Monday 10 September 2012

Into the Absurd

 But a week is left before our Asian journey is finally over and our new adventure begins (of more later). I did have a blog all ready to go ages ago but having accidentally deleted it I didn't have the heart to start again. So here, condensed into three exciting installments , are our most recent tales of daring adventure/layabout meanderings.

Part 1: How to become one with the universe
We begin in Rishkesh on the banks of the Ganges beneath kingfisher swoops and incense plumes.  It is a holy place where Hindus come to ring bells and wash away sins and foreigners come to meditate, yogarise and be healed by crystals. Travellers walk around with yoga mats strapped to their backs, pull yoga moves while waiting for their cheese toasties and think that combining trance music with Tibetan chanting is acceptable practice (it's not). A place full in equal parts of wisdom and complete and utter bullshit.

Being the highly uncynical pair that we are, we began our own 'spirtitual' journey in a darkened room chanting 'Om' for a solid half hour. Our meditation instructor was so softly-spoken and I was so busy straining to hear him that I perhaps missed my opportunity to transcend this earthly realm. Instead of feeling the energy of the universe I felt the desire to shake the guru by the collar and tell him to speak up.

Our second attempt at a mediation course was more successful. Taking time to simply witness yourself in the moment is undoubtedly something we could all do more of. As long as he didn't start wittering on about God and chakras and pixie dust it was pretty much wonderful. We also attended a breathing class. Apparently the idea is that you take air into your lungs through your mouth or nose (the holes located in your face) and then out again through the self same orifices. This, apparently stops you dying from asphyxiation. Amazing!

Simply watching the river flow, the gliding kites that scanned its waters or the beautiful langur monkeys that emerged from the green hills really was the finest meditation of all.

 
Part 2: What the hell is the place and what is that smell?
The answer to the first question is Deshnok near Bikaner in Rajasthan, where a remarkable (if preposterous) temple brings pilgrims flocking from across the desert sands. The answer to the second became apparent as we passed through the marble gates. The stench was a nostril-bothering mix of ammonia and neglected pet shop and stemmed from the temple's main residents. Every corner was writhing with wormy tales, skittering feet and lank fur. Rats. Thousands of manky, diseased looking rats. And what's this? People are feeding them the finest sweetmeats, laying down dishes of milk for them to greedily guzzle from, praying before shrines cascading with them. Because we had respectfully removed our shoes, our feet were soon peppered with the rat feed and rat shit scattered all over the floor. 'Why oh why!' you may cry (and for good reason). They are apparently the reincarnations of storytellers who were given ratty avatars to prevent them from being taken to the death god (or some such twaddle). It was the most absurd place we've ever been and was so bewildering that Nic finally decided that all religion everywhere was ridiculous and pointless. Oh European logic and reason! How we yearn for thee!

 
Part 3: Taking the in-laws to volatile borders
A week or so ago, Nic's Mum and Stepdad descended on Delhi, bringing gratefully received chocolate, Saturday papers and new pants. I can't tell you how good it feels to sit in your pants eating chocolate and reading the Guardian for the first time in 8 months (though this was perhaps not the primary sight Nic's Mum had come to see).
We've done many things but the most note-worthy thing was travelling to the India-Pakistan border to watch the lowering of the flags. This may sound thoroughly dull but it proved to be almost as funny/bizarre/disturbing as the rat temple. A thousand flag-waving Indians jostled for space on stands overlooking the gate through to Pakistan, chanting patriotic songs and running around manically as if they'd just won an Olympic gold.  On the Pakistan side a similar scene was taking place though, it has to be said, in a more dignified manner. Passionate cries of 'India Zindabad!' (long live India) were answered with 'Pakistan Zindabad!' from the other side. People were whipping themselves into a nationalist fervour that appeared part Royal Jubilee, part National Front rally (not that I've ever been to either may I add). And then the action started. Indian troops dressed in absurd fanned hats began matching with extravagant goose steps toward the border gate. The Pakistanis did the same until the guards were facing-off with preposterous high kicks, their feet cracking back down to the tarmac. The crowds went wild. The guards strutted around like arrogant cocks (either definition of the word 'cock' is apt here) attempting to prove the superiority of their own country. Though this is certainly better than the all-out war so often promised it was a vaguely disturbing and completely ridiculous display. To think that the two countries were once a (relatively) harmonious whole. It was like nothing we've seen on this trip. It the midst of all the noise and mayhem, we couldn't help but stare over the border a little longingly, nostalgic for the generosity and hospitality of the Islamic world. Thankfully, the in-laws left elated if utterly bemused, though Somerset-Wiltshire rivalries can be pretty fierce, home must have felt worlds away.

 
A typical Indian street complete with beautifully hand-painted shop signs
There's so so much more to write, there are temples of gold, mountains of green and cities of blue that paint the pages of my diary and jostle for space in jumbled memories. But I'm sure there's only so much you can take. We are finally done now with backpacking in Asia, feel we can take in no more and that the breeze is blowing us west. We're yearning to drink water from a tap (oh what luxury), sleep on sheets of discernible colour and use toilets that don't appear cleaner after I've shat in them.
 
Many of you may already know what our plans are for the coming months but if not you'll just have to wait for the next entry. We fly forth to the city which funded so much Silk Road trade and scattered ruins over many of the lands we have crossed. Perhaps then, a return to the source, from where our own civilisation once sprung...
On the way home from school on the back of a cycle rickshaw

The Golden Temple in Amritsar. I haven't mentioned this in the text but will allow picture to speak for itself.

No comments:

Post a Comment