Worlds Apart - Part 4

9th February 2004: Pushkar.

Despite getting very little sleep, I felt quite good this morning. There’s been a buzz of expectation and I guess now the group has met, there is a certain element of the safety-in-numbers theory. Our alarm call was at 3.45am. Bleary-eyed, we bundled our worldly possessions into a bus bound for Delhi train station. When we arrived, I stood in my flip-flops - up to my ankles in a mixture of mud and cow shit - open-mouthed at the sight before me. I have never witnessed mayhem on such a scale in my life. The bustling scene was made even more bizarre considering the sun had barely started to rise. In the half-light, we jostled our way passed sacred cows and armies of people carrying bundles of rags and an assortment of crates on their heads. Unbelievably, the platform was even more congested. The noise and dust was like nothing I have ever witnessed before. Passengers elbowed one another for position by the windows so they could ram their luggage between the bars. Oh my God, there are bars on the windows, no glass but bloody great iron bars. Considering the number of people attempting to alight the train it was surely an accident waiting to happen. Having picked our way through wicker baskets stuffed with chickens and numerous beggars dangerously sprawled across the thoroughfare, we eventually reached our compartment. In the light of our 10’ by 8’ cabin, we stared at each other’s feet in astonishment, unable to believe they’d become so grubby in such a short space of time. I felt the eight fold down bunk beds in such a cramped space really added to the whole travelling experience. Unsurprisingly the decrepit ceiling fans didn’t work so I was glad we weren’t travelling in the heat of the middle of the day.

Our guide informed us that by Indian standards, the train was pretty much on time, our four-hour journey to Jaipur only taking us six and a half hours. I however was less than impressed, repeatedly cursing the Indian train authorities for the delay. With our hasty departure in the early hours of the morning I had been unable to find the time to go to the toilet. It’s surprising how little time it takes for Indian food to go through the system. Bowel movement control is severely diminished in a matter of days. Having witnessed a couple of Indian toilets thus far, one on a rickety train was never going to be for the faint-hearted. As the last drops of energy dissipated from my bum cheek muscles, I reluctantly decided I was going to have to pay a visit or risk shitting the bunk. I tried to disguise my retching (and this was only at the thought) from the rest of the group as I made my way up the corridor. I opened the door and was immediately hit by the smell. I stared, horrified at the squat pit before my eyes. Two moulded pads lay either side. This is where you’re supposed to put your feet. A tap and a small bucket stood in the corner. I decided to smile in the face of adversity. I knew the routine already. The thought made me feel like a real traveller. Complete newcomers would not only have been overwhelmed with the sight of the toilet, they wouldn’t have the foggiest idea what the tap and bucket are for. My superior knowledge spurred me on for a brief moment until I noticed the amount of excrement on the floor and walls. I started to gag once more - briefly wishing I wasn’t wearing flip-flops - before I could hold out no longer. The cubicle rocked from side to side as the train chugged along the uneven tracks. What must I have looked like, squatting down, trying not to shit on my shorts and feet with my index fingers pointing out either side of me in an attempt to avoid banging against the crap encrusted walls. I smiled as we reached the next point where the novice might flounder. No toilet paper. This is where you fill the small bucket with water from the tap and do what can only be described as squeak yourself clean. Using your left hand, the idea is to clean your cleft with the water. With nothing to dry your hands on when you’ve finished, it’s usual for some kind of brown finger painting competition to be taking place on the walls. This just happened to be more disgusting than normal. As I pushed the plunger on the tap I realised why. No water! As my thigh muscles began to cave in from all the squatting my mind briefly flitted back to my shopping trip with Mum. I remembered her insisting it would be a good idea to take some anti-bacterial hand wash. I pulled up my shorts, gave my flip-flops the once over and made my way back to search my bag, careful to undo the zips with my right hand.

Once in Jaipur, we boarded another bus for the four-hour journey to Pushkar. Our accommodation is unexpectedly good, a very nice hotel in the middle of nowhere. We stocked up with water before trekking to a small temple on the top of a very large and steep-sided hill. I soon appreciated how unfit I really am. For all the wrong reasons, Sian, the petite blonde Australian in our group, kept me going.

‘Is this your first time to India?’ I asked her, in an attempt to strike up conversation.

‘Yes, I felt like I was going to cry when I arrived at the airport.’

‘Oh don’t worry about that,’ I joked, ‘I thought I was going to burst into tears as well.’

‘You felt it,’ she exclaimed, ‘you’ve been here before too?’ Her face lit up with such radiance and feeling.

‘Errm. No,’ I scowled at her with a puzzled look. ‘It’s my first time. I thought you said you hadn’t been here before.’

‘Only spiritually, can’t you feel the energy?’ she took in a large lungful of air. ‘I could feel the metaphysical life forms envelop me as soon as I arrived.’

Spiritual life forms? God help me.

‘Errm, right,’ I nodded my head, grimacing.

Her constant gabbling about karma forced me to keep moving as I attempted to lose her. She finally left me alone when I lit up, rewarding myself for reaching the summit. The views were fantastic. Wild monkeys scuttled around us, chattering to each other and baring their teeth. I sat quietly next to the temple and watched the sun slowly set over the holy lake, the surrounding sprawl of Pushkar and the mountainous horizon. Opening my eyes after each blink revealed a slightly different vista with the ever changing light. My lungs, craving oxygen after the steep climb, burned in defiance as they filled with smoke. I carefully deliberated over each inhalation and as my head went light and fuzzy, I pondered whether or not it was the most enjoyable cigarette of my life.

In reality, Sian and I are probably not too dissimilar. She’s arrived here on some kind of spiritual quest whilst I’m looking to gain confidence and feel better about myself. That said, she loves India and all its quirks while as far as I can see it is basically one big ghetto gone wrong. The constant badgering from the locals is doing nothing to improve my composure. My blazing lungs echoed the baptism of fire I seem to find myself in. I guess it’s going to take quite a bit of getting used to.