trash, promptly threw them out of the train window. The American lady was quite shocked, and explained to her new friend that, had she done that in America, she would be subjected to a substantial fine. The Indian lady said, "You should be moving to India, Madam".

On the other hand, I will never forget the Indian sunrises and sunsets, the incredible timeless beauty of a farmer plowing his field with a team of bullocks while women in saris of every colour tend the rice paddies. Nor will I forget the people. But for now, goodbye India.

My flight from Trivandrum to Sri Lanka took less than one hour, and I arrived in the very modern, clean airport at Colombo. I cleared customs and immigration and entered the main terminal anxious to meet Sherine and Kushan Dharmarwardena, Supipi's Aunt and Uncle. Kushan had e-mailed me Sherine would be holding up a sign with my name on it, and sure enough, there was Sherine, also anxiously, trying to pick me out in the crowd. Sherine and Kushan had been worried they were going to be late in getting to the airport due to the traffic so they had phoned ahead to a friend who works there, and asked her to try and meet me in case they were late. Their friend asked Sherine what I looked like, and Sherine, never having met me, said, "He looks like Santa Clause". My actual age had apparently not been forwarded from India. In any event, they were on time and it was great to meet them after our many e-mail exchanges.

Around The World In a 60s Daze. Chapter IV - India, Oh India...

February 3, 2002.


Dear Family and Friends,

India, Oh India!

Where do I begin? This has been such an incredible adventure.

But to start. English is very commonly used in India, but that has been no great advantage to me. (I am the first person to acknowledge how unsuccessful I am at languages.) Despite their best efforts, I find it very difficult to understand what people are saying. It has much to do with the intonation and cadence (it's almost sing song), but the different usage of words, as well as their order, all make it seem like they are speaking a foreign language with a few English words thrown in.

As an example of how English is used, one night I was sitting up late in the lobby reading and having a tea. The man serving me hovered around a bit anxiously and then asked, "I am knowing when you will be leaving sir?" In other words, "Please tell me when you are going to bed". I am often told "same, same" when shopping or bargaining. Which would be okay, except that is often followed by "but different". Several times when I have asked the price of something, I am told, "Oh, it is very less, sir." Cheap, they mean.

Around the World in a 60s Daze. Chapter III - Delhi and Rajistan

Dear Family and Friends,

It is not possible to come to India from a Western Country and not be shocked. The sights, smells, sounds, chaos, squalor, filth, traffic, animals, people, and beggars are simply overwhelming.

I arrived in Bombay/Mumbai a week ago Thursday night and got a pre-paid taxi to Kara's classmate Ranju's home in Malabar Hill at about 3:00AM. Malabar Hill is apparently the most expensive real estate in the world and it is certainly the best area of Bombay. On the trip from the airport I could see that the sidewalks were filled with people curled up sleeping. It was very gracious of Ranju and his wife Vinita to take me in as it certainly made my entry into India much easier.

I spent the next two days wandering around the highlights of Bombay, Colaba, India Gate, Chowpatty Beach, and Haji Ali Mosque (more later of this). Getting around is quite easy in that there are taxis everywhere, and they are so cheap. A 15 minute ride seldom costs more than 13 Rupees, about 40 cents. There are so many of these that it makes the London Cab seem rare in contrast. All cabs are a black Fiat with yellow roof. All, and I mean all, are dented and scratched, they belch black smoke (unlike here in Delhi where all cabs and auto rickshaws are being converted to natural gas).

The drivers are either maniacs or kamikaze wannabees, or both. I had one driver who will always be burnished in my brain. I got into his cab and as I was trying to give him directions, he slammed the car into gear, crunched into the traffic, shouting, god knows what, at me. We careened through the streets, and when stopped, he would rap on the windows of cars beside us trying to find out where my destination was, shouting at me much of the time. He was a bit vulpine in appearance, with piercing black eyes, a bit of madman look about him. He would loll behind the wheel when stopped, then drive with such total abandon and indifference, you couldn't help but admire him. He also had excellent honking technique. All cabbies honk, and most of them honk most of the time. This guy honked a lot too, mostly at random, but after a particularly hair raising encounter, he would give a kind of double toot that I took to be the equivalent of giving the finger.