Nice Work If You Can Get It

I’m half asleep, parked by the pool with my laptop and a glass of wine, marvelling at the pace of the past few days. No wonder I needed to take a nap at lunch today. I’ve bowed out of plans to go to another cultural event this evening because I think I’m too tired to enjoy it. Instead, I’m going to update this thing and take periodic dips in the water. Heaven.

Wednesday May 30th: Eugene O’Neill morphs into Hindi Shakespeare

Gowry and I have been scanning the Delhi Diary every weekend now to figure out what’s happening around town each night. There is an unbelievable number of things to do here, and so much of it is either free or might as well be. We’re both into arts and culture so things like the Eugene O’Neill play we found were totally appealing. Wednesday evening we packed up Malti and Dalani and headed for Ambimanch Theatre.

The Delhi Diary doesn’t usually let us down. In this case it didn’t really let us down, per se, but it certainly didn’t deliver what we expected. We found the theatre, grabbed some programs, and settled in for the Hindi version of A Long Day’s Journey Into Night.

The theatre itself reminded me of the theatres I performed in in Ontario. It was smallish, not too many seats, decent but basic lighting - made me really nostalgic, actually. Plus it was a play staged by the drama school, so I was smitten even before the house lights dimmed.

About 5 minutes before the show started, I took a good look at the very expensive, glossy 20 page program the usher had handed me and thought to myself, “this is not what we came here to see.” Apparently what we had walked into, unbeknownst to us, was a philosophical Hindi drama based on a novel by a well known author here. Damned if I can remember who it was or what the play was called, I’ll have to check the program again. We didn’t let that thwart us, though – we had come to see a play and by whatever we were going to see a show!

The play itself was beautiful. Colourful costumes, lighting, a pool of water constructed down stage centre… they found four different uses for the fourth wall, which made the theatre theory geek in me very happy. None of us understood the play entirely. Even Malti, who has lived here all her life, found the language too complicated to understand. I liken it to watching Shakespeare now, but with more singing and dancing. The story line dealt with concepts of truth, beauty, life, death, and war. We missed the intricacies, but the whole experience made it worthwhile. I haven’t seen a more colourful play or a cast of more uninhibited young actors in a very long time.

Urban Pind – Girls Gone North American Part 2

Thursday Gowry and I went back to the bar, but this time we brought along Salimah, Gowry’s temporary house guest. Salimah came to visit from Bangalore, where she apparently didn’t have a chance to go clubbing or anything. We happily took care of filling in that gap for her!

Gowry and I have realized the fact that we become a spectacle no matter where we go, so instead of shying away from it we work it for all it’s worth. By the end of the night we had turned the dance floor into a veritable Toronto replica. People were actually dancing with each other!

I also met this phenomenal Kashmiri meringue dancer in his 40s whose name I can’t remember. I saw him as soon as I walked in, dancing with random women who didn’t know left from right. This man’s bum could move. So after a drink I found him upstairs, tapped him on the shoulder, and said “we have to dance.” We ended up ripping the dance floor for 20 minutes - spins, salsa, fancy moves – I hadn’t seen people step aside in this country for anything without being pushed until that very moment. 20 minutes might not sound like a long time, but when you’re being flung mercilessly around a dance floor that clocks in at 35 degrees plus, you get tired quickly.

It was the most exciting 20 minutes of the whole trip.

I haven’t danced like that in years. I’m going next Thursday on the off chance he reappears and I get to dance with him again.

It’s gotten dark out, the bats are swooping the pool.

Gurgrawa – Sikh Temple with Rhupinder

Friday June 1st: Oh my god, it’s June!!!

Rhupinder, this really sweet guy who works in IT down the hall, got to talking with Gowry the Coordinator of All Things on Thursday afternoon, and by the end of the day we had plans to visit a Sikh temple on Friday after work. She really is amazing; I wish I had half her talent.

Anyway, we packed our tired selves up at 1pm and headed into Connaught Place for a bite to eat before going to the temple. For the record, McD’s is not the same in India as it is in Canada.

Breeze is coming up – might be a storm on its way. Moving on. We arrived at this beautiful gurgrawa in the middle of the day, high heat, with the sun coming straight down onto our heads. The whole temple was constructed out of white marble, floor to ceiling, and topped with gold goblets, so it looked amazing in the bright light. The only issue with the marble + sun combination arose when I remembered we had to take our shoes off out of respect when entering the temple. Like the Hindu temple Gowry and I went to, it had woven mats laid down to walk on in order to protect your feet, but even those were extraordinarily hot.

We removed our shoes, took our tokens, washed our feet and hands and tread slowly up the stairs to the temple. Rhupinder was awesome with us. None of us had been to a gurgrawa before, so we were completely clueless. He was super patient, filled in all kinds of very small and very large philosophical details, and didn’t push us in any particular direction.

All heads must be covered to enter a gurgrawa. The patrons provide a basket of shared, colourful head scarves for those of us who either don’t know, forget, or are otherwise devoid of any proper head covering. Salimah, Gowry, and I all picked out our colours of choice and followed Rhupinder into the main building.

It had the openness of a large church but somehow managed to avoid the same feeling of restraint. I think it was the fact that people just sat on the floor instead of having rows of pews to force a seating arrangement. We did exactly that – we sat on the floor and listened to the prayers for 20 minutes or so. Sikhs know how to pray. They had drums, a harmony box, singers… and they just kept at it. I’m not sure if we came at the right part of the day or what, but it was just phenomenal. Rhupinder kept asking if we wanted to leave or move on or go shopping or something, but the three of us just sat in awe and soaked it all in.

We eventually did take a walk around the bathing pool located next to the temple’s main structure. We had to brave the hot marble flooring to get there, but we managed.

During our walk, these little kids kept walking up and saying hello. Salimah eventually pulled me aside and said “I think they want you to say hello to you back.” Ah yes, I’m foreign. This was right before these two lovely rural women stopped and bald-faced stared at me while I collected my shoes to go home. I guess some folks just aren’t used to seeing people who missed receiving the brown layer.

Pirates!

Fast forward to Friday night. Gowry, Salimah, and I took a taxi from the HC to Saket to catch Pirates of the Caribbean 3. The traffic was mental, but we made it. After going through the metal detector and the pat-down by security, we were given entry into the theatre.

Pirates is not a kids movie. Dark, subtle, complex. Loved it. But anyway, I’m starting to get bitten by mosquitoes. I think it’s time to jump in the pool again.

Hot Hot Hot Jama Masjid

Saturday June 2nd: Old Delhi and the Mosque were calling, thanks to Salimah, so we made a point of going all the way to the other side of Delhi to see the Muslim temple in India.

The route to Jama Masjid made me keep my bag closer to my body. The vibe was different somehow, there were more people, more cars, more horse drawn carriages… I was even more aware of my skin colour and the fact that I stood out.

Jama Masjid itself was beautiful but less impressive than the other two temples I’ve been to. I think, though, that it may just have been the heat that prevented me from really enjoying the monument. It was the hottest day in 2 years, not that we had checked that out before we left. The hot feet effect of the marble floors in the gurgrawa was multiplied by more than I can imagine because the mosque is made of sandstone. We were running, practically crying because the stone was so hot on our bare feet. Who decided it was a good idea to build an outdoor temple in the sun and make it mandatory to wear bare feet???

We didn’t hang around long. Gowry was made to wear a cotton orange robe on account of the fact that her dress was too short to be acceptable. Overall we were really uncomfortable. We’ve made a vow to go back in the evening and check out the panoramic view from the mosque’s towers.

South Asian Art Show – When spectators become part of the exhibition

Later that evening we met at the Lalit Kala Akademi for the opening of the South Asian art exhibition being held by the academy. Even though the ministers attending the opening and the art itself were supposed to be the main event, Gowry and I ended up becoming part of the show. Reporters from tv stations, newspapers, and magazines kept taking our photos and video taping us while we attempted to look at the artwork. At one point the Times of India pulled Gowry aside, took her photo and her name, and told her one day she’d be a model. And she still has no idea how hot she is.

The artwork was amazing despite how difficult it was to actually appreciate it. I especially enjoyed “Tuna in the Desert” from the Maldives and the entire Anatas collection. At least I think it’s Anatas… something… I’m going back for the third time tomorrow I loved it so much. He had a collection of watercolours of what I think are Vancouver and Montreal, and I’ve never seen someone so convincingly paint the reflection of car tail lights off of a wet and rainy street.

Aurora Jane

My new favourite political band from Australia was playing at my new favourite hoity toity hang out on Saturday night. The Lodi Gardens Restaurant has the coolest set up I’ve ever seen – red flower lights hanging from big trees, mattresses set up in the lawn for people to chill out on, mist sprays in the gravel and fans to keep people cool, and the wickedest sound system in a small outdoor setting.

The band played roots, reggae, disco, folk, they sang about crossing the border from Niagara to Buffalo, and about the Seven Sisters mountain range… They had the coolest guest guitarist from a band called Zero who they had met the day before but damn he just humbly joined the band and totally blew everyone away. He kicked ass and was shy about it – crazy!

Aurora Jane meets the Mall

We liked Aurora Jane so much on Saturday that we went to Guraguon on Sunday night to see them again. Gowry and I have a total crush on the tattooed, mohawked, chick bassist – yikes she was hot. As exciting as the band was, though, I think what stood out the most were the fucking malls in Guraguon. They’re like Yorkdale, Vaughn Mills, and Metrotown rolled into one and shot full of steroids. And there are many of them all in one stretch! Gowry and I were totally agape at the difference between that place and New Delhi. We want to go to the malls just to take pictures and gawk.

Anyway, I met the bassist during intermission and it turns out she’s from Emberswift. Whaaaat the hell. They play in Victoria three times a year, so she’s going to put me on the mailing list. Swoon!

The kids have come back to the pool and I’m out of wine. I think it’s time to go inside now. Will update again soon.

Yes, it's been a while. Almost two weeks, in fact. I'm sitting at the computer once again with an alcoholic beverage, though the taste has changed and I'm distinctly missing last post's poolside atmo. I suppose the computer desk will have to do.

I've been home from Jaipur for a week now, but I haven't written any of the weekend's adventures down yet. Luckily I drafted a bulleted list of the events one slow afternoon at work so I'd at least remember the skeleton of it all. Now it's time to fill that in.

There have also been some notable events since the trip, but those'll come out in a subsequent post.

Jaipur

Gowry and I started our adventure on really solid footing. Thinking that we had more time than we did, we set our alarms to sleep for an extra 15 minutes and wound up almost missing our 6:10 am train. Who in the eff knew that a train station could be so effing busy at 5:30 in the morning? News flash, hot shots, there are a billion people in this country and most of them need to get somewhere almost every single day. After running through traffic, throwing elbows through hordes, and racing back and forth across the 12 platform station, we found our train car and flopped into our seats.

The car, as it was uber first class, was almost empty. First class tickets cost us roughly $30 each way for a 5 hour trip. Our company, however, must have been important, because just after we got on we were joined by a white clad man, his family, and his heavily armed body guard. Gowry and I were like whaaaat the hell's going on here. Dude had a semi slung across his chest like New York's latest man-purse. He was hauling luggage, bossing around the service guys - it was wild. Once we got over the gun, or rather once the gun was out of plain view, we settled down for the train ride.

This, by the way, was the first time I'd left Delhi since arriving. Leaving took forever. The train trudged through concrete and tarp slums and industrial areas, trees and apartments before we finally broke out into open area.

Once we did leave the city, though, the scenery was wild. There were so many little towns, farms, roads, cows, people walking, working, hauling things... We stared out the window for hours while we ate the ridiculous amounts of breakfast food brought to us by Raju the attendant and sipped tea from these random but wonderful Tea Kits (see photo). The land was mostly a copper brown colour because of the dust, but green trees and shrubs whizzed by quite frequently, too. I have no idea how they find the water to survive, but they do. I think the most incredible thing to see where the people lined up at the train crossings as we passed by - folks in really colourful clothes on horse drawn carriages, motorcycles, camels... It really is a different world here.

Lonely Planet guide warned us about what we were going to encounter once we left the train in Jaipur, but it's nothing you can really be prepared for. Autorickshaw drivers (remember tuk tuks?) swarm all the tourists coming out of the trains and badger them until they take them up on a ride. Gowry and I were having no part of it, though, so we grabbed each other's hands and took off down the parking lot away from the drivers.

We headed to a stand of trees thinking we could at least stand in the shade to figure out what the hell to do next. From behind us we heard this quiet voice ask us if we needed a ride somewhere. We turned around and there was Om the Auto driver, a man who has since gained legend status with anyone we've regaled with Jaipur stories. We didn't find out until later that this was actually the second time he'd asked us if we needed anything, but the first time he asked us it was in Hindi.

Om tempted us with an offer we couldn't refuse - a ride to City Palace, our first stop of the day, for Rs. 30 only. We hopped in the back of the auto and took off for town.

Before getting to the Palace, though, we took an unexpected stop by the side of a road. He asked us if we wanted to take pictures of the gate we'd just passed through, one of seven that still surround what's left of the walled section of Jaipur. While I was taking photos, he talked to Gowry about doing an afternoon tour. While Gowry relayed the afternoon tour idea to me, Om wandered down the street away from the auto. When he came back, he draped our necks with rose garlands he had bought from a stand on the side of the road - his official welcome to Jaipur. Rose garlands on and blossoms in pinned in our hair, Gowry, Om and I continued our roasting trek to City Palace.

City Palace itself was pretty majestic. I've decided I love architecture in India, no matter which dynasty or religion inspired it. City Palace is a mishmash of Islamic, Persian, Mughal and even 18th Century European construction, and every time you turn around you see something new. It's astounding.

Anyway, Gowry and I wandered into this open pavilion in the middle of the palace area, took our shoes off, and sat down. It was the shadiest place we could find, and we really needed to sit for a bit and get our bearings. What we didn't know was that we'd sat down in the middle of a local art class where young girls had come to learn how to paint. Whoops. It worked out, though, because we did what we do best and made friends with some of the class mates. We caught Puja's fancy in particular, who came over to talk to us about where we were from and what we were doing.

After leaving the art class we stumbled across the Maharaja Sawai Mansingh II Museum. Mansingh was the last Mughal ruler before the British took over. The Mughals, by the way, loved art and war, sometimes one more than the other. Needless to say, both subjects permeated the museum. And once again, Penny and Gowry became just as much a part of the exhibit as the exhibit pieces themselves - groups of Indian tourists kept coming up to us and asking us our names, shaking our hands, telling us about themselves... one even came up and gave me a beaded pen as a gift in return for shaking hands with his very young, very nervous little brother.

The museum pieces, once we were left alone enough to enjoy them, were beautiful. Woven rugs that were clearly used, paintings so detailed they were mind bending, manuscripts, clothing, carvings, furniture, even the architecture of the room itself was like a museum piece. Had it not been so bloody hot we probably would have stayed longer.

After wandering a bit more through the palace, only later reading up on what we missed, we meandered out the front gate and back to Om and the tuk tuk. This is where we were joined by Ramul, Om's cousin. Now, normally when two foreign girls get into a tuk tuk with a driver and another man, it means that those two foreign girls are likely never to be seen again. The entrance of a new person onto the scene made us nervous. However, the two drivers were cool enough about the situation to put us at ease, and we ended up just staring out the auto windows while Om showed us Jaipur the way most tourists don't see it.

Our next stop was the crematorium of the kings, or the Royal Gaitor. It was this entirely peaceful set of tombs and constructions with again the most beautiful, delicate architecture. The way the architects used alignment and space was an absolute marvel. We took off our shoes and perched on the tombs to rest for a bit in the shade.

This is where Om dropped the drama bomb. Wherever Gowry and I go, we attract drama of the most interesting kinds. Om, it turns out, has a girlfriend he met in just about the same way he'd met us earlier that morning. Named Dawn. Who lives in Oregon. She's married. So is he. She has kids. So does he. She's 41. He's 25. Does anyone else see trouble brewing here? It turns out Dawn and her husband were discussing divorce, which, I suppose, is why he was so desperate to unburden himself of this huge secret to two utter strangers. Gowry and I spent the rest of the day discussing the drama and coming up with advice. Funny thing to be thinking about while sight seeing, but it sure added flavour to the trip!

On our asking, Om took us to a local block printing shop to pick up some keepsakes. The owner of the shop showed us his factory and storehouse before demonstrating on a scrap piece of fabric how block printing is actually done. Gowry and I each bought bed covers from the shop, but had we had any real money to speak of we probably would have drained the shop dry. I can't even begin to describe how beautiful everything was in there, or how colourful.

Food was next on the list of things to do. Om and Ramul didn't seem to need anything more than cigarettes and tea, but we were certainly in need of more. The boys took us to Chit Chat, a local restaurant/bar where, as it turns out, the two had hosted a party a few weeks before. The party was in honour of Dawn, the girlfriend, who had come back to India after 6 months away to visit Om. The dirt floor was spotted with upturned bottles that had been buried in the ground that, to our shock, held lights that could be turned on and off to light the place from the bottom up at night. Ingenious.

Once lunch was done we checked into the hotel cum palace we'd booked a room in the day before. Gowry and I tried to grab a nap, but we were too wound up from the travel and the drama we'd been given to chew on. So we wandered a bit, washed our sweaty clothes in the sink, and got back into the swing of things with Om and Ramul.

We'd decided earlier that we needed to go to Chokhi Dhani, or Special Village, outside Jaipur. The village was about half an hour outside of town, so the boys returned to pick us up in Om's car instead of the auto. Much more comfortable ride. About half way out of town we stopped on the side of the road, Om jumped in the passenger seat, and Ramul ran out to grab beers from the store. He came back with a light Kingfisher for me and a strong Kingfisher for Om. We drank our beers as we travelled the highway, talking about Dawn and love and fate and horoscopes while the sun set like a giant glowing grapefruit over the desert. Once we got to Chokhi Dhani the boys dropped us off. We headed into the madness, they went off to watch tv.

Chokhi Dhani is kind of like Rajasthani Disney Land. There are professional traditional dancers of all kinds and ages, restaurants, magic tricks, puppet shows, displays of traditional Rajasthan housing and art, elephant rides, camel rides, a ferris wheel, a clay maze, slides, bat caves, water rides... walking in is a bit like being on acid minus the actual chemicals required to take that trip. This place, my friends, requires such a suspension of disbelief it's baffling. But we decided to dive right in and experience as much as we could.

Within 5 minutes I was pulled up onto the stage to dance with the traditional women dancers. I was flattered at first, but it's really a way for the women to make tips off the rich white tourists. Right. It was fun, though, so I didn't mind too much.

We wandered through the displays for a bit, got lost in the maze, stared at the stars that were actually visible out in the desert, burned ourselves on the slides... Now, bear in mind that the place is only open between 7pm and 11pm, and the sun goes down here right around 7pm. All of this constant sound and activity takes place in the dark and is only lit by blazing oil torches. It's eerie, and only adds to the mystical I'm on drugs feeling you can't shake while you're in there. After some key photo ops and a conversation on a seesaw about how you can't have beauty without tragedy (inspired by the beautiful and tragic state of Chokhi Dhani), we mustered up all the balls we could and got in line for a camel ride.

Camel rides, as forewarned by an older friend we made in line, are horrifying. Well, perhaps the whole ride wasn't horrifying, but the getting up and getting down parts were. I can't believe those animals can walk. They tuck their legs under themselves like stuffed turkeys and then somehow manage to stand up front legs first and back legs second. You feel like you're going to be flung from the beast before the ride even starts. Again, though, the ride and the Rs. 5 we paid were more than worth it. We got a chance to see a bit of the spectacle from high up, and became part of the spectacle ourselves.

The elephant ride was next, and despite how incredible it was to actually be on an elephant, it was also incredibly sad. This poor thing walks the same 500 metre route day in and day out, carrying middle class tourists on its back in their attempt to experience Rajasthani village life. Again, beauty and tragedy all rolled into one. Even the photos the ride minder took of us betray how heavy hearted the ride made us.

All sadness aside, we're still two girls who know how to eat, and there was no way we were missing out on the food this place had to offer. We were warned that the food would be good but would send our stomachs for a toss, and we ultimately learned the truth of that statement. We took our shoes off at the door and settled onto the floor cushions to take in what, I'm still not too sure.

The food was delicious, though. Heaps of gravy and curried vegetables, roti, yogurt... Rena, the 9 year old next to us, tried explaining some of what we were eating, but we were pretty much hopeless.

We ended up getting into a really interesting discussion with some guys our age who were cross legged next to us during dinner. At first they were a little hesitant to talk to us because, as they said, often times tourists come to India because they think it's all "turbans and snake charmers." We got along better when we all realized we were mostly normal and were out to see some of the world and hopefully learn a thing or two along the way. The discussion revolved mostly around the exoticization of India by the West, a subject that, strangely enough, would emerge at a time that'll have to be blogged about later.

Dinner finished we dragged our tired selves out of Rajasthani Disney Land and back to the car with the boys. On the way home Gowry had a conversation with Dawn the girlfriend about how both Dawn and Om really needed to step back and look at the reality of the situations they were in. Om can't leave his family without shaming his wife, brothers, and sisters and abandoning his two daughters who he clearly adored. Dawn couldn't leave her grown children without acknowledging that they might take a long time before they spoke to her again. Gowry was trying to impress upon both of them the importance of reality, but all in all the scenario was pretty unreal.

So that was the first day in Jaipur. I'm going to have to update the rest later. I'm going to leave the bulleted list at the bottom of this post as a teaser and fill in the blanks tomorrow. Right now I'm a touch on the fried side and could really use some sleep.

Till tomorrow,

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Sunday morning Gowry and I were feeling super ambitious. Luckily our three wheeled compatriots were up to the challenge! We got up at 5:15am, threw on our clothes that we had once again washed in the sink, and bumbled out the door to meet Ramul and the magical tuk tuk. Om was apparently busy with family, so he couldn't join us for the morning's adventures.

We started off at the temple next to the City Palace. It's the most famous temple in Jaipur, but damned if I can remember what it was called. We'd hoped to make the morning puja, but somehow we were actually early for it. We were told that morning puja was at 5:45, so we thought we were late, but when we got there the faithful were only just arriving and the curtains had only just been drawn to dress Ganesh before prayer time. Never the less, we left our shoes at the gate and parked on the floor to hang out, rest, and marvel at the architecture. We were given mint offerings and water by a very old, very lovely woman who taught me to cross my right hand over my left when receiving offerings (the left hand is used for less than sacred activities). I also ended up talking with a tourist from southern India somewhere who had come to take in the temple. Her sister didn't seem to enthused - she sat back outside the temple against the fence with her arms crossed.

The temple and the grounds were beautiful - big open causeways and intricately carved arches... and monkeys! Oh my goodness the masses of black and grey monkeys were hysterical! They were clambering all over the outside of the temple, but I guess someone taught them not to come inside.

Ramul picked us up from the temple a while later and asked us if we needed anything. Water and tea were all we could think of, so we swung by a corner hutch for a bottle of water and then stopped at this tiny street side chai vendor. Fear prevented Gowry and I from getting out of the tuk tuk because the street vendor was surrounded by men - all kinds of them - getting ready for their days. One day I'll write down a list of all the things I've seen happen on the street here, it's astounding. So we perched in the back of the auto and drank cups of chai so hot our hands were burning. Ramul got us second empty cups to pour half of the first cup into so it wouldn't be so unbearably hot. The chai itself was soooooo good, I can't even describe it.

Have to run, will update more later.

****************************************************

Next installment.

Chai finished and paid for, we hunkered down for a 10km ride in Ramul's tuk tuk up to the Amber and Jai Gahr Forts. It's amazing that people will drive that quickly in such an underequipped vehicle up tiny highways that wind through crazy hills. Riding in a tuk tuk is still one of my favourite things to do.

Ramul dropped us at the bottom of Amber Fort's giant hill, wished us luck, and we were on our way. It was only 7:30 in the morning and the place itself was just opening, but there were already crowds of people, elephants, monkeys and dogs wandering around the grounds. Our first order of business was to find a bathroom - no easy feat in places like these! The loo itself was your customary Indian grated hole in the ground, but because the area hasn't seen any rain to speak of for so long they no longer have running water in the bathroom. Errggghhh...

Post loo, we bought our tickets and hiked up the cobble stone hill to the temple just outside the main Fort. We were temporarily distracted by an elephant and his trainer who seemed to like Gowry a lot despite Gowry's obvious disapproval. The temple, dedicated to the positively badass godess Kali, was tiny but really well lit and full of people. Folks kept arriving, ringing the small but ridiculously loud bell hanging from the ceiling, and pushing to the front to accept blessings and give offerings. Gowry and I wormed our way through the faithful to be given water in our hands (which I had just previously learned how to accept properly) and red smudges on our foreheads. I had been wary of wearing such prominently displayed markers of religion, particularly when I know very little about the religion let alone not practicing it, but the men who were doing the smudging didn't seem phased by my being there. The marker was on my forehead, and even though I couldn't see it I was very aware of its presence.

Gowry and I retreated a bit to sit near the back of the room and watch the proceedings. More people came and went, came and went, rang the bell, joined the small group of women drumming and chanting in the front corner, left the group of drumming women... Despite all the activity it was strangely calming. There was an order to things that, even though I didn't understand it, was unmistakably at work.

Time was getting on and the sun was only getting higher, so we left the temple for the Fort. First of all, the views were astounding. I've been missing mountains far more than I thought I would, so seeing rolling copper mountains and cities in valleys was like going to heaven. Or maybe like going home. One or the other. Anyway, the architecture eventually dragged me away from the mountain views (again with the architecture). The Fort itself isn't that old, so we aren't talking ruins or anything. Much of the original paint and mirror mosaic work is still intact - dusty, but in tact - and nothing seems to have crumbled apart in any way. Gowry and I took our time climbing turrets for better views, peaking inside rooms that once were and obviously still were used as latrines, and marvelling at how absolutely detailed the finishing touches were on the buildings. The most astonishing sight were the entire corridors decorated by millions of tiny mirrors in intricate patterns. We had the guards take our photo, but it hardly does the work any justice.

We eventually found ourselves lost in the women's bedrooms. Sawaii had 9 wives, and while he may have been able to figure out how to get from one woman to the next, we certainly couldn't! It was a total maze. We tried to pretend like we weren't lost - taking pictures in the dancing pavilion, marvelling at the rooms and the balconies and such - but when we started running into the same group of people who also looked lost, it was pretty much time to give up the ruse. The whole gang of us kept running from room to room, hallway to hallway, laughing, getting flustered, asking people who had just come in... We all finally tumbled out of the only small exit from the women's bedrooms into the main hall of the Fort, giggling and asking everyone where they were from, what they were doing here, how they liked India/Canada and where they had been. It's a good thing the whole place is made of marble and stone, because if there was any chance of the place catching fire then everyone would be hooped!

* Jai Gahr Fort
o climbed a mountain that Gowry was sure she couldn't conquer
o more views
o largest land canon, only shot once
o more museums - big on war
o overheating, walk down the mountain
o pursued by a man with 5 wives and 20 children - awesome, sir
* check out
* Hindi Movie in the Hindi Theatre???
o man wacking off between me and his girlfriend
* shawls at the textile shop
* said goodbye to Om and Ramul, our dear friends for the weekend
* hour in the first class ladies only waiting room
o Gowry and her new Tamil friend and her new friend's beautiful babies
* train ride home
* survived, overheated, exhausted, and thoroughly satisfied.

The rest of Jaipur is going to have to wait for a bit. I have to write what's been happening down so that I don't forget. I don't have any handy bulleted list for this past week!

First of all, I can't believe I've been here 6 weeks already. It blows my mind. There are so many things I planned to do but haven't done, and so many things I have done that I never expected would happen. Such is the nature of travel, I suppose. Often times the greatest discoveries happen by accident in the strangest places.

So Gowry and I have said our farewells to one of our first friends in Delhi. Varun the filmmaker has been scooped up by Capetown, South Africa to mentor other film makers while they work on a project on democracy. While we're happy for our friend - it's an amazing opportunity - we're sad he's gone. We managed to get three days of goodbye-ing in, though, which made up the bulk of last week's hilarity.

Thursday night started out at the Urban Pind, which seems to be stock standard these days. It was Dilani's birthday and we wanted to celebrate, but she had a 4:30am wake up for a train ride to somewhere I can't pronounce, so we went for a quiet dinner and a neon blue drink. Durning dinner I exchanged some garbled text messages with Siddarth, and before long it was decided that Gowry and I should meet he and Varun at Tabula Rasa for a drink and perhaps a little booty shake. What we didn't know was that Varun and Siddarth were in their second location of the night, and had already managed to down 8 double whisky and waters at EmBees in Def. Col. before stumbling to TR. This explained the garbled-ness of the text messages.

We found the boys at the bar, elbow deep in more whisky and waters. I did my civic duty and helped them out with their drinks because it was clear that they were both coming to the end of their ropes. It's always nice to see your friends who are normally very cool and collected reduced to giggling fits and grins and "oh my god I can't go to another bar." Especially when they're cool and collected grown men. Very satisfying.

Siddarth decided he needed to go home despite some almost intolerable peer pressure. His drive home amounted to at least an hour if the traffic was good, and he had to drive back to town by 9 the next morning for work. I didn't feel so wonderful about letting him drive home so hammered, but such is the way here.

Gowry, Varun and I packed ourselves up and went to Baci, which is apparently a pretty happening place to be on a Thursday. We saw Bollywood movie actors and famous designers and made absolute fun of Delhi's cream of the crop. Varun was pretty hammered and kept pulling the ponytail of this girl who was so seriously high it wasn't even funny. She kept thinking it was me, though, and would saddle up to me and smile this hazy smile... weird!

The scene got too strung out and we were getting tired, so we wobbled on down to the taxi stand so Varun could haggle a cab.

We all ended up crashing at Gowry's place - Gowry and I in our respective beds and Varun flopped tummy down on the floor. The situation was a little tricky, though, because Gowry's land lady is a bit Hitleresque and refuses to let her have unknown guests in the house. We had to mission impossible from the front gate to the apartment in the back, Varun clad in his aviators and all. Once inside, Varun and his drunk self fell in love with the air conditioner. Gowry kept telling him to stop giggling, but it was a bit too late for that. I have pictures of both events - huh-larious. We sent Varun to the shower (I've never seen someone so excited by the prospect of showering before), got into our pjs, and eventually shut out the light.

Waking up was tough, but we managed. At least, Gowry and I managed. She and I got up, had showers, puttered, turned on the tv, all while Varun lay crashed out on the floor. We had to shake the poor bastard awake - he had noooo idea where he was.

FWD to Friday night. Gowry, Varun, Kirith and I parked for an hour on my balcony with some beers and my guitar. It was short lived, but man was that good stuff. I hardly ever play in front of anyone, so it was a bit nervewracking, but it was nice to sit and sing along to other people playing. Gowry did numerology readings and horoscopes while we played, and somehow we got into a discussion about trying to maintain balance in our lives, whether or not that's possible or even a worthwhile endeavour, and whether or not you can ever exist outside the human system. And we weren't even smoking drugs.

By the end of the night we wound up at one of our standard haunts, the Urban Pind, for some drinking and dancing. The place was dead, so Gowry and I had the dancefloor pretty much to ourselves. We considered this to be unacceptable, so we told the DJ what we wanted to hear and one by one physically dragged our friends onto the dancefloor. I have a feeling we're doing a little world-rocking ourselves here - look out, crazy Canadian girls and their persistent need to dance!

The car ride home held more intense discussion that I wish we'd all had earlier - Varun had gotten into an argument at the Pind with a man who sells India as a tourist destination in London and sells London as a tourist destination in India. This lead to a huge conversation about the dangers of not taking responsibility for your actions, the exoticisation of culture - India's in particular - and how India's culture is being eroded by globalization and Americanization. We've long made fun of the hippie white kids who come here with their dreadlocks and talk about how fucking enlightened they become because they've spent a few weeks/months in India, and talked about how that's exactly the kind of tourism Gowry and I want to avoid. This discussion took that thought one step further. I just want to live here. I know I can only see a piece of what's going on, but I want to live here and soak up everything I can. I don't want to take take take from India and go home feeling like I've gorged myself. This discussion helped remind me of that.

Friday was a chill night at Baci - the place was dead, but it was a good spot to say our goodbyes. The boys cut out early, but Gowry and I stayed and danced until 3am. We hung out with Sunny the DJ, met Baci's owner (when we said we called ourselves the DJ support team he asked us if we take our shirts off... we were like "nononono..."), met the Danish kid who runs NewDelhiExpats.com, and hung out with a crazy bunch of Indians/Expats who just came out to drink and dance their asses off.

All in all, good times.

Since then we've been hanging out. Saw Humayan's Tomb (will post pictures once the camera relinquishes them), spent some time chilling with Mom, and hung out by myself on the balcony I can only reach by climbing out my bedroom window. Two nights in a row I've sat outside and watched the stars come out; once with Mom, once flying solo.

I'm realizing that, while you can make all the plans in the world, there are some opportunities that just have to be missed. If you spend all your time worrying about what you're not doing, you wind up blind to all the things that you are getting to do. So much of life happens by accident, and I can't close myself off to that.

Welcome to India, have a nice stay.

It must be that time again. I'm perched in front of the computer having just finished my first attempt at homemade dahl (Harbans would be proud), uploading photos for the folks who aren't on facebook yet (gasp), and typing out the week's activities.

Thursday - French Kiss at Ministry of Sound. This strange, mirrored pyramid in the middle of random new apartment buildings and the usual litter, bus stop and taxi stand is apparently one of the top 10 clubs in Asia. Could have fooled me. Gowry and I got free tickets to see French Kiss, a 4 act show being put on by the French Embassy, and jumped at the chance to avoid the normal $80 cover charge (yes, eighty dollars) to see it up close. The club was cool enough, but I would NEVER pay that much money on a regular night. S.O.A.P., the opening band, was fun to watch - an Indian jazz/rock band with a chick singer who actually sang with some gravel in her voice. We only stayed to watch one of the French singers - Anais - because the set changes were longer than the actual sets being played. Plus we didn't know if we would be able to find a taxi near by and it was way past when that's a good idea...

Friday night Malti, Gowry and I went to see a classical sitar recital and an Indian Dance recital. Damned if I can remember the names of the performers - crap I hate that! The sitar was... interesting... apparently raggas are an acquired taste. It's kind of like singing in solfege but with more spirituality behind it. I think it's a taste that I could acquire, but it would definitely take some time. Same goes for the Classical Indian Dancer. I'm usually open to things, but this is a style that's entirely new to me. I'm used to graceful movements and spins or hip hop bouncing styles... the stomping was unexpected, and it would take someone with some knowledge to explain what all of the different hand motions mean. I'm going to try to see a few more so I have something to compare to. I also think I'll be able to appreciate more of what I'm seeing if I give it a few goes.

Saturday was Compound Kids Do Delhi Day. Four of us, including Gowry, decided to pretend we were tourists for a day and try to see a bunch of touristish attractions in a short period of time. Jana, Adria and I piled in a tuk tuk, picked up Gowry, and beetled our way four packed in the back to the Lotus Temple. Lotus was built a few years ago as a B'ahai place of worship, and it's positively beautiful. It's shaped like a giant lotus flower, big arches, pools, sky high windows... it's incredibly peaceful inside. We encountered trouble early on, though - Gowry wasn't feeling too well. Dehydration, exhaustion, and a hot hot day made for a less than 100% tourista. After saying she didn't feel well, drinking some water, and moving to the steps behind the pews we were sitting in, she started to turn pale. She got up to get some air outside, but before she could reach the door she dropped like a ton of bricks. Her right shoulder was like a magnet that suddenly realized the marble floor was a nearby opposite pole and down she went. Luckily her french braid pigtails kept her head from hitting the stone too hard, but she was left with a wicked bruised shoulder. She was only out for a second or two before she started to come around. We called home but no one answered, so we rang up Mr. Verma the Magic Taxi Driver (my own name), who started work 1 1/2 hours earlier to come pick up Baby (that's me) and her sick friend. We all piled in the taxi, Gowry splayed out across the back seat with Adria and Jana and I packed in the front, and took our fallen soldier home to convalesce.

Gowry safe in bed with some water and an icepack, the three remaining took to the metro to go do Old Delhi. By this time the sun was full on, it was hot, and the only respite was the occasional puffy cloud that drifted by. We figured we'd already been through a lot that morning, a little heat couldn't hurt us.

Our first stop was the Red Fort, built by Shah Jahan (Taj Mahal's architect) in the 16 somethings. What an amazing fortress. Again, I'm in love with Indian architecture, so I was pretty much drooling the whole time. The archways, the use of space and alignment... gawd I love it. We three wandered through the buildings, snapping pictures and wiping sweat off of every exposed body part... There is no way I can really do it justice with words, so look at the photos instead. For the non-facebook crowd I'm crafting a Picasa as we speak. Ah, multi tasking.

After baking for an hour in the Fort, we puttered outside to find a rickshaw. We were totally accosted by this one guy who wouldn't leave us alone, so we eventually gave in and took him up on his offer. Not until I bargained him down from Rs 50/hr each person to Rs 35, though. I'm almost used to people staring at me when I bargain. They look at me with this "who is that crazy white girl who bargains hard, uses Hindi words, and bobbles her head?" face that is almost worth the price of admission.

The three of us piled on the back of Rajiv's rickshaw for what would turn into a 3 hour tour... a three hour tour... of Old Delhi, Chandni Chowk, Chawri Bazaar, and the Harem Palace (strangely located atop an old mosque... hmmm).

The markets in Old Delhi are insane. I thought New Delhi was densely populated! People crowd in and out of wedding shops, telephone card stands, barbers, shoe makers, apartments, all below masses of tangled telephone and electrical wiring - some of which works, some of which doesn't, and not many people can tell which is which! We aren't talking a few loose cords, here, either. This is more like a badly tangled jewelery box hung from buildings constructed 6 feet apart from each other just above your head. Somehow Rajiv managed to weave his way through the crowds and the cords, though. He's good at it, having toured tourists around for 22 years. He brought us through the wedding alleys to this oddly quiet enclave with brightly decorated apartment doors and the tiniest, oldest Jain temple in Delhi.

The temple was closed for the afternoon, but Rajiv woke the dwellers from their naps and got them to turn the lights on for us. After removing our shoes and leather belts, we were lead up a very steep staircase to the inside of a beautiful and detailed temple. Jainism is, as far as I understand, an offshoot of Hinduism and with close ties to Buddhism. The temple itself was decorated with intricately painted murals and mirrored mosaics and was done almost entirely in marble. Large statues of deities I can't pronounce were carved out of single pieces of marble and are now cleaned, adorned, and worshiped every day by the Jains in the area. I couldn't believe how heavy some of the pillars must have been - they were carved out of single pieces of marble, too. We were the only guests at the time and were given the smiling guided tour by the temple's minister. He even walked us through the second floor murals that tell the story of the life and death of their main deity, again a name I can't remember...

The only strange thing about the whole experience was that the minister asked for payment after having given us the tour. It bothers me how easily people accept and expect money for actions that would happily be provided for free back home. I can't imagine accepting money for touring people around my temple. Asking for a donation to the temple itself is one thing, but pocketing it myself, I don't know...

Anyway, after our trip to the temple we walked 10 steps to worship at the local jewelery shop. What we didn't expect, and neither did Rajiv, was that we would know the jeweler. Ashish, who frequents the Canadian High Commission, was casually working away when the three of us came through the door. He looked a little surprised, as did Rajiv... We wandered in and were like "hey, Ashish! Just saw you last week!" How is it that I'm in a city of 12 bazillion people and I still can't go out without seeing someone I know?

Jewel-gawking over, we hopped back on the rickshaw to continue the tour.

Rajiv took us to what I'm assuming is his favourite fabric and shawl shop. I'm pretty much up on the fact that these guys get commissions for bringing people to certain stores, so I gave Rajiv a look before we went inside. We sat down on the mattressed floor while the shop keeper got his wares ready. He started showing us these shawls that he said were 80 20. 80 20 what??? 20 Pashmina, he said. Well, that's all well and good, but what was the other 80? 80 20, 20 pashmina. Yes, baya, but what about the other 80? Georgette. Ah, acrylic.

2 minutes later, the second shop keeper sits down and starts going through the exact same shawls. 80 20, madame, 80 20. 80 20 what, baya? 20 pashmina 80 silk.

I got angry. Really angry. I stood up, I say "you say 80 georgette, he say 80 silk. You tell me two different things, I leave."

They looked totally dumbfounded. How many times has a tiny white girl gotten angry and stormed from their store, compatriots in tow? Not enough times to make this a normal occurrence, I could tell that by the looks on their faces!

I got downstairs and wagged my finger at Rajiv. Kya hua? he asked me. I said I don't like your scarf men, they tell me two different things, I leave. He just shook his head at me and laughed. We followed him to what I'm assuming is his second favourite fabric and shawl shop where I once again turned us into a spectacle.

The shop keeper told me 30 70 madame, 30 pashmina 70 silk. Riiiight, but oh well. He said I give you good price, Rs 400 each. I said last guy told me Rs 350, he say okay Rs 350. He kept pulling out shawl after shawl while we surfed through them and I kept saying nay, baya, and the passersby kept peering into the open shop wondering what all the fuss was about. After I had told him nay about 30 times I pulled out the two shawls I actually did like and said 2 for Rs 500 baya. He freaked out, said something about giving me good price, Rs 700 for two shawls nothing madame. I just stared at him. He said Rs 600, last price. Theek, a head bobble, and Rs 600 later I had myself two overpriced shawls. You should see them, though, they're gorgeous.

Once we had our shawls, we left the rickshaw in the shoe market for safe keeping and wove our way into the spice market. It burned. Eyes, nose, throat - all burning from the spices floating around in the air. The smell was amazing, though, like every fabulous Indian meal you've ever tried all rolled into one. We pushed through the masses of humanity into a stairwell and climbed into what seemed like someone's apartment building. It turned out to be the Harem Palace on top of Fatepuri Masjid. The harem, when it was functioning as such, housed 350 women in 350 different rooms, and from our perch on top of the building you could see almost all of them. The rooms, that is. People had turned the place into housing, though, and looking into the open courtyard in the middle of the palace was like looking into a microcosm of Old Delhi itself. Women working, men squabbling, people milling about and drying laundry on every hangable surface... We took panoramic photos of Chandni Chowk, which translates to Moon Square, all the way to the Red Fort and Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. By this time we were tired and bright red from the heat and the sun, so it was probably less majestic to us that it really was. The photos are good, though.

We clambered down the stairs, relocated the rickshaw, and rode through the crush back to the metro station. We told Rajiv we'd be back in a few weeks when our fourth was feeling better. He seemed happy about that, we'd paid him well and I'll bet we kept him damned entertained as well.

All in all it was a successful trip. I spent 5 hours in Old Delhi and was only groped three times. Yesssss.

By Sunday I was jonesing for a taste of home, so Mom and I called up Mr. Verma the Magical Taxi Driver and drove to Noida to visit the mall. What a horrifying experience. I can see why my friends are so upset by these glaring physical manifestations of globalization and encroaching western culture. Ugh. I thought it would make me feel better, but it only made me feel uncomfortable. On the plus side, the place was air conditioned. I think that's why folks go to the mall for the air conditioning back home, too, so in that I found some solace.

Strangely enough, I didn't feel comfortable in the place until I was arguing with a stock boy over which kind of rice to buy. I'd gone to the mall looking for price tags, stores with one purpose, and a place free of children begging for rupees on the street. I didn't feel comfortable, though, until I was acting the way I act when I'm in that situation. Once I was haggling, I felt like yeah, I can do this... I gave the stock boy a huge grin when we finally agreed on the best rice to bring home, and he grinned at me back. Achha, I said, and bobbled my head. He just laughed.

On the way home, the toll booth operator waved Mr. Verma over to a certain pay line. He told Mr. Verma to pay him Rs 25 to cross the bridge from Noida back to Delhi. We paid him, and then watched him put the money in his back pocket. When we reached the actual gate where you pay your toll, the second operator said we had to pay Rs 20 to cross the bridge. Mom flipped out because she knew exactly what was going on - the last guy had conned Mr. Verma out of Rs 25 and kept it for himself, and now this jackass was asking for another Rs 20. After Mom barked at him for a few minutes (god I love my mother), she told the operator never to speak to Mr. Verma like that, that he was only doing this because they were in a taxi, and that he was extremely rude. She threw the Rs. 20 on the ground behind us as we drove away (god I love my mother). Mr. Verma was visibly shaken, so we apologized profusely and bought him an eclair at the bakery we stopped at. I hope he isn't diabetic.

So many adventures... and that doesn't even include the stories about Gowry and I laughing over the public peeing situation, the flock of ducks wandering through the gas station, or tailor who can copy clothes so exactly it's freaky...

Going to Rishikesh this weekend. Haven't even finished writing down all of Jaipur yet... My goodness. I'm guessing there will be another round of photos and another "what we learned" video.

Vive l'aventure.