by Reece Willis
The land opened, revealing tall grasses and a herd of deer grazing in the sunshine, which turned out to be the highlight of the tour and the extent of wildlife we encountered along the two-hour ride before we broke for lunch. The canteen was heaving with people ordering food. I didn’t recognise any of the dishes on offer, but overheard two gentlemen in the queue beside me order dhal and rice. I politely interrupted to enquire about their food and was asked if I would like to join them at their table. One of the men engaged in conversation with me while his friend simply stared and ignored me any time I tried to talk to him. They were from the city of Lucknow, south east of Delhi and were successful cotton fabric manufacturers. When asked which country I was from, the silent man pushed his chair back and left the table. The remaining man gestured to the waiter for some chai, ‘Please be excusing my friend, I am afraid he is not liking the British very much.’
‘Oh, why's that?’ I asked as I attempted to finish the spicy lentil dhal.
‘When British rule India, they did many good thing; they build schools, bridges, roads and a wonderful railway network. These things make life easier for British, but they did many bad things to Indians. Most British treated Indian people with no respect, like dirt. Indian people were not allowed to visit certain places in their own country. Signs would be hung saying things such as, No Spitting, No Dogs and No Indians. They degraded and physically assaulted many Indian people. I am afraid my friend still holds grudge against the British. You see, his family were treated extremely badly by Britishers.’
Feeling very conspicuous as the only white face in the crowd, I apologised on behalf of my country. When the tea was served, I took the opportunity to change the subject and pointed to a painted sign upon the wall, ‘The Swastika behind you, I saw one in a guest house in Delhi, is it something to do with the Nazis?’
He chuckled, ‘No my friend, this dates to Indus civilisation. It is used in Indian religions such as Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism. Translated it means higher self; being good to yourself and those you encounter. The Nazi Swastika is reversed and means much different thing: fascism, hatred and white supremacy. In fact, exactly what the British fought against in World War Two. How ironic the British Empire was guilty of the same, invading almost a quarter of the Earth's total land mass and ruling over one-fifth of the world's population. Thank god for the great Mahatma Gandhi who stood up to British oppression and defined India as the great independent nation we know today.’
I sensed he was of the same opinion as his colleague, only more open and friendly about it. I steered the topic of conversation to the National Park and we both agreed the landscape was most enjoyable, however the lack of wildlife was disappointing. I said goodbye, bought a packet of biscuits and a bottle of water and went outside to take refuge from the baking sun under a mango tree. An elephant was tethered to the ground nearby, there for the benefit of tourists who lined up to have their picture taken one after the other.
We were taken back the way we came, seeing even less than before. Despite not sighting a tiger, I had enjoyed the day. Clouds rolled in, playing hide and seek with the sun as fine rain began to fall in Mallital. A rainbow emerged over a Ferris wheel emitting shrieks of joy from its passengers. I soaked up the cool spray, watching the raindrops pockmark the lake, before returning to the hotel.
Loud Indian music filled the room as I entered and I made another futile attempt at closing the window. I decided to leave early and returned my key at reception before descending the wide concrete steps in the dark. The only illumination came from the moon and I could see its reflection shimmering on the lake. This morning's dream flooded back and I kept a wide berth of the water as I headed towards Mallital. There I settled against a wall to stare out at the lake.
When 8.30pm arrived, I boarded the bus and took a window seat next to a Nepalese man. He introduced himself as Prakash and was travelling to Delhi to see his family after holidaying in Naini Tal. Light conversation was exchanged while waiting for the bus to depart, which was forty-five minutes behind schedule. At an appropriate opportunity, I placed my earphones in and drifted away to Mike Oldfield's Incantations. My mind wandered, as it often did. Aiden had at least been a good distraction, but now I was consumed by my own thoughts. In between interruptions of the occasional klaxon I drifted back, sometimes rocked gently to sleep by the bus as it made its way along the uneven road.
Four hours had passed when the coach stopped at a roadside café and everyone departed. Everyone except Prakash and me. Arms and legs splayed, Prakash was fast asleep in his chair blocking my exit from the vehicle. Any attempts at waking him were unsuccessful. He had positioned himself in such a way that it was an impossible hurdle to overcome. A boy I recognised as a passenger from the bus stood outside smiling at me. I asked if he would get me a Coke if I gave him the change from twenty rupees. He came back with an ice-cold bottle, which he also returned for me once empty before the driver started the engine again.
Prakash was letting out some ghastly gassy smells. I tried to avoid the pungent aroma by only breathing through my mouth, but there were times it became unbearable. How could one man produce so much of a stench? He was no fun to sleep beside either. When I dosed off, I’d be awoken with shouting, kicking and elbowing. The several times I gently moved him away only made him worse as his sleep assaults took on heightened levels of violence. I was exhausted. My limbs were stiff after being sandwiched between him and the window and the smells only added to my sickness. The morning light and returning heat gave some comfort that the journey would soon end. Small villages and white washed temples interspersed with endless fields stretched far off into the horizon.
Prakash awoke and declared what a good sleep he’d had just as the driver called, ‘Dilli, Dilli, Dilli.’
10
After Naini Tal, returning to Delhi was a huge smack in the face. I had no idea whereabouts I’d been dropped off and I'd forgotten how daunting the city was. It was 6am. Litter danced the dirty street over and around the dishevelled homeless that slept on a mattress of concrete. A scrawny dog pattered past a beggar with appalling disfigurements who stumbled in search of his next source of income. Everything that society had disregarded was revealed, brutal, harsh and on full view. It humbled me, making my problems seem insignificant and left me to wonder if I should be here at all. It was a grim reminder of how far I was from home.
My thoughts were broken by the long buzzing of an approaching auto-rickshaw. The driver, in his early thirties with swept back shiny black hair and a well-trimmed moustache, leant over and beckoned me to the back seat, ‘Hello my friend. Please come and take a ride in the best auto in all Delhi.’
‘The best auto in all Delhi?’ I replied, his energy elevating my sombre mood.
‘The best in all India, my friend. I am the great Rahul, rider of rickshaw, guardian of the morning traveller.’ He pointed to the sky as he waggled his head.
I let out a chuckle, not something I had done of late. I enquired to the cost to Paharganj and was given a price of one hundred rupees. I took a gamble and brought him down by half.
‘Haha, you are not new to India I see. Fifty rupees, a very fair offer sir, I accept. Please take seat, I promise very safe drive.’ Rahul did drive safely, keeping his eye closely on the road. After ten minutes, he pulled over to a chai stall, ‘Morning chai; my treat?’
After such a tiring night, the chai was very welcome as was the uplifting conversation with Rahul. He considered himself blessed to have a good job, a loving wife and two beautiful children. ‘What more could a man ask for?’ he said as the skin from the chai hung loosely from his top lip.
I’d not missed the heat. My shirt clung to my back with sweat as Rahul brought the auto to a stop. At first, I was sure he had taken me to the wrong place as everywhere looked so unfamiliar. It was only seeing New Delhi Railway Station that confirmed that we were indeed in Paharganj.
Unfurnished by the crowds, buildings were more exposed, making the Main Bazaar
appear completely different to how I remembered. I left Rahul and worked my way down a street that I was convinced was the route to the hotel, only it turned out to be a dead end. Twenty-five minutes went by of more dead ends before I found the correct street. Midway I caught sight of the blue banner hanging between buildings advertising the hotel next to mine. I turned right and right again. A man I didn’t recognise stood behind the counter as I crossed the threshold. The balding moustached gentleman approaching fifty gave me a cold stare, grunted something and handed me a key as I paid for a night’s stay. At the top of the first set of steps I stopped and looked to the door on the right. Vivid memories flashed past of the last few days, so much had changed since I last stayed here.
‘Berageehayadowana,’ I heard chuckling from behind.
‘Hey Nitin, how are you?’ My words were met with a puzzled expression. I tried again, ‘Caraywahderyoodoo.’ He laughed, tugging at my shirt sleeve as he pointed to the ceiling. ‘The roof? Okay,’ I replied.
Sitting on the rooftop with his head down and a towel around his neck was Harish, ‘Mr Sam,’ he said, looking up, pleased to see me. ‘So soon come back. I thought maybe we not see you again. Take chair, sit with me. How are you being, my friend?’
‘I’m fine thanks, and you?’ Nitin sat between us and accepted a couple of cigarettes.
‘I am being okay also,’ Harish replied. ‘I am still looking forward to rain of monsoon. You are on your own, what of your friends?’
‘The others have gone their separate ways, just me now.’
‘Ah, I see. Please, I am going to have good shave. You will like, come.’ A little strange I thought, why would he want me to watch him shave? Harish instructed Nitin, Anil and Rajeev to hold the fort while we were gone and told Nitin to take my luggage to my room. ‘When we return, if like, Anil take any clothes to dhobi wallah,’ he suggested as we went down the stairs.
‘Dhobi wallah?’
‘Wash clothes, laundry man, five rupees a piece.’ I was a little cautious about someone taking away my belongings, but my clothes did need a good wash.
Ambling along the Main Bazaar, Harish enquired about my time away and I asked about the new hotel receptionist. ‘Ashoka, ah yes, I have given him job. He can be difficult at times, very stubborn man, but he friend of father.’
‘So you run the hotel?’
‘Yes, it is my hotel. I am being passed down from father who still has small hand in affairs.’
He opened a glass door and ushered me into a barber shop. There, four chairs faced four mirrors, one of which was occupied by a gentleman who was having his moustache trimmed.
‘Mr Sam, please be seated, I am buying you nice shave, good relax.’ I was pleasantly surprised by Harish’s offer. It had been a while since I'd last shaved.
This was a whole new experience and one that was a trifle concerning. With my bristles brushed with shaving cream, a menacing cut-throat razor was unsheathed. A new blade was set and the barber glided the razor along a leather strop, preparing it for my worried face. He pulled my skin taunt, my eyes widened and he shaved a clean stripe, washing the stubbly foam beneath a running tap. The process was repeated and completed without a single drop of blood spilt. My face and neck were cleaned of excess foam and then slapped with moisturiser and massaged thoroughly. My skin felt invigorated. But wait, there was more? The barber’s fingers gently ran through my hair, ‘Head massage?’ he asked.
‘Why not?’ I replied and relaxed into the chair.
His fingers became heavy, pushing hard along my head, feeling as if I was being scalped rather than massaged. Then the kneading began, digging knuckles into my skull, excruciating jabs of pain driving through my head. I opened one eye to see Harish in the mirror lying back blissfully in his chair, receiving the same torture, but seeming to enjoy it. When the barber was one hundred percent sure my head was bruised enough, I clambered from the chair and thanked him. Harish paid the bill and opened the door for me, ‘You see Mr Sam, very good relax. I am always enjoying good shave and massage.’
Laughing as we entered the hotel, Ashoka threw us a stern look and mumbled something in Hindi under his breath which straightened Harish’s face in an instant. He turned to me and smiled, ‘Mr Sam, please be excusing me, I am having to talk with Ashoka.’ I made my way up the stairs as a heated exchange of words echoed behind me.
I was startled by a knock at the door, ‘Hello, I am now taking clothes to dhobi.’ Anil stood with outstretched arms in wait for my laundry. I gathered my items, passed them to him and he left. After a quick shower, I decided it was time to get some rest and I eased into a relaxing slumber.
A loud series of knocks yanked me from a deep sleep, ‘Mr Sam, I am bringing you your things,’ a muffled voice said. I opened the door to find Harish standing with a neat stack of my clothes. I was impressed at how clean, dry and pressed everything was, and how little time it had taken. ‘Mr Sam, I am wishing for you to meet very good guest. Mr Sean is long time visitor to hotel, very good man. He too, is also coming from UK.’
Harish’s smile was infectious and I couldn’t help but raise a wide grin in return, ‘Okay, give me two minutes and I’ll be right with you.’
I met him outside of the room and we went downstairs to another room right of the reception area. Harish knocked the door and a westerner in his mid-thirties with cropped brown hair answered.
‘Mr Sean, please, this is Mr Sam I tell you about,’ Harish said, rather proud of himself.
‘Hi Sam, come in and have a seat,’ the man laughed. ‘Thanks Harish, look after yourself, mate.’
Harish closed the door and Sean sat opposite me on the edge of the bed. ‘Sorry about that. Harish does that from time to time. Whenever another person from England stays here, he automatically assumes we must be related and leaves the poor buggers at my door. Anyway, I’m Sean. How’re you doing?’ I reached out to shake his hand. ‘So, what brings you to India?’
I filled him in on recent events including Aiden’s obstreperous behaviour. I also shared my plans of buying a ticket tomorrow for either Manali or Agra.
‘That mate of yours sounds like a right one. You’re better off without him if you ask me.’ He quarter filled a glass from a bottle of whiskey and motioned towards an empty glass on the table beside me, ‘Have one yourself, mate. I always bring a bottle of Bells with me, not keen on the Indian stuff, bit set in my ways like that.’
I paused for a moment, looking at the bottle, the bottle staring back at me and politely declined, ‘No, you’re alright, thanks anyway.’
‘That’s odd not seeing any wildlife in Corbett, what entrance did you take?’
‘Ramnagar,’ I replied.
‘Well, there’s your problem. I thought it was strange you saw next to nothing. You won’t see much via Ramnagar, full of tourist buses. No, you need to enter the Dhikala end. You can stay in the dormitories for three nights for about fifteen rupees a night. I’m sure there’s a small entrance fee too, but nothing too expensive. It’s lovely out there. You’ll get the chance to go on safari and see all sorts. I promise you won’t be disappointed. I’ve not travelled the road, but I’m pretty sure you can easily get to Manali from Corbett. If not, go to Rishikesh and then grab a bus to Manali from there. Easy.’
He scribbled away some town names in the back of my journal. It was something to bear in mind if I couldn’t get tickets to my other chosen destinations. He suggested we go out and eat, ‘I know a lovely little pizza place in the Main Bazaar if you’re up for it.’ I could handle pizza, I thought.
We passed Ashoka who gave us a frown and turned his back to us. ‘Right miserable git, that one,’ Sean said as we entered the Main Bazaar. ‘Harish employed him as the hotel manager. From what I can make out, Ashoka wants to discourage foreigners from staying. Harish wants the opposite and I think they’re struggling to reach an agreement. Hey, I have to pick something up from this place. Could you give me a hand?’
Sean walked into an open fronted shop,
shelves stacked with colourful folded material. He spoke to the owner and came out struggling with two holdalls full of patterned bed sheets. He handed one to me, ‘Thanks mate, dinner's on me. I ordered these sheets earlier; they’ll make a tidy profit back home.’
We clutched the bags with both hands and heaved them up some steps to an open-air restaurant. The muggy evening heat was occasionally lifted by a slight breeze as we ate good cheese and tomato pizzas whilst enjoying the night lights over Paharganj. Sean informed me I would need to report the theft of the travellers’ cheques to the police first, get a docket issued and take it to the American Express office in Connaught Place. He returned to the topic of Corbett and the more he talked, the more attractive it began to sound. I was sold on the idea by the time we left the restaurant and bought a ticket back to Naini Tal for tomorrow.
As we neared the hotel, a barefoot elderly Indian man dressed in an orange robe approached us. His forehead was painted with white stripes and his hair was long and matted. In his hand was a tin cup. Sean dropped in a few coins. The man put his hands together in a prayer motion and walked on. I’d seen men dressed like this before around Delhi and at times found them quite fascinating, though a little intimidating. The strange hair, painted faces and gold trident they carried always grabbed my attention. I found out more from Sean, ‘Sadhus are wandering Hindu monks who follow a strict spiritual path to enlightenment. They usually reside in caves, forests and temples and rely on alms to live. Sadhu basically means good one or holy man and most Hindus believe that sadhus positively affect their karma.’ Sean picked up his bag and we walked the alleyway to the hotel.