wheels are on a main street
Sunday, March 7 –Here I go again. Unpacked my suitcases when I got back from Vipassana on February 28 and am packing up again to go on another trip for about a week. I consider myself lucky to go because I had someone to go with me. My email friend, Hari Kharuna who lives here in New Delhi, wanted to go to Dharamasala, McLeodganj, both in Himachal Pradesh and Chandigarh, Haryana. The first two places are also known as Lower Dharamasala and Upper Dharamasala respectively.
McLeodganj is where the Dalai Lama has established his residence, his area of rule and has built his home and a temple there. It is known as the Buddhist capital of the world. His home and the temple are on the same grounds. The Dalai Lama was forced to flee his home in Tibet in the 1950s when the Chinese overthrew his country and took control of it. India was the only country who was willing to give him refuge I was told by the hotel manager, D. R. Sharma, of the Kashmir Hotel that I stayed at. He said that the Buddhist religion came out of India and India felt that Hinduism and Buddhism were from the same origin; it was their obligation to provide refuge for this holy man of a similar religion.
In order for me to experience travel in India by bus as well as train Hari had planned that we take a bus to McLeodganj and a train from Chandigarh back to Delhi. We went to Himachal Bhawan (means house) building on Janpath to purchase bus tickets at Himachal Pradesh Tourism Office. To purchase train tickets we went to a train ticket office in Sarojini Nagar. Our tickets were on a waiting list so Hari suggested we go to the train station itself to the Foreigner’s Ticket Office to see if there were any open allocated foreigner’s tickets still remaining so that I could exchange my waiting list ticket for one of them. No luck. Hari said that if we had been able to get one, it would work out to where he could also slip on in with that ticket of mine and there would be room enough for him and he would pay for his fare that day of departure. Confused about that scenario but it involves more details than I know to be able to understand it.
Packing and unpacking has definitely told me that I have way too much stuff with me. I have enough stuff to fill a 62” check in suitcase as well as a carry on as well as a student backpack, all bulging and really awkward to carry. I met a couple who were traveling for a year and she had only one backpack for all of her stuff for a year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! How!!!!!!!!!!!!????????????????? When I get back I am definitely going to work on downsizing. My goal is to be a traveler with only a backpacker’s backpack and one everyday bag.
My one suitcase that I put in the suitcase locker here at the ashram was bulging; had to sit on its top to zip it all up. I attached my empty backpacker’s backpack to it to make it one piece of luggage to check in; 10 rupees (Rs) a day, less than a quarter for storing. What fun (NOT!) I had putting it in the little narrow room with all the other suitcases! The ashram has got to get a larger room for all the suitcases that their visitors are wanting to store whilst they go elsewhere. And, I am not speaking only on my behalf! It is quite narrow. Cases are stacked many high off of the floor as well as on the shelving unit they have provided. Having lost 2000 calories putting my humongous bulging suitcase into storage (hee hee hee, . . . although it sure felt like it) I left the ashram looking for a taxi to take me to Hari’s apartment. My perception at that time didn’t see me taking my carry on suitcase, my student backpack and myself into an auto rickshaw (for those that have been in Thailand, and probably many other places, they are also called tuk tuks). These vehicles are three wheel motorcycles with a top and open sides. For short, they are simply called “autos” here whereas a taxi is called a “taxi.” There were several vehicle drivers at the main gate trying to assist me with my transportation and trying to get me to take an auto but I could only see myself getting into a taxi with my stuff. Another issue is that for me to get an auto going my direction was that I had to cross the street as the side of the street the ashram is on traffic goes the opposite direction. I had no idea if I would need to end up crossing the street with its high curbs and harrowing drivers careening by not only having to walk myself across but maneuver my luggage on its wheels across it! It was inviting impeding doom in my perception! The drivers probably thought this was a crazy spoiled rich American who could only drive in a taxi and was not good enough for an auto.
I got my taxi for only Rs 50 and got to Hari’s apartment complex. I walk with my carry on suitcase but bulging and student backpack equally bulging to his apartment and walk up two flights of stairs to his apartment. Another success for me! This was my first time going somewhere here in India by myself where once I got dropped off I had to locate the next door to get through. You may question the word success but when you know that I was afraid to leave the ashram alone the first couple of weeks that I got here, you understand.
Hari looked at my suitcase and didn’t say a word but he was kind enough to hire a taxi to take us to our bus point. He had a bag half my size and a small canvas bag for his everyday bag; he probably had half the amount of what I had. Laugh and chuckle all you want at my lack of traveler’s experience you world travelers. I am laughing now as I think of the sight I must have been for those in the know. I can say I had no choice as I had all this stuff I brought with me not knowing what I needed for six months of living in India, what the weather would be, where I would be, blah , blah, blah. And , of course, I was ignorant of what essentials I needed to take with me. I provided Hari with another moment of silent laughter when I went down the steep stairs to where the bus was located. Rather than carrying my carry on as I went down the steps as I even thought it might be too heavy to lift, I allowed it to bump and twist and turn down the steps , one at a time, as I grudgingly inwardly but outwardly tried not to show any discomfort walking down those steep steps. The steps I’ve come across in India have mostly been narrow and very high! Is it because of the monsoons? I ask myself as I walk some of them (even the ones going into the Lotus Temple) what do the disabled do to get into these places with all those steps.
Bathrooms . . . In India, they aren’t called bathrooms. They are called toilets or washrooms. Here is a moment to speak about the ones I’ve experienced in India. Filthy! The one at the bus stop . . . It looked as if no one had paid it any attention nor were there any thoughts of paying it any attention. Here’s your toilet, person. In here, you may empty your bladder or intestines and leave. What more do you need? No toilet paper or hand drying implements or soap to wash hands have been seen in most of the ones I’ve been in. I’ve seen attendants sweeping debris off their premises, mops being used to clean up a spot here and there but the bathrooms seem to not be thought of when it comes to cleaning. I don’t know why as yet. I’ve been to doctor’s offices and there hasn’t been paper , towels, soap. Mirrors are filthy. Layers of one can only guess have accumulated over much of what is in those rooms. As a prepared and carry too much traveler I have a little bag with me in which I have plastic gloves, toilet paper and wipes for visits into these type of accommodations.
On the matter of bathroom, another item comes to my mind – toilet paper. Not only in public places is there none but at the ashram as well as in most people’s homes there is none. It is not used. The left hand is used. When it comes to how the cleaning is accomplished with the hand, I do not know the particulars. Since I am ignorant of the practice, at the moment, this Westerner shudders at the thought. I have not found a person I wish to inquire about this matter yet. Next to most toilets is a faucet with an extension that I understand is brought to the body to rinse off the areas one has eliminated from. Okay, I ask, so what do you do with a wet body area? There is nothing to dry it off with. That’s another unknown to me. I’ve seen a lot of wet floors in these rooms. Does some of this water to rinse end up on the floors and if so, am I walking on organisms of feces and urine? (Note: shoes worn outside the home are not worn inside. As regards to wet washroom floors, that would be one good reason not to).
My first roll of toilet paper I bought cost me Rs 50 and it was about half the size of a standard size found in America. This roll was bought at the store here at the ashram so that people living at the ashram and neighboring residents have a place to buy needed items. That’s over $1.00 for a roll of paper! I used that roll sparingly, let me tell you or do I even need to tell you?! My third roll was bought yesterday in the area where I went to the dentist. It was twice if not more the size what the ashram sells and it was only Rs 25, about 50 cents (DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE THE CENTS SIGN IS ON A KEYBOARD? I AM NOT SEEING IT) I wonder why the ashram provides the small roll and at such a higher price. Another reality that doesn’t make any sense to me.
In that I do not know their plumbing system and that using toilet paper is not a feature here I hesitate to dispose of the paper in the toilet so I place it in a disposable bag and trash it outside where the trash is gathered. Yuck on that practice also but on Friday night I went to a public place and there was indeed a sign that instructed people not to throw paper in the toilet but in the designated receptacle so I guess I made the right decision.
Back to my Himachal Pradesh journey . . . The bus . . . Hari had spoken about an air-conditioned Volvo bus he had heard about traveling in so my expectation was of such a bus. Why, when the 13 hour bus trip only costs Rs 500 (about $12.00 USD) would I continue to think that is . . . because of my ignorant starry-eyed traveler’s wonderment. The bus was a very much used and old bus. AC was provided by opening up a window. Thankfully we began our journey at 5:00 pm and would end it at 6:00 am the next day and the weather wasn’t that hot.
The bus made several stops along the way to allow for new passengers, toilet stops and eating. At the very northern end of New Delhi or just outside it going north is a Tibetan Refugee Settlement. Nearby is a bus stop we stopped at. It is a non developed bus stop. It is pretty much in its natural rural state. Dirt roads, lots of trees and debris lying here and there. It was very packed and we parked there for about 30 minutes. Why the bus stayed in that location for that period of time I do not know. I think most of the people at this stop were Tibetan. I had my first glimpse of people wearing monk robes in droves. Although non developed it does do a lot of commerce here. Vendors have whatever means of a stand they can conjure up and anything thought of that can be sold is being sold. Young boys, I don’t recall any young girls, are even calling out their wares and selling whatever someone will buy from them – sodas, water, bags of snacks, pieces of fruit, little paper bowls of food. The bus stops I’ve been to allow for these vendors to get on the bus, walk down the aisle, calling out what they’re selling and sell what they can while the bus is moving until it gets out of the bus stop premises.
A man, very malformed in a wheelchair, was being wheeled around by a woman. I didn’t look at him enough to know what his physical condition was but it appeared that he had a torso and very small limbs or maybe even not all his limbs. He was calling out to those walking around him, trying to get their attention, asking for money. Everywhere I’ve gone I’ve seen ill kept humans holding out their hands, looking at the other, some just look and make a sound like what sounds a grunt, no human speech is uttered (but then again I do have a hearing problem so I may be wrong about that). I was told that some of these beggar women who are carrying infants might be carrying one that is rented out for just such purposes. Also, that the infants have been drugged to look even more pitiful. I’ve seen children with no shoes, very dirty clothes, hair that hasn’t been combed in who knows how long begging here. I see people living under blue plastic tarps on sidewalks along side roads. People under bridges hanging what little they have wherever they find a place just hanging around, sitting around, children almost bare just hanging nearby. I saw a young boy wearing only a very small pair of shorts on a very busy road going to whatever car he could with its window rolled down making beseeching gestures. He was walking on the roads of Delhi without even shoes on his feet, just this skimpy pair of very little shorts on his body. I saw a man on the bus I was on walking without shoes. He was going on this long trip and he wore no shoes and he had a wife and children with him. Children are even maimed so that their pitiful state will generate pity and more money. I have a desire to make a sentence in my opinion of these sights and practices but I do not know enough of how the universe operates to judge human conditions such as these, even in this. To support this thought a woman I was speaking to yesterday shared with me that she was reading the Bhagavad Gita and it said something along the lines that everyone is where they are supposed to be according to where they are to go next in life and we should not feel sorry or feel a need to alter their conditions. At this moment in my life I find that hard to understand for I have always been taught to help or share with someone who has less than me. I do not have the whole picture on this idea so I will leave it at that for this time for I feel inclined to lean toward what this woman said.
At another stop we went into this little village I think. It was about 3:00 am so I have no idea of whether we were in a town or a little village but in it as I walked to the toilet I saw a structure that held water in it. Above this structure on a wall on one of its sides was a pipe coming out of the wall and water was pouring out of the pipe continuously. I do not know what this is called. I want to call it the village watering well. While in this village, my friend, Hari, who is very into drinking his tea, bought me a tea here. I had no desire to have one before I got here but once I took my first sip . . . ah, it was just what I needed for that time in the morning, a stretch and after sleeping a bit on the bus.
Tea, may I speak about the tea here? When I first got to the ashram and had my first drink of it, I truly enjoyed the taste of it. They make it with milk and I do think some spices. I thought to myself my first week here how much I enjoyed the taste of this tea. It seemed so special to me as I had only had tea without any milk or sugar in it in the past. I even thought of getting the ingredients so that I could make it back home and enjoy it there; now that thought is not even a want. Tea is served for breakfast and at “tiffin” (tea time). Only experiencing the ashram, I truly loved this tea. Now, I am not at all impressed by it. It has lost its taste appeal and I have no yearning for it at all. It is served everywhere. There is probably a tea vendor on every block if not more than one. My dear Hari, when I traveled with him, if it was tea time, I could see he struggled with not being able to sit and have his cup of tea. This morning I had a thermos full of it for the first time in about two weeks as it has gotten so hot here, the thought of drinking something hot has no appeal for me at all. This morning, however, the weather was cool enough to allow my mind to lean toward drinking tea after breakfast as I did my readings. Six hours later and I just poured the last of it into my glass along with my homemade sun tea.
As to the bus ride, I slept a good amount of the time. I sensed that the roads were not that smooth and we did a lot of traveling windy roads. When the bus stopped in Dharamasala to unload its passengers all I could see were the store shop steel doors that they pulled down at night and pulled up in the morning to open and a road so narrow that it could fit the bus and maybe a person on each side and that was it. I think if I had wanted to I could have leaned out the bus window and touched my finger tip to the sides of the stores.
Hari and I had discussed what we would do once we arrived in McLeodganj as it is a holy place. We agreed that we would walk to a place and spend some time meditating. Did we? When we arrived at the Bhagsu Hotel about 6:00 am, Hari said he would go to his room, freshen up and meet me for breakfast at 9:00 am outside at the tables. Not a word about our decision to walk somewhere and meditate. I went up to my room, got myself together and went outside and began walking around. As I walked away from the hotel I ascended down into the town itself. I think the hotel was at the top of the hill where if you went any further you would be going down the ravine, not to any more dwellings. It was early morning and I had not seen the town coming to the hotel. I felt as if I was walking into a surreal little town. I saw these little narrow streets, so narrow it didn’t appear a car and a person could both get through, both going in different directions. I saw so many people dressed in saffron-colored monks robes and people dressed in more tribal like clothing. The women’s hair was done differently also. To add to my whimsical perception a little boy was right there in front of me at the entrance to the town, wearing some tribal clothing and just being cute as little children are, jabbering and playing about. The architect, the wares, the windy roads, the hills, the up and down walkways , the mountains in the background, the snow capped mountains, the blue skies, all so different from what I’d seen so far in India. My first impression was that I had found a cute little village nearby the hotel I was staying at, not realizing it was McLeodganj itself. Everything about it just seemed so surreal to me upon my first impression I felt as if I had discovered some sweet, days gone by little village.
Monday,our first day in Dalai Lama’s town was spent having breakfast at the hotel which I believe Hari truly enjoys doing. The food choices were not exciting nor numerous for me. I was able to have my first cup of black coffee here however so that was a treat for me. After breakfast we went walking all over the village, bought a souvenir or two and went to the temple. At “tea time” (about five, dinner is at around 8:00 pm which is too late for me to eat and shortly thereafter go to sleep so we didn’t eat dinner together during our trip) Hari made it a point to find a place where he could have his cup of tea. It was at a coffee house up the road from the temple so I was to have another cup of coffee which I was elated to do. There are quite a number of coffee houses in this little town. I saw a few of them that also had wifi of which I had no time to take advantage of but knowing the little access I have to internet I have had and my inability to put my pictures on line, I wish that I had taken the time. (I’ve been trying to find a wifi place here in Delhi, have asked around, but so far, no luck) I think it’s available because of all the tourists that come to it who do like coffee and have shown their need for internet access. We had our lunch at a place called “Peace Cafe.” I chose this because I’m into peace and also because in Lonely Planet India book it said that one will find monks here enjoying a vegetarian meal and discussing amongst each other. The food and ambiance were very nice there but there were no monks around, in fact, there were only what looked like foreigner’s eating there. During the day we discovered that walking around and outside the town is an activity many enjoy so we decided that we would do so our second day. I spoke to the hotel staff and was able to get a map of the town and trails.
On Tuesday, at 7:00 am Hari and I met to begin our walk. What a walk. We began at 7:00 am and didn’t get back to the hotel until evening, both at different times as our evening plans were different. It was a wonderful, beautiful, spiritual, communal day of walking and not because we were with each other as we are not friends such as this but because of what we saw, spoke of to others, and experienced. Our first destination was Bhagsu Village. A temple and a waterfall was there for us to see. This temple is part of a temple circuit that Hari took note of, writing down all of the temples on the circuit. Hari has said that his travels take him on many spiritual journeys and this circuit would be along his interests. The temple is not a very big one. On the temple grounds is a large rectangular pool that is supposed to be used to clean oneself for some temple purposes. Away from the temple, up in the mountain next to the end of the village, is the waterfall. We could have walked to the waterfall if we were so inclined but it was not an easy walk for me and I discerned that Hari had no desire to walk to it. From where we stood up to the waterfall at the beginning of the trail it looked like the distance could have been about two miles, if not more. Seeing it from where we stood was enough for us both.
Nearby us were some men working on a restaurant structure. This structure seemed to be almost at the edge of an almost 90 degree incline of a mountain side. Everywhere in this area, I believe in all of Himachal Pradesh, I don’t think there is a 10 x 10 foot area of flat land. Incline, Incline, Incline, everywhere. Incline up. Decline down. Up a hill. Down a hill. Maybe a step or several without an up or a down but hardly found anywhere. And it seems like most structures are built with brick, rocks and marble. Such heavy stuff ! I know nothing about architecture and the advantages to using such heavy stuff when making a structure but I think about all that weight ! on the land the structure will rest upon for the life of that building , on the floor / floors below for that matter, the people hauling it, the animals hauling it. I saw men putting large boulders on the backs of mules and carrying each one to its new location. I saw mules laden with bricks loaded onto racks laying on top of their backs walking to their new location. To me the engineering feat to lay these heavy materials and on land that has very little flatness to it seems a marvel. I, of course, feel such sorrow for these beasts of burden. To have on your back such loads! Don’t forget they too have to walk up those inclines or down with that heavy burden causing them even more strain or momentum going downhill!
After an enjoyable breakfast and a good one at a little restaurant on a rooftop with a very narrow rickety very small steps staircase we continued our walk to our planned (or should I say hoped) for destination “Golu Temple.” From Bhagsu Village one could see it on top of the mountain off in the distance. As we walked Hari kept asking people passing us the way to Golu Temple . . . to be sure we were on the right path and to be friendly, he said. I found these conversations quite funny as one of the questions or pieces of conversation that kept coming up out of Hari’s mouth with each passerby was how long the passerby thought it would take for us to get to the temple. They would look me up and down before they made their guess. One of our first passerbys was a very optimistic European woman who had been in the area for a while and came up to us and asked us it we needed any help as she saw we were looking around to decide where we should go at the moment. She was quite fit and said she had been up to the temple. She said it would take us about 45 minutes. HA HA HA !!!!!!!!!!!!!! I did say she was Q U I T E fit. Well, this walk was mostly constantly at about a 45 degree incline, either up a flat road or on rocky pathways. Walking up inclines gets me short of breath in no time. Hari was quite encouraging as he said to me “just take your time, walk a few steps, we’ll get there when we get there.” With his encouragement I think I went further than if he hadn’t said anything. Even as we walked higher up the hill we came across homes, live stock, farm land, water pumps. As we walked up and up and up dwellings dotted the landscape with people walking about doing their everyday life. I looked around and could see no stores nearby and wondered where they got their food, water, supplies, etc. It appeared that what they needed they pretty much made on the land, others nearby made what they needed but this is conjecture on my part. I am sure they looked at me and had quite a smile for the sight I gave their eyes. Here they walk up and down these inclines without a thought and they see me walk for 10 minutes and stop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! laboriously breathing, sweating as if a shower was over my head at that very moment.
Hari and I didn’t make it to Golu Temple. You thought after all that I actually might have? No! We got to this last stop before the temple and saw this road, a road leading back into town. I also learned that at the temple there was no vehicle to take you back down; you had to walk down that incline. I said to myself . . . I’ve done enough trying to get to this temple. Here is a nice road to walk upon and it will take me down to Dharamkot, where I wanted to go to next once I went up to the temple. That temple, mind you, was still way up there from this last stop. It was getting noon and it was hot. SOB, heat, sweat, altitude, physical considerations — possible heart attack what with my blood pressure, chest pains . . . I don’t think so. For an out of shape, fluffy (new term Hari had given me after knowing me for a few days) 53-year-old woman I had done a good deal of exercise that I could be proud of. Enough! Time to congratulate myself for how far I had walked and go on to another plan of activity. And guess what?! I found out after I had quit that Hari didn’t like walking up hills either; it wasn’t something he took any interest in, he was doing it because it was what we had decided to do.
Walking back was fun as it was downhill, very beautiful as it seemed to be a forest in much of the area we walked through. We would stop and talk to passersby as we went, finding out where they were from and any other thing that would come up. I collected two more names to my email/Facebook collection on the walk.
In Dharamkot we saw the Vipassana Center and we were fortunate to go into the Buddhist Tushita Retreat Center. Hari wanted to go to Tushita to see if the son of one of his friends, who is a monk, was there as he thought he might live there. We were very blessed at the Tushita Center. Not only was the son, Kabir, there but we were able to enjoy a cup of tea, some chocolate, be shown around and learn about the activities there. There is a great amount of blessed energy there. We both felt so refreshed after visiting there and I left with the feeling that I might be back for an Intro to Buddhism Course as well as a Mind Meditation Course.
Just before we got into McLeodganj there is a bench along the trail which we sat down upon. Our time upon this bench and how we enjoyed ourselves was in a way quite funny. We just sat there, smiling gleefully, probably exhausted as well as exhilarated after our arduous walk in hopes of reaching the temple, our time at Tushita and our conversations. We sat there for a half hour if not more. We met another traveler, this one a man from Alabama. I was able to spot off immediately that he was from America, where I didn’t know but that he was an American. In town we stopped at a pub and had a couple of beers. After I looked for a place that had an activist event going on about freeing Tibet from Chinese rule. I couldn’t find it so walked around a bit more then went back to the hotel and ate the, I think, five chocolate bars I got at Tushita for dinner. (wonder how I got to be the weight I am, hu?)
The third day in McLeodganj I woke up early planning to go to the Buddhist Temple to hear the Dalai Lama speak. He was to begin about 8:00 am. Hari had no desire to see / hear him as he had done so in the past. I walked down there and got into the temple and was told by security that because I had my cell phone which wasn’t able to work as it was one I had from home that I couldn’t gain access. I needed to leave my cell with one of the store vendors or do whatever I wanted to do with it. I was also told that he may not start speaking until 8:30 / 9:00 am and 9 am was the time I had agreed to meet Hari for breakfast before we left for lower Dharamasala. So instead of seeing and hearing the Dalai Lama speak personally I decided just to hang outside the temple entrance and see what people and activities were happening for the event. Outside I ordered for the first time a cup of tea and a biscuit while I hung around. An unusual situation for me was going on just outside the temple entrance as a big humongous horned bull had also decided to hang around. He was so big. Here in India people consider this animal sacred so no disrespect or harm can come to it by a human. His size was so big that from front to back he pretty much took up the width of the road. Here you have hundreds of people and vehicles trying to get around and as you please, this bull is just standing there looking around , sniffing this, going over to the trash bin and rummaging thru it. I stood around and just checked things out in this area for about an hour and then had to go back up to the hotel to meet up with Hari.
After breakfast Hari and I walked into the center of town to look for chocolates to give to the hotel staff to say thank you for their extra help here and there. Got back to hotel around noon and left for lower Dharamasala by taxi.
We didn’t travel far, about 20 minutes away, to the Hotel Kashmir Mr. Sharma was very amiable, asked us for tea and joined us. We had a lovely time having tea with him on the front lawns of the hotel learning about its history as well as the town and where to go while we were there. He even invited us to his home for breakfast the next day. Hari said it was because I was a foreigner; if he had been by himself, the invitation would not have come. Our rooms at the hotel were on the second floor. To get to them you had to walk up the staircase on the outside of the building. Here again, steep and narrow and the hand rail was low so you had to stoop to use it if you wanted / needed to.
In this area the same terrain, shops, etc. Hari had us go to the bus stop so that we could get our tickets to Chandigarh. This bus area was nice and clean compared to ISBT in New Delhi. Its one ticket counter had a old gentleman that spoke English. We stopped at a shawl emporium and I purchased three shawls and a turquoise silver ring. We ate lunch at a restaurant and pub and I had for the first time a dish called tandoori bread Korma. I loved the taste of it. It was the best meal I had had so far in India.
For dinner that evening it had been arranged that we would have a traditional Himachal meal cooked by the hotel staff to be served at 8:00 pm Hari felt comfortable wearing his sweat shirt and sweat pants. He said in England he is persuaded to dress in these. Sweat clothes to a dinner served in a hotel seemed unusual for me but interesting to learn it was usual for others. The dinner we had was marvelous. There were three dishes and I think they were all cooked in curd. To top it all we were given a chutney that was made from a local flower in season at the time. It had a marvelous taste, I felt as if I were eating in the level of caviar. After dinner Hari and I sat talking in his room, having some drinks. I went to bed about 10:30 pm that night.
The next morning we were escorted to Mr. Sharma’s house for breakfast. Off the main road from the market we went, down an even narrower windy road to finally up two flights of stairs to his house. Momma Mia! How does anyone get furniture into their homes, having to go thru such a labyrinth! The first floor he rents out. The second floor he and his family reside in. The rooftop you can walk upon and one day he thinks he will build a third floor. From the rooftop as well as from the windows in his living room you can look out over all of the valley and up into the mountains going to China. Everywhere you look , mountains, inclines, closely packed homes, steps, little windy pathways, multistory homes. But beautiful. He has been living in the area 25 years and just two years ago he finished building his house. It is a very nice home with a very nice washroom (no bathtub, though) and four bedrooms. All along the second story is a balcony, only wide enough to be a walkway though. His wife made food to die for. So delicious and so delicate! Now that was the best meal I have ever had in India, even to this date as I write this! Puri , chick peas, mixed vegetables and some other kind of chutney. It appears to be the custom for the women who cook the meal to not sit while the others eat but to be in the kitchen ensuring the guests get the items they need while eating. If I were to go to Tushita for those courses, he said I could stay at his home when I wanted. “My home is your home” he told me. His wife would be amiable to allow me to cook with her so that I could learn how to cook her delectable Indian style of dishes!
After breakfast Hari and I walked down to a Sai Baba Temple. There was a section of the walk where the steps had broken leaving some big gaping holes to get across and it was a bit precarious walking. The people in these areas must have the best cardiovascular systems in the world with all this hill walking that they do. Whew! As we walked we came upon a man taking sugar canes and putting it thru a grind producing cane juice. Well, I had never had that before so I got myself a glass of that juice and drank it all gone. It was very pleasant to drink and all pure sugar, Hari said. No negative reactions on my part, only a big wide smile of contentment. We found a bus that would take us to the bus station as we decided to change our departure time for Chandigarh to an earlier one. Got another bus to take us out of town to a rock temple up in some other mountainous area. It was so beautiful there. The mountains were covered with what I learned on our way back tea plants maintained meticulously. At the temple there was a young boy who just hung around us, didn’t say anything, just hung nearby us, a bit unsettling to me. When we left the temple, we walked back the way we had come and the boy followed us acting as if he too had to go the same way. You could tell though that he was just intent on being around us. Hari started a conversation with him and the boy gave him some story and asked for money for the bus ride back to his family. Hari was quick in his reply and said we’re walking not asking for money so the boy can do the same. Again we did a lot of walking that day, lots of inclines that we both are not inclined (hee hee hee) to walk, hot so it was an exhausting but enjoyable day. We even got to use the internet. Good for me but not good for Hari as he got some news that caused him to need to go home earlier than we had planned.
Walking on the main road back to our hotel we went off to some of the side roads. On one we came to a shop called Bhuttico. This is a name mentioned in Lonely Planet. There is an area in Himachal Pradesh that is well known for the quality of the shawls made by the women there. It is in the Kullu Valley. They formed a cooperative in order to ensure that they get fair labor and value for their work. This store sells their work. I wish that I had seen it before I bought the shawls at the other government emporium store as I had wanted to have the opportunity to see the Bhuttico work and perhaps purchase that. At another side road we came to an area where they had established a park. On it had been built a miniature train track and a miniature train was on it. It was really impressive, almost on the side of the mountain. Another area where I marvel at the ability of such an attraction.
On Friday, up early to get taxi at 6:00 am to take us to bus station to get bus for Chandigarh at 7:00 am. Now, this bus, as far as its amenities, naw, I would say that this bus had none. If you had anything to carry that would not fit on rack above your head nor under your seat your choice would be for you, yourself, to haul it on top of the bus and find a way to tie it down. My carry on was wide and full but to have it put on top, tie it down and then have to figure out getting it down once we got to destination, too much to deal with. There are men there who hang around and earn what they can helping passengers take care of their possessions. I didn’t need one actually but Hari decided to have the one pestering us take my carry on and fit it amongst our seat somehow. I could have done it myself had I known the logistics. So this stupid carry on of mine ends up on the floor where we both keep our feet. I’m sitting next to the window so as far as my legs being able to lay without being cramped side to side, no way. And my student backpack, not knowing it could fit on rack above me is on my lap. A trip on a bus, sitting like this, with this on my lap, bumpy road, stopping who knows where to pick up whomever might be at some undesignated place known only to the driver as a pick up place. . . what a ride. This indeed was an everyday person’s every day bus. It was an eight-hour bus trip on top of that!
On the way we had a rest stop to get a bite to eat or whatever. Hari and I had some tea (but of course). As we were sitting I asked Hari if there was a place I could get some drinking water. He told me that the only water they have here is out of the tap, not for drinking. In the places I had been before, all of them, they had a water filtering machine you could get drinking water from. After drinking my tea, I got up to walk around, to see what was around before the bus took off again and to walk out my poor cramped legs. Inside I saw tables with pitchers on them. I held out my thermos and gestured “drinking water?” The staff responded affirmatively. When I met up with Hari to get on the bus I told him I had gotten water and he shook his head at my lack of knowledge and disdain for my not listening to his instructions about the water and told me the water may be drinkable for them but not for us. As we drove off, I gave the water in my thermos back to the Indian soil. To drive on without water . . . a lesson well learned . . . the water either must be bottled or I see it come out of a filtering machine.
In Chandigarh the bus dropped us off across the street from the bus stop; a very big busy bus stop. I found it very disturbing for the bus driver not to take us into the bus stop and allow us to get off the bus within the bus stop grounds. Since they didn’t pick up passengers there, they didn’t see a need to go into the stop for those getting off at that stop. Only after going into the stop and asking around, thinking that our hotel was there as well as the train ticket counter do we find that there are two bus stops in town; one for local destinations and the other for long trips. Hari didn’t look at our hotel reservations to know that we had gotten dropped off at the wrong station.
After a little rest, a soda, on the bus again to the right station. On the way to Chandigarh Hari had decided to cut the trip short so we needed to cancel the hotel for the night as well as train trip back to Delhi the next day. We did this at the correct bus station. Hari was kind enough to want to allow me to see some of Chandigarh before we went back to Delhi so he decided we’d take a bus late in the evening.
Chandigarh is a very unusual city in India as it is laid out like an American city. Rectangular blocks, very nice straight roads. It is a must see in India because of its uniqueness in its design. One of the sights I saw here was a man right out in public view off from a walkway, squatting and having a bowel movement and wiping himself. Up to this time I had seen quite a number of men off to the side of a walkway away from the road urinating, even saw a woman squatting with her backside bare alongside a highway but this was the first time I saw someone defecating.
While we were attending to business at the station this bicycle rickshaw driver hung around Hari and answered his questions and had a bit of a conversation with him. Before we went back to Delhi, Hari thought we could go to the lake and to the Rock Garden but what to do with our luggage? Okay, there was a storage facility we could leave it at but we had to buy a lock for each piece. Well , this rickshaw driver pleaded with Hari to let him take us to these places along with our luggage for the same price that we would have paid for locks. The driver has to make a living even though the idea of someone lugging me while peddling a bicycle and our luggage seemed extremely inhumane to me so off we go on my first ever bicycle rickshaw drive. The driver was a very slender man. Where we went was a bit of an incline. I wanted to give him twice the amount of money he asked for but Hari was adamant and said no I couldn’t do that. I wanted to give him all of the snacks I had left with me but Hari said I couldn’t do that. We conversed about it. Hari even got mad at me for not respecting his country, its ways, its system whatever, because I wanted to do more that he thought was appropriate. To show respect for Hari’s opinion and sense of what he felt was appropriate I did as he asked and gave only the amount of money and snacks Hari said I could. After giving the snacks to the driver, he put them on the seat I was sitting at and I said to him “no, these are for you” Hari said to me “why do you have to be so mean?” I have no idea what he meant by that but I was fed up with him for our disagreement about what I could give the driver so I said to Hari “Oh, shut up.” and walked away to the Rock Garden as he had already seen it and would sit in the rickshaw while I saw it.
We ended our day eating a very nice dinner at a nice restaurant by the man-made lake and drinking our beer. During the meal Hari had a moment of remembering a piece of his childhood that he shared with me. I think the time period was in the late forties. This was the time when Pakistan was still part of India. His family lived in what is now Pakistan. Because of the conflict his family was forced to flee their homeland. He said his parents, himself and two other siblings had to flee and were able to get refuge in Delhi (I’m so hoping I remember that correctly) from someone that they knew who let his family stay with them until they could get on their feet. His father left shortly after seeing to it that his wife and children were okay. His father was gone, no one knew if he was safe, alive or dead, for three months until he returned back to them. Hari said his mother only had a few dollars during that time and how she managed to take care of herself and three children as he didn’t think anyone else was providing for them was a miracle to him. As Hari spoke I could see the emotion and anguish that time and experience had affected him. I have never known anyone who had to leave their home because they were forced to. To be in the company of someone who has humbles me greatly. I believe Hari’s sharing of that with me is something I will always remember. It will remind me of how precious what I’ve been given and have not had taken from me is. It is not for me to grumble and complain about the home that I do have if I get in the mind to compare it to others. I have often known how blessed I am to be able to live in a house that has been in my family for sixty years; this experience makes me know I am indeed greatly blessed. Our rickshaw driver took us back to the bus stop and we did some people watching for a while until we got our bus back to Delhi.
Saturday, at 4:30 am we got dropped off at a non designated (another one of those but this one much to our advantage as it was very close to Hari’s apartment) bus stop and before us was a totally unexpected auto waiting for passengers. Hari said that an auto at that time in the morning was a miracle. After resting awhile and having a nice breakfast I said goodbye to Hari and went back to the ashram.
The last I heard from Hari was that day. He had told me he was making plans to travel to another country for some non violence workshops, that he would be scarce from March to June. I have emailed him and have not heard from him.
At the ashram I wondered if I would get a room as I had indicated that I would return on Sunday, the next day. The first response was there was no room available but after a while the info was changed to a room was available. Thank God! I had been on the go for over three days without a shower and sleep the night before was on a bus so I was very relieved indeed that I was to get a room so that I could relax, take a shower, do whatever I wanted without needing to adjust to being in a dormitory setting.
Perhaps I have left some things out regarding my trip to Himachal Pradesh but since this is eleven pages long as it is, I believe, and I’m sure you will agree, I have written enough.
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