No More Indore

Chelo Pakistan, Bus Driver

I just got off a four hour bus ride, from Mandu to Indore over a shitty road that I never want to see again. Ever. There weren't many people on the bus, so the driver spent ages lingering at each stop, hoping to pick up more passengers. Mind you, my seat, and the seats around me were full to busting point, because I was interesting. So I sat squashed up, wobbling and smiling at the people around me who kept staring, and who spoke no English at all. For four hours.

Siva's Town

Since last contact, I made my way from Belgaum to Kandhwar, around 1200km, in the relative luxury of 2 tier air-conditioned train coach. Basically, I got more room, clean sheets, and the chai and coffee sellers didn't bother me in the early morning. From Kandhwar I took my first bus ride over shitty Madhyar Pradesh roads to Omkareshwar.

I have visited Omkareshwar before, four months ago when I was heading south. But that time was only for a couple of days, and I wanted to spend longer there. This time I stayed on "the island" (the town is divided between and island in the river and the mainland), in a little guest house run by a lovely local bloke named Manu. The guesthouse was high-up on a hill, so we had excellent views of all the many Siva temples.

Siva, as I am sure I have explained somewhere else, is one of the more popular Hindu gods. He is the dude, usually with blue skin, who has big ol' dreadlocks coiled up on his head, a tigerskin loin cloth, and generally looks stoned and at peace with his surroundings. By all accounts he is a pretty accomplished chap: he is great in a fight, is an awesome dancer and is the prototypical yogi. A friend of mine in Mysore hurt her back doing yoga, then one night she had a dream that she was doing yoga with Siva, and woke up in pain after her dream yoga workout. "Well, you can't fuck around when you are doing yoga with Siva, I really wanted to impress him!"

Siva also inspires some of the tackiest religious memorabilia going. I picked up a great framed picture of him, with a full beard that includes the naffest mustache known to man. I visited the Joti Lingum, one of 12 special phalic stones in India that represent Siva, and had the Brahmins (upper Hindu cast who perform, among other occupations, priestly roles) in the temple perform a tourist puja (prayer) for me. I never let Brahmin's perform pujas for me, because I am not a Hindu and I really don't like the way some folks mix up money and religion. But I relented, but I think that I annoyed them when I could do lotus position when they couldn't and I left a donation that was only double what the locals were leaving. They tried to bring in some more Brahmins, to increase the "puja power" and get some more money out of me, at which point a fled and swore to never pay for a prayer again.

Monkey Business

Food at Manus' House was excellent. When travelling, one eats in lots of cheap eateries, and at places aimed towards travellers. Such places rarely do good Indian food, let alone really good stuff. I have decided that I am going to spend some money in Mumbai and go to some good Indian restaraunts. But at Manu's we ate the same meals that his wife cooked for the family each night. It was always something different, and it was always well cooked. The vegetables were not over cooked, the flavours balanced and hot but not too-hot. I was a very happy boy.

We also ate a lot of fruit. The monkeys noticed this. We would notice a monkey looking at our fruit from one side of the balcony. The monkey would run away after we threatened it with a "bamboo massage" from our special monkey sticks. But a couple of minutes later the monkey would be spying from the other side, then from below, then from above... and when it figured that nobody was looking it would dash through and grab whatever fruit it was keen on. There are few things funnier than watching a monkey try to pick up and run away with a 2 kg water melon... that look in its eyes when it realises that it has come so far, yet is so far away from being able to drag the melon away from the hostile group of bamboo swinging hippies who own the melon, is priceless.

Baba Chilm

I went for a walk to the end of the island where the babas, or sadus tend to hang about. Sadus are Hindus who have renounced worldly possessions and taken to wandering in search of spiritual fulfillment. There are lots of different types/sects, and there are plenty of genuine sadus who are on a mission for enlightenment. There are also lots of sadus who are sadus because it is a socially acceptable way to get really stoned all day, every day.

I met a couple such characters on my walk. They offered me a chilm, and I couldn't really decline, could I? After having a bit of a chat about where I am from, and discussing the various yogic pursuits that they used, I was ushered into the temporary abode of a third sadu. He seemed to be quite serious about being a sadu. He talked some good philosophy, and his actions were very harmonious. He shared his lunch with me, and with whichever animals came strolling into the hut. He also shared chilm with me, lots of it.

There was a hilarious moment when my otherwise very laid back baba got into a very loud argument about the quality of the chilm that had been provided for our use by another baba, while a third baba laughed at the whole show in the background. For those who don't know (I was one of you until this incident), a chilm is a long conical pipe. To pack it, one places a small stone in, then packs the rest of the chilm with whatever they want to smoke, and the stone stops to contents from falling into the mouth of the smoker. As it turned out, the stone that had been placed in said chilm was disrespectful, and he let everybody know about it. As a guest I couldn't really complain.

After my lunch I met another couple of Babas as I wondered home. I made a dreadlock in the hair of one of them. He was delighted, and insisted that I shared a chilm with him. How could I say no? I was in no fit state to walk by the time I got home. I had left my hotel to go for a walk, and returned home out of my tree through no fault of my own, just because I had to accept the hospitality of obviously very wise and learned men.

On The Road

After a week in Omkareshwar, I hit the bumpy roads for Maheshwar, another historic town on the river. The temples there were in fantastic shape, with some really detailed carvings. But the most memorable thing about Maheshwar was my hotel room. As I tried to get to sleep that night I went over a mental list of all the hotel rooms I have stayed in on this trip, then I remembered all of the rooms that I had ever stayed in all over the world. In the end I decided that my Maheshwar room was certainly the worst room I had ever stayed in.

When I checked in at 3 in the afternoon, the sleazy owner informed me that the room was going to be available in one hour, as the couple in there had not checked out. I glanced at the sign that said check-out was at 10. Despite my suspicions, I left my bag and went for a wander, as this was the only hotel in town that was remotely cheap to stay in.

When I returned an Indian couple were leaving the room, and heading in opposite directions. The fact that they didn't act like husband-and-wife, and they had no luggage confirmed my suspicions. This kind of thing is bound to happen in the only cheap hotel in town. So I insisted on new sheets, and slept in my sleeping bag liner anyway. That night I was kept awake by the hilarious and disturbing sounds of Indian couples coming and going in the room next to mine. My suspicions about the owner were also confirmed by a Canadian girl who caught him using a spy hole into said room.

To Mandu

It should be no surprise that I only stayed one night in Maheshwar, and headed straight (well, as straight as the roads/buses permitted me) to Mandu. There are lots of ruins in Mandu, and pleasantly cool nights. I spent a day wandering around the ruins, admiring the spectacular views from the plateau on which Mandu lies.

Not many exciting stories since then, although I met a very funny security guard. Well, I don't think he had much of a sense of humour, but I found him funny. He spotted me as I was wandering through the ruins, and started making a beeline for me from about 100 meters away. I decided to have some fun, so I pretended not to see him, and looked for some stairs or a maze that I could use to make it hard work for him to get to me. Unfortunately my escape was blocked, so I pretended to look at the roof while he approached. He was a strapping lad, with an enormous and well maintained moustache, and a very tight camo uniform. That is, he was the personification of macho camp, which is what Indian men do when they want to look cool. After inspecting my ticket he reached into his undies and extracted some ancient coins that he would sell to me for "good price"... then he offered me a guided tour. Bloody hell, everybody is always trying something out here.

And Next...

That was yesterday. Now I am in a surprisingly efficient and pleasant internet cafe. Surprising because it is so bloody chaotic and unpleasant outside on the streets of Indore. The moment I arrived here I had a strong desire to leave as soon as possible. I don't know where I am going to go yet, I am going to decide on that after I have finished my internet session. Still no plans!

I have received a few emails complaining about my lack of correspondence. Please, be patient! I am only getting web access every week or so, and then I have lots of things to do over a usually poor internet connection. I am thinking about all you guys, and I do care! So, seeing as how you all have far better access to the web than I do, keep in touch and keep telling me stories!