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People spill out of every lane and byway, from concrete rubble, ditches and alleys lining the roadside. When I arrived in Delhi, it was very cold and everyone was wrapped in blankets making the scene even more surreal. There were people camped in hovels and makeshift tents of cardboard boxes, all carrying on with the business of living, cooking, washing, sewing, shaving and tending children and goats. The cracked and potholed main road into the city was filled with auto rickshaws, rickety bikes, cows, loaded trucks, buses and cars, all converging haphazardly in their struggle to reach the centre. Pedestrians, hawkers and touts meld into the traffic, banging on car windows, selling everything from papers and cigarettes to every kind of food. The honking horns, commotion and the tons of garbage flung about shocked me. India is certainly not for the faint of heart. By the time I arrived at the hotel, I was overwhelmed and just a tad worried about how I would manage the next couple of days I had on my own before I joined my pre-booked tour. My hotel was situated in what appeared, to my western eyes, a very dodgy street. The taxi driver had to weave his way through the throngs of people, rickshaws and handcarts, trying to avoid any collisions. Stepping onto the street, I climbed over the broken concrete, around a pot hole and then a doorman appeared dressed in elaborate uniform to retrieve my bags. I learned in India that there is always a pair of hands to help and my bag soon arrived in my room. I was finally home but disappointed to find my room had no window and a great gaping hole in the bathroom wall. I had to keep my imagination in check and refused to think of rats – to bed and to sleep. These were my first impressions of India and, although fairly harsh and shocking, I was always treated with unfailing kindness and respect. The people of India were inspiring, they shone with contentment and happiness and were always helpful and cheerful.
Despite the hazards of the traffic, I eventually became courageous and even whizzed around in Tuk Tuks. The auto rickshaws drove me to restaurants and shops and the drivers always knew where all the bank machines were. They waited for me as I shopped and got me back to the hotel safe and sound. I wasn’t concerned about bargaining for the fare, it cost so little. I have always been fascinated with India and expected it to be challenging. In recent times, news reports have described the wealth in the country, the amount of millionaires, and the success of its high tech industry, however, none of this seemed to filter down to the street level. In the North of India, the people are nourished and fed but the living conditions are undeniably third world. There were many places where I felt I was walking in biblical times – villages with mud streets where pigs were the garbage collectors and street cleaners. Camels abound everywhere and the Guinness Book of Records for loaded camel carts is surely broken every day. Healthwise and food wise, one has to be careful in India and I came prepared with a bag filled with lotions and potions to cure all the usual tourist ailments. I also had all the necessary injections from the travel clinic to ward off fatal diseases. In five weeks, the most I suffered from was an unsettled stomach and, much to my disappointment, I didn’t lose any weight. The food in India can be delicious and very nutritious. I stuck to a vegetarian diet. I joined a 21-day tour called the “Highlights of Northern India” and travelled about in an air conditioned bus with darkened windows. Every time I stepped off the bus, it felt like a huge adventure. The doors of the bus opened and India spilled out before us on the street. We were always surrounded by vendors insisting that we buy from them. After awhile, I became used to the barrage of sellers, but I never became used to the pollution and foul smells. Plastic is the curse of India and I’m sure that the garbage problem is far worse now than even 20 years ago. I read in the Delhi newspaper, where a vet did a post mortem on a cow, to find its stomach filled with nearly 200 plastic bottles. As they say, hunger is good sauce. I enjoyed the wonders and sights of Northern India from Jaipur to Agra, the glorious Taj Mahal and the painted frescos of Shekhavati, once an important area on the spice route. I saw a tiger and two cubs in Rathambore Park. We stayed in a Maharaja’s Palace in Karauli, inspected his polo ponies and I even had a chat with him about the birds in the area. It was one of my greatest pleasures to watch the birds of India, parrots and peacocks were everywhere. When we stayed in Mandawa, the staff told me a British ornithologist had recorded 280 species of birds the previous year and he only stayed in the area for two weeks. We spent an afternoon in Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary, a Unesco World Heritage site, and home to over 380 species of birds. We traveled by train to visit two of the holiest places in India: Sarnath and Varanasi. Sarnath is as important to the Buddists as Varanasi is to the Hindu faith. Both are situated only a few miles apart. Sarnath is where Budda preached his first sermon after enlightenment in 528 BC. It is a peaceful spiritual place and I was deeply moved by the Tibetian pilgrims. Many were old and bent, some might have walked for days or weeks, but their gentle kindly faces exuded peace and happiness. Varanasi on the other hand is a frenetic crowded chaotic place, India in a capsule. Our guide arranged a dawn boat cruise on the sacred Ganges to watch the sun rise over Varanasi and to see the burning ghats from the water. We walked down through the labyrinthine lanes along with the rest of the pilgrims on their way to wash and take a ritual dip in the holy river. We were blessed by a Brahmin priest and bought our ritual offerings from the local children. Varanasi was bathed in the early morning light with a mist over the water as we sailed along by the burning ghats. I watched my offering float down the river and I experienced one of those moments of joy and happiness and felt privileged to witness such a scene in this holy place. It was a common sight to see wrapped bodies being carried down to the burning ghats by the river. The temples and old lanes were filled with people and the sights, sounds and smells of India were at their most intense here. Donkeys, camels, cows and dogs all wandered around. It was such an extreme experience that most of us retreated to our hotel to rest and regroup before tackling yet more sights. I was lured into a tailor’s den one day and agreed to have a silk jacket made. As part of the deal, the tailor offered to show me the non-touristy part of Varanasi. It was an offer I couldn’t refuse. However, he neglected to tell me I would have to ride on the back of his dilapidated scooter without a helmet. I survived the experience, but not before he managed to finagle another 300 rupees for all the scooter fuel. Back in Delhi, our group disbanded and headed back home but my adventures were about to begin. I had booked a train journey from Delhi to Cochin, a distance of 3,000 kilometres which would take three days and two nights on the Kerala express – on my own. * Marie Bruce is originally from Kilcock, County Kildare in Ireland. She has lived in Vancouver for the past 35 years and she and her husband George have three grown children.
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