Destination Dusty Delhi
UNITED KINGDOM | Friday, 18 April 2008 | Views [142] | Comments [2]
Well hello again from a beautiful sunny McLeodganj, to
which I returned from an amazing two weeks on the march on Monday.
I must say that this little microcosm of Tibet with a
hint of the west, buried in the Himalayan foothills, really feels like home now.
It’s amazing how your standards change whilst traveling in India. When I
first arrived in McLeod (when granted it was freezing) I was really quite
perturbed by the frequent power cuts, likelihood of illness and the idea of
moving into a flat with a squat toilet in which hardly anything worked. But
after three months, between trips to Chamba, Shimla, Rishikesh and two stints
on the march, McLeod seems to possess every comfort you could ask for, and
returning from a hot dusty Delhi
in an horrendous sleeper bus three hours late to the mountains of McLeod, I
really felt I was coming home. I’m going to miss this place when I move on in a
couple of weeks – possibly to Nepal.
To make things even better, I yesterday left my dark,
grubby, electricity forsaken flat and moved in with my partner in crime, Jenna
from Minneapolis, Minnesota. My elderly crazed Tibetan
landlady chased me out of the complex yelling some bollocks, but even with
luggage I was able to outrun her, ha ha!
The weather in mid April is gorgeously warm MOST days,
although yesterday’s rain, wind, hail, thunder and lightning was a clear
exception. As I stood hanging out my washing on my balcony at around 11am, the
whole town was suddenly engulfed in dense cloud which covered the surrounding
peaks in a rapid white whirl before encompassing McLeod at such a rate, that at
times it almost seemed as though we were in the midst of a forest fire rather
than a storm. When you’ve become so used to a place it’s easy to forget you’re
over 5000ft up and yesterday’s phenomena, which plunged the town into a surreal
dusky darkness, was quite unlike anything I have ever seen.
Perhaps the biggest downside of being here in April is
the influx of western tourists which ironically makes it far harder to meet
people. The hardier tourists that make it here during winter tend to stick
together creating a real sense of camaraderie, but now following yet another
mass exodus, my friend count has been reduced to two! However I anticipate
being so busy over the next couple of weeks that I hopefully won’t be too
bothered. Tomorrow I start work on the May edition of Contact and there should
be quite a bit to do, although all being well it won’t be quite as frantic as
last month. Activities following the Lhasa
uprising meant that news in the run up to deadline changed sometimes hourly.
Every time I thought I’d got on top of things, another huge story would break,
and I would say that pretty much every story that made it into the 16 page
mag’s six editorial pages would have made front page during practically any
other month. Nancy Pelosi’s visit for example was relegated to one third of
page seven. Add to that frequent power cuts, internet failure, and daily
protests during which the whole town shut up shop, and you have quite a
challenge. But I’m relieved to say the edition, which finally hit the streets
two days late, only contained one minor spelling mistake and was by all
accounts accurate and well received.
The morning after the final proof reading I was on a bus
to Chandigarh (India’s
answer to Milton Keynes only quadruple the size) eager to rejoin the March to Tibet, which
all the original marchers have happily rejoined following their release from
jail. At Chandigarh
I caught a bus to Kurukshetra – a very sacred place for Hindus as it was here
that Brahma is believed to have created man and the universe. Wedged between
six Indian guys on the only available seat however, whilst one insisted on
stroking my hair and asking for my number repeatedly, it was hard to truly
appreciate the area’s cosmic kudos. Finally, after 12 hours traveling and
increasing confusion about my whereabouts, I was delighted and relieved to spot
from my auto rickshaw three Tibetan monks sporting tell tale March to Tibet
orange baseball caps. I had arrived. I eventually found my friends getting
ready for bed on the stony roof of a monastery, where the march had set up
camp. It was pretty damned uncomfortable and I doubt I got more than 10 mins
sleep that night, but it was good to be back.
Three weeks on from its dramatic beginnings on March 10,
the march fell into a steady rhythm as it pushed on through the Punjab into neighbouring Haryana, when I rejoined. Gone
was the almost ecstatic enthusiasm which characterized its beginnings, replaced
with a quieter more stoic and generally good humoured approach, mingled with a
few moans from Tibetans and Ingies (Tibetan word for westerners!) We generally
walked between 12 – 15 miles a day, getting up at cripplingly early hours
(generally a 5am breakkie before marching an hour later) to beat the heat of
the north Indian plains, which even in Spring sees maximum temperatures in the
late 80s/early 90s (about 30 – 33C.) Jenna’s performance was sadly undermined
by sickness and I think she only managed about three days marching, taking the
truck on other days, but I marched every possible day (admittedly taking more
long chai and breakkie breaks before catching up via rickshaw or hitchhiking
than should have been allowed.) During 10 days of marching we slept in one
Buddhist monastery, two fields, one Hindu temple, one Jain temple, two Sikh
temples, an incense (dust) factory, and the shell of one almost complete house.
It was at times tough, rough and unsavoury, but almost always fun.
The organisers were unfortunately quite anal at times
and we were called to two meetings – the gist of which was basically no
smoking, drinking or absconding from camp. During the second meeting the words
‘no singing and no having fun’ were actually used, setting in stone my plans
not to march beyond Delhi.
Most of us broke these rules of course – as marching at 6am meant we tended to
reach our destination anytime between midday and 3pm, and who wants to hang
around a scorching tent in a parched field for nine hours? Whilst the motorway
between Chandigarh and Delhi,
which we followed for the full 10 days, must be one of India’s busiest
roads, Haryana is certainly the route less traveled by foreign tourists. The
whole of Haryana, the bread basket of northern India with a population of over
21 million, takes up just one of my Lonely Planet India’s 1200 plus pages; such
is the scale of this country. Local police even visited march organisers at the
incense factory, where paranoia about rain kept us for two nights, warning that
the local people were ‘not very nice,’ and to be careful when venturing out. We
genuinely appreciated the safety advice dispensed by organisers, but we are all
independent adults and experienced no trouble going out in pairs or groups –
bar the usual attempts at small scale swindling and constant stares from over
curious Indian men.
In all honesty I have been a little disappointed with
the attitude of many Indian people towards westerners – at least in the areas I
have visited. I have to admit that class seems to play a huge role in attitude;
with the well-dressed middle class Indians generally expressing a friendly,
pleasant curiosity. The vast majority however seem to regard us as something
between walking ATMs and prostitutes. Constant staring (and occasional grabbing)
from Indian men can become irritating and really got to a couple of the girls
on the march. Even more exasperating for me were the constant attempts to cheat
us which, whilst often by only a few rupees at a time (although some rickshaw
drivers really take the piss) adds up. Fortunately many goods have the price
printed on them, helping us argue our case when a vendor attempts to charge 20
rupees for something which should cost 12 or 15, but sometimes - especially
whilst marching, you just can’t be bothered to argue. The assumption very much
seems to be that if you have white skin you are rich, and they fail to
understand that some of us have saved very hard for a number of years to come
and volunteer here. More frustrating still, particularly in the tourist hubs of
central Delhi
and McLeodganj, are the hoards of beggars constantly vying for your hard earned
cash. In Delhi’s
Connaught Place
you cannot sit down for one minute without being approached by someone with
their hand out (we tried it) and the beggars we encountered ranged from the
mildly irritating to the downright grotesque. Perhaps one of the most shocking
sights I have ever seen is Delhi’s
child street performers. Jenna and I were taking a rickshaw along one of the
city’s main highways when a boy who looked no more than eight or nine
approached our rickshaw, smiled at us and proceeded to play a drum whilst a
girl of about five who was ingrained with dirt (which to be fair, doesn’t take
long in Delhi) performed a series of summersaults – amid six lanes of busy
traffic!! Were they orphans or the victims of some hideous form of child
exploitation? This was sadly not the last time we would witness such desperate
antics, but whilst I think both of us would have liked nothing better than to
take those children away to a safe place where they could receive good food and
an education, we didn’t want to encourage such practice by giving them
anything.
There were happily some far more positive experiences
along the road. Stopping off at a Jain temple about 25 miles from Delhi, a
lovely French photographer who recently joined the march, and I were keen to
learn a little about Jainism, and my friend suggested looking in on a Jain
school for girls a short walk from the temple. It is however difficult to keep
track of time on the march as you are so far removed from everything (think I
went virtually a whole day at the incense factory without knowing what the time
was which was strangely fabulous) and we had completely forgotten it was
Sunday. But we got chatting to a Jain family who were at the school visiting a
traveling guru. Jainism is a very peaceful deviation from Hinduism, with all
believers following a vegetarian diet which often excludes root vegetates such
as onions and potatoes – as harvesting these crops is likely to harm insects.
Strict followers carry a broom to sweep the path before they tread it, and face
masks to prevent the accidental inhalation of insects. Gurus are always naked
and follow strict rules including the allowance of just one meal and intake of
water a day – even during the scorching Indian summers. Anyway, after chai and
nibbles we were invited to meet the guru who, sure enough, sat cross legged on
a platform completely starkers, with his feet strategically placed! After we
were invited to share a meal laid on for devotees which, as I had hoped, was
truly delicious. I was so excited, I love anything spontaneous and in the space
of an hour or two I had learned loads, eaten a fabulous meal and seen a naked
man. What more can a girl ask?? But the Indian family who made it all possible
were patient and friendly and seemed genuinely pleased to meet us, especially
the very pleasant 15-year-old daughter who hopes to train as an engineer –
quite refreshing in a country in which customs and culture render so many women
virtually housebound. For me, a moment in another Delhi
rickshaw, during which two middle class looking women, one Hindu and one
Muslim, cheerfully chatted to us from a neighbouring rickshaw, whilst a rag
clad beggar lady clung to the other side of our vehicle and harassed us,
epitomized the two faces of India.
All said, the march was a great experience. It was not
easy to grab as much sleep as I would have liked, due to a combination of hard
ground, monks playing tinny Hindi radio at 5am, an enthusiastic (but very good)
American flautist and marauding mosquitoes, but the food, simple but plentiful,
was almost always exceedingly good. Perhaps the one exception was tsampa, a
Tibetan staple, consisting of sweet tea, barley flour, sugar and butter which
you are required to mix and roll into a ball. Mine however, generally took on
the consistency of wall paper paste and at first I was most unenthusiastic, but
after a few attempts learned, if not to enjoy it, certainly to accept it.
Another downer was the dusty filth of Delhi
which clings to you – no matter how hard you try to keep clean. Last May I
spent eight days in rural Romania
where I got really quite grubby, but at least that was good honest agricultural
dirt, as opposed to the disgusting grime which hangs in the air and fills the
gutters of this vast polluted city, like dirty grey sand. The biggest challenge
of the march for me however, had to be the mosquitoes which plagued me
throughout. Everyone got bitten, but they seemed to particularly love me and I
had literally hundreds of bites of my arms and face - making me look as though
I had some foul tropical disease. The absence of mirrors for much of the time
spared me a lot, but whenever I did find one I had a shock, and I couldn’t go
anywhere without attracting sympathetic tuts and comments from Tibetans,
Indians and Ingies alike.
After marching through Karnal, Gharaunda, and Panipat
(all large towns totally untouched by tourism – which was both confronting and
absolutely fascinating) we arrived in Delhi’s
Tibetan settlement, where Jen and I – along with half the other Ingies) booked
into an hotel, and it was amazing how quickly the bites cleared up after just a
night of isolation from the mozzies. After 10 days of roughing it to the
extreme, the hotel with running water, a western toilet, TV and room service
felt like sheer heaven. The excitement we expressed upon discovering our room
even had toilet paper was actually quite sad.
In the days that followed we participated in a three day
protest rally in central Delhi
(between numerous tea and brownie breaks of course.) Interspersed with many
long speeches in Tibetan during which we often absconded, were graphic
demonstrations staged by Tibetan solidarity groups. One particularly hard
hitting piece of street theatre staged by Gu Chu Sum – an NGO formed by former
Tibetan political prisoners, demonstrated the capture, imprisonment and torture
of Tibetans under Chinese occupation – made all the more brutal by the
knowledge that many performers had first hand experience of the horrors they
portrayed. There was also an extremely vocal march in which we all
participated, and a daily candle light vigil in which Jen and I took part on
the second day. For me this quiet form of protest was somehow more poignant
than many of the louder demonstrations.
Perhaps the greatest thing about everything we have
participated in however, is that it does not seem to have all been in vain.
Outside of the ultimate goal – a dialogue between the Chinese government and
the Dalai Lama, the thing the Tibetans really want from this dramatic period of
protest is international support triggered by world media attention – and they’ve
certainly been getting plenty of that. We have been quite overwhelmed by the
way the world has seized on it, leading to the complete sabotage of the Olympic
Torch relay in London and Paris, and the boycotting of the Olympics’ opening
ceremony by Gordon Brown and Canadian PM Stephen Harper – among other notables.
We jumped up and down in our hotel room as we watched our friends on CNN (almost
as exciting as the toilet paper) and it’s all so great as it makes us feel we
are part of something really worthwhile. We are all making history in our own
small way and the important thing now is to keep the impetuous up. Even as I
write, the torch is in Delhi
where, in spite of the fact that it’s being shielded from all but WORLD media
(we local journos don’t get a look in) numerous demonstrations are being
staged. A Facebook friend of mine has already been arrested and I fear for
other friends still in the capital. Another concern is that the march is not
allowed to continue beyond Delhi.
I don’t know how they plan to smuggle 150 maroon clad nuns and monks plus
supporters out of Delhi,
but they’re a tenacious lot and I imagine they’ll manage it somehow.
As for me, I’ll continue to gather updates from ‘the
front’ until the mag’s deadline and will follow its progress closely, with a
possible view to rejoining just for a few days in the future, although with
just a couple of months traveling time after publication before the monsoon
kicks in, I can no longer afford to make it my priority. The next couple of
weeks will be dedicated to getting the mag out and just enjoying McLeod (on the
cheap as finances are beginning to pinch) before I take off – probably around
May 1.
Oh well, think that’s most of the news, hope I haven’t
bored you all too much. Keep in touch, Lots of love, Soph XXX
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