Weekend in India (part 1)

Six AM came quickly the Saturday, with some beers from a happy hour the night before still lingering with me. I was excited to get a chance to explore beyond the realm of the Royal Orchid hotel and IBM Bangalore. Our driver Rhagu arrived promptly on time, though we were lagging a little bit behind. He had insisted on leaving early because of the many hours of traveling ahead. Remember how I had scoffed at the idea of sitting in the car for 5 hours? Well, I had a change of heart after all.

We pulled into a gas station soon after leaving the hotel. An attendant was there to fill us up and afterwards one was there to fill our tires. One thing I’ve noticed in India is there are always seems to be several people waiting to serve you in some small way. I suppose with a nation of this size and the impoverished population being so high, people will find any slots they can to earn a rupee.

Finally we were rolling and I felt like I was getting my first taste of what Bangalore was really like. The road quality and the amount of traffic was rising, along with the count of characters out on the road and along the streets. We saw many rickshaw drivers, which are these three-wheel, buggy-like things that server as second-rate taxis. They almost seem to be on the bottom of the food chain as Rhagu almost hit a few of them as he was passing by. Their lack of size and speed seems to translate into a lack of respect by the surrounding traffic.

Speaking of the traffic, the driving is absolutely insane. I noticed that lanes started to become marked as we drove through some of the more “modern” areas of the city. I don’t think anyone takes these markings seriously though. Often times you see more vehicles than lanes driving parallel to each other. They leave very little space between each other and if there is any, some motorcycle or scooter will try to claim it.

It gets even scarier though as you head out of the city and hit two-lane traffic. People seem to think that passing lanes can be used as driving lanes. There were several instances where I was ready to push the panic button as I saw two vehicles coming at us from both lanes, not more than 50 yards away. Some times it would be two buses, even. Rhagu showed now sign of urgency though. If things got too close for comfort, he’d drive onto shoulder. I guess that’s what it’s there for. He forced a couple people over there himself with his pass-happy style of driving, keeping two wheels of our car in the right passing lane most of the time.

Rhagu asked us if we had breakfast and whether we’d be interested in stopping before leaving the outskirts of Bangalore. “No” and “Yes” were our answers. He pulled into a lot before a place called “New Agarwal Bhavan” and warned us that we would need to stand and eat. No problem.

The place seemed to be more of a bakery than a restaurant, with several Indian sweets resting behind a glass counter. I had eaten some of the edible tin foiled ones before, though I have no idea what they were called. The restaurant was shaped like a backwards capital “L” with the glass counter of to the left and in the fore front and pick up counter down the other leg. A cash register stood at the intersection.

There was no menu to speak of, so we had no idea what to do, even as Rhagu said, “Go ahead and place your order…”. “We don’t know what we can order. We need some help.”, Mike said. “Get some cho cho ba”, I think I heard him say, but I have no idea. “I think you’re going to have do this for us, Rhagu”, Mike said. So he did. Three cho cho bas for here. I tacked on a tea to his order. I wanted to get my first taste of chai.

Soon enough, our orders were at the pick up counter, so we carried the plates to some small round tables. One these plates were two mounds of what I would describe as being like corn meal. One was sweet and the other salty and ever so slightly spicy. Rhagu advised us to mix the two mounds together, which we did and began consuming. We were eating a tasty breakfast, like Indians would. My chai came soon afterwards, in what I would call a metal shot glass on top of a metal dish. It reminded me of an espresso shot. I sipped from the container and found it quite satisfying to the taste, being quite a lot of milk and sugar drowning out some tea in there.

The locals didn’t seem to pay us much mind, perhaps a few looks here and there. As we walked out and entered our car, a woman that was as thin like a skeleton approached our back window with her hand outstretched. “Please”, she said, “Please”. Rhagu paid her little notice and started the engine. As we rode off her hand was still held out to us.

As broke the city perimeter and rode into the country, I noticed several people walking along the passing shoulder that we were using for an emergency lane. They must’ve been walking to or from the towns they resided from. Several people carried items on their heads, like a basket of laundry, a large pot full of pots and pans, or a bundle of firewood. Most of these people were women and I was impressed with the amount and size of items that they carried. Even more impressive, some of them didn’t have to use their hands, walking with perfect posture to carry their load.

Seeing the families walking reminded me of an Italian paseggia, a time when people all take a stroll through town, usually in the evening after dinner. It seemed to be a common act that they were sharing with each other, many of the woman dressed in beautiful saris. It was an explosion of color.

Again I was awestruck by the lack of infrastructure found in the towns that we passed through, along with the overwhelming poverty. I guess they probably go hand in hand. The communities seemed to be obliterated by some natural disaster or war, but I know it’s just the slow speed at which they’ve gotten to this point. There were a lot of cement businesses lined up in practically every town, which would seem to be a lucrative business to go into because of the enormous need for that material. It seemed a luxury for anybody to just have a sidewalk in front of their house or business, even if it was broken up and uneven.

We arrived in the town of Sravana Beloga, home of the world’s tallest monolith that we had seen several billboards for. We arrived at gate that led to the heart of town, which a guard opened for us. One curious thing that I’m noticing in Bangalore and some of the towns we’ve visited is they have these guarded gates. We, including Rhagu, have yet to interact with the guards though. They just open it for us. Is it because we look like tourists?

Even before getting out of our car, several people were waiting at all doors, holding post cards, ready to sell. I was warned that we would probably get “attacked” by these folks, looking to pull a few rupees from the tourist-types like us. “10 rupees for these post cards, mister? Mister, please look at these post cards. Ok, how about later? My name is…” This is similar to what we heard from a few of these people. Mike remarked that these sellers were not nearly as bad as he had seen. They seemed to take “no” for an answer, at least for the moment, while others he had seen, followed them for several hundred yards before surrendering.

500 feet of stairs awaited us as we deposited our shoes and socks at a nearby counter. No shoes are allowed up the stairs and into the temples that we would climb to. As we began our ascent, we observed there were a couple people taking advantage of a transportation service that was offered. They have these single chairs supported by two long wooden poles that four men take the ends of and haul to the top with willing riders. I scoffed at the idea of doing this, always looking forward to most climbs, but I could see the value in the ride, seeing several elderly people getting a lift.

It wasn’t too long before the views became breath-taking, even a third of the way up. I am a huge fan of vistas and the preview I was seeing all around me was spectacular. Though it’s their dry season here, it was fairly green and somewhat mountainous terrain around me, not what I would expect in India. The only down side is that it’s fairly hazy, which I think is a result of the smog which I don’t think we left behind in Bangalore. The views are still pretty awesome, but are taken in with a slightly cloudy lens.

There was a bit of a rest stop before the summit, with stairs leading to a temple off to the side. I paid a visit before continuing my journey to the monolith, climbing the steps and stepping inside. It was dark and mysterious. My eyes took a few moments to adjust to the light. On three sides of the room there were blocked off entrances to small rooms that contained metal status of what I gathered to be Hindu gods. People were bent forward and chanting with smothered faces in the floor. It felt very peaceful inside.

Each god had a charity box before it and some water in a metal dish that I perceived to be holy water. People were dipping their hands in it and touching their forehead. I did not do the same, but did take a 10-rupee bill and place it in one of the charity boxes, a very meager donation to keep an echanted place like this alive.

I left the temple and noticed my companions continuing along to the monolith. I joined them, winding up a small set of stairs to the top. It led to a building that was surrounded by scaffolds, seemingly keeping the infrastructure in place. There were many people trying to squeeze through a passage way with a metal rail in the middle. I hurdled another metal rail and patiently followed.

What emerged was the monolith, a gigantic statue of the Jain icon, Lord Bahubali, also known as Gomatesharawa. The tradition is that people climb stairs up to the top of scaffolding that rises above this goliath and pour four different liquids on top of his head in sequence. The first is holy water. The second is coconut milk. The third is a yellow liquid called “haldi” (Tumeric) and the fourth is a red liquid called “kum kum”

I learned this from a couple gentlemen who waved me over to sit with them and their young daughters in the shade on some straw mats. “Come, sit with us”, they said. I took them up on their offer and was happy I did, as it was cool and comfortable and I felt at peace. These men were excited to be engaging with a foreigner and encouraged their daughters to shake my hand. They were beautiful young girls, probably seven or eight years old, a bit tentative at first to be interacting with this strange American.

I asked them their names, which I’ve already forgotten, probably due to the fact that I had trouble pronouncing them. They did not seem to posess the ability to speak English as their fathers did, which surprised me. I was just thinking about how easy it is for children to pick up languages. I asked one of the more fluent of the fathers if the girls went to school. It took him a few seconds to comprehend and when he did, he shook his head almost with an expression of what I took as shame. I wondered what kept these girls from being educated. Was it their sex or caste or both? They were wearing pink toy cell phones around their next, which made me think they were well off enough. But perhaps this was the extent of their wealth.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed their company and I believe they felt the same. I joined them in applause as we saw the four liquids being dropped over the monolith. There was music being sprinkled into the air as well, creating a pleasant atmosphere. I felt like I was in the holy place that it was.

I partially enjoyed the view again as we began our descent, taking heed of the steep steps in front of me. A foursome carrying a rider brushed passed me after signaling me with a “hello”. Boy those guys can move. There were several people on their way up, wiping their brows and breathing hard. It was a pretty good climb on a warm day.

When we reached the bottom, we were bombarded with post card sellers, trying for our business again. We held them off for a moment as we went to retrieve our shoes. When we had those on, the beggars came out. An amputee was dragging himself along the pathway to the shoe repository. He outstretched his leather clad hand to me, which was more like a claw. I gave him a 100 and suddenly a few women came out of the wood work. I gave one a 100 and a couple 10’s to some other others, but it wasn’t enough for them. A small girl patted her stomach and said “la la la” to get my attention. A mother was with a baby, whom she outstretched its tiny hand to me. “For the baby”, she said. I had given her 100 and said, “but I gave you some rupees”. She continued. I’m always at odds at how to deal with beggars, especially these people whose situations are much more dire than what I’ve seen. I was giving, but it was so little.

We left the village of Sravana Beloga with vendors and beggars still practically attached to our car. Rhagu was slightly annoyed at how long we had spent watching the statue. He expected us a half hour ago, though we didn’t agree on a time. Chill out, homes.

And with that I end this blog entry until next time when I write on our travels, that same weekend believe it or not, to Halebid and Belur as well as our adventures on the Eagleton Golf Course.

Until then, ciao my friends…