Peggy and I on a "sleeper bus" overnight from Delhi to Pushkar
Our hotel, "Hotel Everest"
Pushkar is a holy city for Hindus. A small, quaint town surrounding a holy lake with 52 ghats (stairs leading town to a holy bath), pilgrims from all over India trek here with the hope of washing away their sins, or perhaps just to get closer to their spiritual system. In recent years, it’s become a popular tourist destination and that was obvious. White tourists (seemed to be mostly European) were all over. Maybe it wasn’t that there were more white tourists, but rather that the ratio of white tourists to Indians was greater.
Pushkar Lake
We had only one serious annoyance in Pushkar and of the fifteen thousand people there, it came from what seemed the least likely, the oxymoronic unprincipled ‘Brahmin priests’. Brahmins are the highest varna, or caste level, in the abolished (but still very much active) caste system. Anyway, these “priests” were greedy, not unlike the most foul of merchants we had dealt with in Agra and Jaipur. When we arrived, one of their “students” (more of a coconspirator, I’d say) faked politeness and invited us to see the holy Pushkar Lake and one of the famous ghats. Of course we were interested, but we had learned to be hesitant, so we asked if it would cost money for him to take us on his motorbike, or if there were other unforeseen obstacles and of course he denied any such thing. He even told us that we had to go immediately before some holy festival ended, to get good luck when we could (now in review, I doubt any special festival actually coincided). Needless to say, but I was had again! The whole thing was a stupid scam. Upon arriving to the lake, Peggy and I were rushed by different priests who insisted on giving us a prayer for good luck. We politely, but vainly, tried to refuse. And you know what came next: an in-your-face, privacy-means-nothing, aggressive, invasive, boorish attempt to take as much cash as possible from our pockets. Peggy told them she has five family members and would like to give 50 rupees. They clearly listened very well because they asked her instead for 501 rupees – 100 rupees per family member plus 1 rupee for good luck! We tried to part ways as soon as we could. Actually, I argued with a Brahmin priest in my struggle to shoo him away. He told me it was no good to argue with a priest. I asked the priest if he understood irony. I basically told him that he is a greedy, unprincipled priest. "That's irony. Greed is no good," I retorted.
Ajmer is not touristy. I don’t recall seeing a single tourist there. Peggy and I thoroughly interested a group of teenage Indians. They were pleasant company, asking us to take photos with them, showing us their henna, asking us where we came from, and why our faces don’t look American. The latter question was posed to us regularly in India. Virtually every time an Indian asked where we are from, they expected China, Japan, or Korea, so when they got the U.S., they were puzzled. “But your face … you look Chinese,” is along the lines of how they’d respond. Sometimes we made the effort to help them solve the puzzle, other times we simply agreed and gave them what they wanted: “I am Japanese, she is Chinese”.
After meeting those people, we took a boat to a small island in Ana Sagar, where visitors drink sodas and relax with friends. It’s a peaceful little island. We sipped on sodas, enjoyed the lake prospect and inhaled the breeze. Our spirits were recharged.
After the lake, we went to the Nasiyan Jain Temple (aka the Red Temple). This was the first Jain temple we entered. Inside is a hollow two story room dedicated to a model of the Jain conception of the universe – a bizarre and fantastic idea that I can’t explain well (but if you’re interested: http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/religions/jainism/beliefs/universe_1.shtml).
Inside Nasiyan Temple
After the Nasiyan Temple, we went back to Pushkar – about a 20 minute bus ride, only costing each of us 10 rupees (a little less than 25 US cents). We went for a walk around Pushkar Lake and dipped our feet through a few of the ghats. Mohandas “Mahatma” Gandhi’s ashes were scattered at Gandhi Ghat, which we must have walked by. I wonder if I dipped my feet in there. Now we had seen where Gandhi, the Great Soul, was cremated and where his ashes were dispersed.
On our last day in Pushkar, we took a camel safari. It was a lot of fun, but it wasn’t very informative (my guide didn’t speak English, Peggy’s did a little). It was my first time to ride a camel. They seemed to be quite gentle, like tamed horses. We could pet them while they chewed (they were always chewing), and get away with all our fingers. They were always eating, chewing, or drooling. Peggy and I were joking that my camel looked like an ugly, ill-mannered old man while hers looked regal and proper. Mine was indeed a few years older, but I don’t think that’s the only reason he looked that way. There were behaviors I don’t attribute to age: on the sand, my camel tended to lay on his side with chin down flat on the sand, Peggy’s would sit looking postured and kind of snobby with his chin up and his princely eyes staring you down.
After the camel safari, we headed back to Delhi via an overnight sleeper bus. When you’re moving, the sleeper buses aren’t so bad. It’s when you stop – the mosquitoes sneak in and they feast. The heat flows in and you roast.
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