On the back of a 1 hour motorcycle ride in freezing temperatures through the crowded traffic of India one has time to think. The front of my body completely pressed against the driver and my back side against our other passenger, the awkward uncomfortable feeling of being that close to two strangers had long since passed. It would be much longer before the feeling in my legs would return.
2 days prior I had found myself being whisked from temple to temple, from the Taj Mahal to the Agra Fort, and to Mathura. Thinking we were finally headed for home, we pulled up to another temple in Vrindaban, which turns out to be the birth place of Sri Krishna. We were lead into a white temple ablaze with song, dance, and warmth. "Hare Krishna hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna, hare hare, hare Rama hare Rama, Rama Rama, hare hare!" My companion and I both burst into song as soon as we entered the holy place. "Let's go get darshan", I yelled over the music. We danced, we sang, young girls spun around clasping each other's hands. I bought a Bhagavad Gita. I bought 2 cheesy t-shirts. I bought a box of sweets to reward our driver and appease our exhausted friend, both of whom were sealed in the tiny car from the biting cold of the night. We made for home, and heeded the writing on the back of every truck "Blow Horn, Use Dipper at Night".
Rahul's moto took us to a large modern mall in the heart of Faridabad. "Will you take McDonald's?" I tilted my head to one side smoothly and he purchased a McAloo Tiki burger and Coke for me. Afterwards, "will you take ice cream?" Tilt. After that, "will you take corn?". I tilted and he continued to smile. 1 hour ago, and back when I still had warm blood in my lower extremities, my new friend had taken me into his village, and had me as his guest at his parents house. An Indian knows no greater honor than to show hospitality to a foreigner. [Read "Passage to India" if you don't believe me, I did.] I took chai and more cookies and spicy potato crisps than I wanted, but saw how it pleased them. "It's ok?" "Bohod atcha". They were thrilled with my Hindi and began to talk and laugh loudly with each other. Everyone from his family came to meet me, or just look at me. The week before I had been taken by another new friend and shown to everyone in the village he knew. I took tea or hot milk and sweets at every family's house I visited.
We left the mall and remounted the motorcycle. It must have been only one day past since we had been pulled into a car by the father of the orphanage, Baba Ji, and escorted to a park in the town of Pulwal with no explanation given. We were brought to a massive Puja where all the towns swamis had gathered. Orange linen were laid around our necks and we were brought to the center sacrificial fire. The most honored positions were given to us as pourers of the gi. "Swaha!", we shouted as we poured small teaspoons of gi into a massive bonfire. We were given pictures of all the great fathers of India and prasad in the form of a banana and a sweet mix of spices and thin potato crisps. Roses were sprinkled over us and a blessing was pronounced over us by the entire town's holy men. An article would be written about us the following day in the local paper. I kept the newspaper as a souvenir.
More as it comes. Facebook for images.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment