Around the World: Ajanta

February 6, 1992

While I was waiting for the bus to take me to the Ajanta caves, I met Alain from Switzerland, who has also been on his own since arriving in India almost a week ago. We introduced ourselves and promptly gave each other a huge hug. Anywhere else, that might seem like an odd way to greet someone you've just met. Consider though, that I'm used to finding other backpackers along the way and since I arrived, Alain is the first person I've seen that isn't from India. Today, we found sanctuary, a haven of familiar. Like strangers who have shared a similar crisis, nothing more needs to be said. Just tell me your name.

Ajanta Caves, Maharashtra
UNESCO World Heritage Site

There are a total of twenty-nine caves at Ajanta, all hand-carved from the steep rock face of a deep gorge. They contain a well preserved historical recording of a time when Buddhism was thriving in India (200 BC to 650 AD). When Buddhism went into decline, the caves were abandoned and remained untouched until 1819, when a hunting party accidentally discovered them. Except for some heavy handed restoration work shortly after their discovery, the caves' paintings and sculptures have been meticulously preserved since.

There is no source of light in the caves.  The most effective way to see them is to join up with any of the plentiful tour groups and take advantage of their powerful flashlights. Alain and I are about to discover something about the peculiarities of acclimatising to India.  It's not a place where one can just arrive and absorb.  Adjusting to the constant sensory overload demands periodic pauses to process and regroup.  Alain and I are overdue for a release and because of this, I have just two words.

Sorry, Buddha.

On one tour, the guide is talking about a painting on the cave wall. "Here you can see Buddha's arm," and he snaps his fingers to direct everyone's attention. Then he mentions another point of focus and Snap! Alain randomly adds finger snaps; each time the guide says the word "and", or if someone clears their throat. Soon, some members of the tour group join in amusement and add their own misplaced snaps, completely unhinging the now very irritated tour guide. It's hard to giggle quietly in a cave that echoes the faintest sound.

Ajanta Caves, Buddha
Photo by Richard Harper

In another cave is a Buddha statue carved from the stone. Depending on how light is directed onto the face, Buddha is either smiling or frowning in thought. This tour guide places the flashlight on a stone to focus the light and when he claps his hands, another man runs out of the cave's shadows to move the light. Suddenly the light isn't where the tour guide would like it and the guy in the shadows doesn't understand what the guide wants and a verbal brawl between them ensues. Once that tour group is gone, Alain and I try moving the light with hand clapping, but for some reason, it doesn't work for us.  It seems to me that the stone Buddha looks happiest when he's left alone.

Goofing around aside, I did appreciate the history and significance of the Ajanta caves, although a day spent laughing is as equally soul enriching as learning, if not more so. Sharing some laughs with a new friend makes the sensory assault of India a little more bearable.  Like the stone Buddha, sometimes the light needs to be aimed properly to get the perspective you need. 

• ¤ •

"There is a destiny that makes us brothers: no one goes his way alone,

All that we send into the lives of others comes back into our own."

~Edwin Markham

Around the World: Aurangabad

February 5, 1992

After a good night's sleep, I'm ready for another day in India.  Maybe it's because Jalgaon is considerably less crowded than Bombay or if it has something to do with the fact that the driver is more exposed, but getting around in a rickshaw is a lot less stressful than going anywhere in a taxi.

India rickshaw
Photo by Richard Ishida

Back at the train station, I discover that Aurangabad is only a short bus ride away. Short means it's only a few hours as opposed to the full day I spent on the train yesterday.  I buy my tickets and ask which bus I need to take.  The attendant rattles off some numbers and vaguely points to a line of platforms.  I walk over to where I think he has indicated, but there is no bus.  Confused, I go back to confirm his instructions and he tells me that I am at the correct platform, I just have to wait for the bus to arrive.  He doesn't know when that will be.

Fair enough.

After a short wait, a bus pulls up to the platform.  There seems to be no orderly way to board a bus in India.  It is a full contact sport.  After considerable amounts of pushing and shoving, I get on and find a seat only to discover it's the wrong bus.  So after more pushing and shoving, I get off the bus and continue waiting at the platform.  To pass the time, I refuse the services of several men offering their translation skills and come up with creative ways to answer the same questions about my personal life.

"Where is your husband?"

I don't have one.  I left him at home.  I ate him for breakfast.  Isn't he with you?

"Why aren't you married?"

Why do you care?  Should I be?  My religion doesn't allow it.  Are you allowed to be out unsupervised?

Finally, the right bus arrives. Push and shove and push and shove and I find a seat just as the bus is pulling out of the terminal.  In the guide book, I discover that Aurangabad has a hostel, a YHA no less, for 6 Rs.  When I look up from my book for some scenery, I am greeted by a bus load of blank expressions.  Again with the staring.  That empty, I-can-go-days-without-blinking stare.

Hotel Panchavati, Aurangabad

The hostel in Aurangabad is full, but the Hotel Panchavati next door has rooms for 83 Rs.  After a delicious meal of dhal (lentil soup), palak panir (spinach and cheese) and endless servings of chapattis, I have the energy to go explore.  It's mid afternoon, too late to head to the caves, but too early to call it a day.  I want to see where I am and it's time India and I got properly acquainted.

There are a few fruit vendors on the main street where my hotel is.  On my walk I pass several cows, some are led by someone, some are kept off the road by ropes tied like shackles to their legs, while others roam freely.  A group of school children decide to use me as target practice with rocks, but as luck would have it, their aim is terrible.

Moo!
Photo by Cytravel

Water is for sale at the front desk of the hotel.  After turning my shower into a laundromat, I head downstairs for water.  "That will be 26 rupees," the clerk says handing me two bottles.  I give him 56 Rs and while I wait for my change, I inspect the water because it's not uncommon for bottles to be refilled with tap water.  One bottle is clear, but the other has an odd greenish tinge and unidentifiable things floating in it.  I show it to the clerk and ask for another bottle.  He hands me 20 Rs and wishes me a good day.

"I think there's something wrong with this water and you still owe me 10 rupees."

He smiles politely, turns his back to me and directs his attention to some paperwork.

"Excuse me," I say with reserved agitation, "I would like another bottle of water and my change, please."

No response.  Another employee comes over and the two men start up a conversation.

"Hey!" I protest emphatically, slamming the bottle on the desk, "Give me another bottle of water and my ten f*ck!ng rupees!"

I have their attention. The original clerk hands me a sealed bottle of clear water, uttering "So sorry, so sorry."  The other reaches into the cash register and slides 10 Rs across the counter towards me.  "So sorry."

"Thank you," I say politely, gathering my water and money, "Pleasant evening."  They both return my friendly wave as I walk away from the front desk.  I'm laughing at the ridiculousness that has just occurred.  Playing the role of the stereotypical Canadian, ever polite, insisting I get every last cent due me.  The amount at issue is about 40 cents.

Keep the change, but I still want clean water.
Photo courtesy of osocio

Back in my room, I'm creatively finding ways to drape my laundry around the room and on the balcony so it has a chance to dry overnight when I catch sight of a man casually strolling down the street.  He's naked but for a string tied around his waist.  No one pays him any mind, like it's the most normal thing in the world.

• ¤ •

"The habit of fixedly staring at you is one you just have to get used to. It’s simply unembarrassed interest, and there is nothing you can do about it. Staring right back is not going to change anything.
Summon up as much understanding as you can, but sometimes pushing and shoving, cutting into queues, continuously trying to get you to do something you don’t want to, the inevitable rip-offs, all become too much and even the most easygoing travelers lose their temper. Treat these things as part of life, practice staying more relaxed next time, but if they start to happen too often perhaps it’s time you took a break from India. After all, that’s what Nepal and Sri Lanka are there for, aren’t they?"

~Tony Wheeler, Lonely Planet Travel Survival Kit: India

Around the World: Leaving Bombay

February 4, 1992

The sun has just peeked over the horizon and I am eager to put some distance between me and this cockroach infested hotel. Bombay has three train stations, Churchgate, Victoria and Bombay Central.  I'm hoping to get on a train headed towards Aurangabad, close to the Ellora and Ajanta caves.  I have no idea which station is the right choice, so I'll try my luck at the one that seems to be the busiest.  I find a taxi and ask the driver to take me to Bombay Central station.

The taxi ride is just as harrowing in the daytime as it was last night, only the traffic is thicker and the occasional wayward cow just adds to the chaos.  The guidebook mentions that Bombay is overcrowded, but what I see goes beyond this polite description.  The sidewalks are a subdivision of shelters, seemingly constructed from whatever materials were available.  It would be grossly inappropriate to describe these cardboard and corrugated metal structures as homes, but that's apparently what they are.  Few are larger than the size of the box used to ship a refrigerator. 

Photo courtesy of The Hindu

Arriving at the information counter, I ask when the train to Aurangabad is leaving.  The clerk tells me this train doesn't leave from Bombay Central.  I have to catch it at Victoria station.

I find another taxi and endure another white knuckled drive through Bombay's over crowded streets to Victoria station, where the clerk at the information desk informs me that the train I want leaves from Bombay Central.  At midnight.

It's now 9am, and the taxis of Bombay have me sufficiently traumatized. Another taxi ride is out of the question.  Logic presents me with two indisputable facts.  One: I have an Indrail pass that allows me unlimited travel without needing to make a reservation on India's railway network.  Two:  I am at a train station.

I can go anywhere if I can figure out how to get there.  I can still go anywhere, even if I don't know where I'm going.  Right now, "Anywhere" sounds like a great place to be and wherever it is, it has to be better than here.  I resolve to consider any and all available options before insanity claims what remains of my ability to have a rational thought.

While I have the attention of a clerk who seems willing to be helpful, I want to know what he knows.  "Is there an earlier train that goes near Aurangabad?"

"No."

"Are there any trains that leave from this station?"

"Which train?"

"Any train."

"Yes, trains leave from here."

"Is there one leaving soon?"

"Going where?"

"Anywhere."

"Yes," he replies patiently.  "One is leaving in a few minutes for Mad Man." 

So, I don't have to go insane after all.  I can take a train there. Oh, goody! "What platform do I go to?"  Whether he has named an actual place or insulted me is of no consequence.  He points me to the platform that will take me away from Bombay and I couldn't be happier.

Unreserved seating in 2nd class on an Indian train. 
Expect to share your seat.

I am, at the moment, the only person on this train.  The seating is bare-bones basic, to the point that I wonder if I will soon be joined by luggage and parcels.  The platform has a putrid stench that makes me wish I could cram durian fruit into my nostrils.  It's beyond gross. The train continues to sit in the station for 40 more minutes, while I am besieged by constant pleas from beggars.  Eventually, other passengers board, including four Indian men who occupy the seats across from me and collectively, they pepper me with questions about where I am from and requests for various items from my country.  Just before the train is ready to leave, the platform is swarmed with people trying to get on the train.  Behind the crowd are several men, all dressed in bright red and white, shoving the crowd forward, I'm guessing to speed up the boarding process.


The countryside is uniquely beautiful and rugged.  Mountains in the distance beyond the open spaces of bush freckled desert.  It is a drastic difference from the densely crowded streets of Bombay.  When the train is in motion, there is a tangible sense of relief, like a blanket of solace that is abruptly shredded to bits by the bedlam at each station stop.  The platforms are always full of insistent vendors hurriedly trying to sell food and drink through the windows and the in-your-face hands of beggars that board the train.

Rural Maharashtra
Photo by Nichalp, Creative Commons

Every eyeball in this car is looking at me.  At first, I thought it was just paranoia, but after a careful survey of eyeballs, the evidence is conclusive.  I am being stared at. It's not in any way threatening or adversarial, in fact there is a distinct absence of expression.  At first it is amusing to stare back with a friendly smile and a little wave or a nod, just to see if I can elicit some reaction.  More often than not, my efforts are unsuccessful.  I can't say I'm getting used to it.  Although I was told to expect it, I find it takes a great deal of effort to ignore.


And then I notice the guy sitting across from me has six toes!  Now I have something to stare at too!

It is getting late in the afternoon and I realize I should find a place to bunk for the night.  The train will be soon be arriving in Jalgaon, where transportation to Aurangabad is very likely possible.  The guidebook states that there is also a cheap hotel for 125 Rupees close to the train station.  When I arrive, I am thrilled to discover there is a restaurant in the lobby as I have not eaten anything since the flight from Hong Kong.  It's not the best chicken curry and rice I've ever had, but food has never tasted so good.  The best part is my room.  When I turned on the light, nothing scattered or scurried into the walls, a comforting fact that makes me gasp with a combination of delight and relief. 

• ¤ •

People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness.  
Just because you're not on their road doesn't mean you've gotten lost.  

~H. Jackson Brown