1/31/06: Me Hindu, You Jain

After our first good night’s sleep and a relaxing morning, we visited the Jain temples on the Eastern flank of Khajuraho. Around the same time that Buddha was challenging the Brahmins, Mahavira spread the word of Jainism, also rejecting the caste system. While viewing the less collosal and erotic, but equally intricate temples, we learned about the five core principles of Jainism: nonviolence, speaking the truth, non-stealing, celibacy and chastity (other than with your spouse), and detachment to material values. These principals are clearly evident in the Dijamber sect of nudist Jains, stand in stark contrast to the caste- and pleasure-oriented Hindus. Interestingly, the Jains appear to be the Indian Jews, with past job discrimination relegating them to become frowned-upon money-lenders, accumulating great wealth, in part attributable to a reputation for “thriftiness” in accordance with their fifth principle.

1/30/06 pm: Why Anne Has Rick Taking Yoga

Physically exhausted and spiritually over-stimulated, the Sinha Six landed safely in Khajuraho, whose famed erotic temples were inspired by the Kama Sutra, and are dedicated to life, love, and joy. Interestingly, our local guide, M.P. Singh, put a decidedly feminist twist on the “strategic” intent of the Kama Sutra: man’s purpose in life is to satisfy women. Contrary to popular opinion, the Kama Sutra was not simply a sex manual, but a wordly philosophy based on the concept that to rise above our desires, five elements must be present for a man: meat, fish, women, liquor, and technique. We’ll let your imaginations run wild on the interpretation, but remember, the KS apparently contains more math than erotic pictures. Then again, I recall many an American male claiming to buy Playboy for the articles and interviews. Whatever the interpretation, the five phallic-shaped temples of Western Khajuraho, built almost a thousand years ago by the Rajputs, are architectural masterpieces. The tales told in thousands of intricate stone carvings on the walls of the temples are a stunning tribute to the art and philosophy of love and devotion, especially when illuminated and softened by the slowly setting sun. According to Sunny, many of the seemingly impossible Cirque de Soleil-style love-making positions depicted in the carvings were only possible for yoga masters--which explains Anne dragging Rick to Leslie’s Sunday morning Ayengar classes.

The pre-dinner concert, a series of seven traditional dances from across the sub-continent, was “interesting,” but more importantly, provided some much needed shut-eye for Laura, Anne, and Ronna. Actually, the dancing puppet show accompanying our barbeque dinner, back at the hotel, was far more entertaining. However, the highlight of the evening was news from Sunny that we weren’t departing until 9:30 am the next morning. The prospect of a full night’s sleep (and an opportunity for some of us to apply the day’s lessons) was quickly embraced.

1/30/06 Crack of Dawn: Living and Dying in Varanasi

Night out Varanasi was memorable, but Varanasi at dawn is also unforgettable. At 6 am, heads were being shaved, beggars were in full assault mode, 7 year-olds were hawking flowers, and gurus were dispensing blessings and words of wisdom. We also passed scores of pilgrims already returning from their ritual baths in the dangerously polluted (1.5 mm parts per million…500 is considered safe) waters of the Ganga. Krishna and Sunny filled our already overloaded hard-headed drives with commentary, while a sweet 7-year-old named Kavita, provided us with floating marigold and candle offerings and a friendly smile for our dawn trip down the Ganges. Along the banks, more were bathing and swimming in the murky waters, praying to Shiva, preparing corpses for cremation, and basking in the glow of a picture-perfect sunrise against the ghats, temples, and palaces. Further downstream, human washing machines pounded soiled sarees into submission, while upstream families prepared corpses for the pyres in their Sunday best with sweets in hand, having saved up more than $500 to pay the Brahmin priest, woodcutter, and mortician (almost a year’s worth of per capita GDP). The cycle of life was in full gear, a scene more moving than anything Hollywood or Bollywood could ever dream of producing.

1/30/06 am: Holy Shit!

Two hours and 150 digital images later, we headed back to our bus, swimming through the next wave of humanity heading to holy shores. Along the way, as I photographed a rasta beggar with a wooden leg and a monkey on his back (literally), we encountered an impromptu Running of the Bulls in the Streets of Varanasi. Two angry bulls cleared the streets, repeatedly crashing horns and scaring the crap out of a nearby cow, who retreated into Anne’s unsuspecting leg, leaving a lasting impression on my beloved wife. Auspiciously, this occurred precisely 28 years ago to the minute from the moment we arrived at our honeymoon (no pun intended) suite ☺. Fortunately, our luck and prospects soon changed for the better, when, for a mere 50 Rs, we secured the blessings of a jolly hajira (Eunuch) as we entered the bus back to the hotel.

1/29/06: Very Happy Anne(and Rick)versary

For the first time, our flight (to Varanasi) took off (and landed) without a hitch, and we arrived in the City of Learning and Burning by mid-day. Ten thousand Hindu, hundreds of Buddhists, five Jewish, and one Christian pilgrims per day descend upon this Indian version of Jerusalem.

Just 10 km away and almost three millennia earlier, Siddhartha delivered his first sermon under a bodhi tree. Our local guide, “Hairy” Krishna, waxed eloquent on the Buddha’s life and enlightenment, as we visited a modest temple, an enormous stupa containing ashes of the Buddha, and a small museum containing relics and statues from nearby buildings. The site was razed by the Muslims in the 12th Century AD, but had been a center of Buddhist learning and is now being excavated, having been rediscovered by the British. The representation of Buddha here is of a muscular, slim, and youthful man, very unlike the Chinese fat-bellied Buddha. While circling and chanting mantras, we stopped to feed our souls (and flash cards) during a stupa-side service performed by a traveling monk for a well-adorned group of Korean tourists.

Upon arriving back at the Taj, we all showered (no, not communally) and donned the kurtas and shalwar kameez that A&P had ordered for us. Although resplendent, none of the natives were fooled by our cultural camouflage gear (must have been Anne and Susie’s hair). Undeterred, we mounted our caravan of marigold-covered rickshaw cycles for a ride through the streets of Varanasi. Based on the broad smiles triggered by our garb among the locals (they were laughing with us not at us), we were clearly the free evening entertainment, as we rode down to the river. Along the way, we encountered barbers, holy cows and holy men (AKA sadhus, in white face), paan stands, flower merchants, truckloads of sari-clad mourners, and sidewalks strewn with hordes of beggars. However, our brief and stimulating ride was merely prelude to the symphony of spiritual adventures to come.

As the sun set behind us, we descended the steps of the ghat to our four-man oar-powered, two-story, two-musician riverboat, for our tour of the sights, sounds, and spirit of this holiest of Hindu waters. The sunset scene by the riverside defies words, as thousands gather to purify their souls and burn their dead. Heading up-river, we arrived at the cremation ghat, where flames from 18 fires lit up the riverside, and the souls of loved ones are launched and kharma released to their next life. Back at the main ghat, hundreds of locals and pilgrims prayed along with ten holy men performing rituals, as an armada of tourists on rowboats gawked and flashed.

Further downstream, off in the distance, a mansion was slowly lit up on the bank of the Ganges. Little did we know that this Raja Ghat was our dinner destination, an anniversary dinner beyond our wildest dreams and imaginations. As our boat approached the shore, we were royally greeted by a sensual cornucopia--the brilliance of 1,000 candles, the beauty and scent of flower leis, a harmonious pair of bagpipers, the blessing of a sadhu, a chorus of chanting monks, and a tasty thali feast, all in the privacy of our own special palace. Once again, Anita and Prabha had managed to surprise and delight us. How will we ever top this anniversary celebration?

1/27/06: Between a Rock and Heart Place

Behold the 8th wonder of the world, the unbelievable Ellora and Ajanta cave temples. After a day marveling at these architectural masterpieces, we now understand why Indian engineers are taking over the world. If the ancient Indians’ ingenuity, engineering, craftsmanship, and workmanship had been as devoted to technology and commerce rather than religion, no doubt the airplane would have been invented in the 14th century invention. We’d read about the cave temples of Ellora and Ajanta countless times, but none of the guidebooks did even remote justice to these remarkable accomplishments. Under the expert guidance of our walking, talking history book, Aleem, we explored these two sets of cave temples, in shock and in awe.

Starting almost twenty-five hundred years ago, a group of Buddhist (and, later Jain and Hindu monks) carved their temples out of the canyon walls. Imagine sculpting an open-air temple out of a 1 million square foot slab or rock on the side of a hill. Seven generations of Hindus labored for more than 100 years to create the beyond-our-wildest-imagination cave #16 at Elora, almost 1,500 years ago, with Ramayana friezes, life-size stone elephants, depictions of Hindu gods, and 75 meter towers covered with intricate carvings, all protected by giant lions on their rooftops. Imagine, starting at the top and working your way down, 6 feet at a time through solid rock, architects designing the monuments, stonecutters chiseling out the rough outlines, and artisans sculpting the statues, carvings, and monuments.

Even more remarkably, almost 800 years earlier and 100km away, Bhuddist monks broke ground on the 24 Ajanta caves. Whereas the cave-builders at Ellora were more engineering-driven, working from the top down, my personal preference is for the obviously market-driven Ajanta cave-builders who built from the outside-in☺. Amazingly, the 1,600- to 2,200-year-old paintings in these ancient temples incorporate three-dimensional perspectives almost two millennia before Da Vinci.

Along the way, we passed the seven-walled mountain fort, and plan to develop a video game based on the Indiana Jones-type feats of daring required to circumvent the blind alleys, alligators, mazes, and burning oil and ultimately enter the fortress. Now, all we need is a set of Indian programmers to write the software!

On our trips to the caves Aleem enlightened us with an introduction to the similarities and differences between Jains, Hindus, and Bhuddists. The wandering nudist monks of the Jain faith held a particular fashion for our intrepid travelers.

And, finally, to close a near-perfect day of sightseeing, we’d like to thank India Airlines for helping us develop an appreciation for the not-so-friendly skies of United, as our flight to Delhi included a 3-hour departure delay, and a last-minute equipment change.

1/28/06: No Pastrami, But a Delicious Delhi Nonetheless

The 5 weary travelers arrived at our hotel oasis, the Oberoi at 2:30 am for a short, but comfy night’s sleep in New Delhi, where Laura was awakened to meet her new roomie. Our perfect day in Delhi began with a few trips to the breakfast buffet. Well nourished, we met our charming and wise guide, former star batsman of the Indian World Cup Champion cricket team (imagine an Indian version of Steve Kerr), Suryaaveer Singh Shktawat AKA Sunny. After a brief trip overview in the hotel lobby, including a few more warnings about bugs and beggars, we hopped on our bus, and embarked on our tour of Old Delhi. After passing forts and ancient walls of the sixth and seventh incarnations of Delhi, the fun began when we mounted our rickshaw cycles for a trip down Chandni Chowk, Old Delhi’s maze of a flea market. This is the India we imagined, a swirling sea of humanity and commerce casually and frantically going about daily business. Weaving in and out of pedestrians, motorbikes, and other reckless rickshaws, we explored auto parts markets (no Fel-Pro gaskets), nut and spice markets (triggering a cacophonous chorus of sneezes), saree superstores, smoky and tempting chola poori stands, and even a wedding accessories lane (where Ronna committed Lizzy to an Indian husband, date TBD).

After our exciting and enchanting ride, we arrived at the Jama Masjid, India’s largest mosque. We observed worshipers absorbing the wise preachings of an imam and cleansing their feet, faces, and souls in the courtyard pool, and families enjoying a spiritual outing. The locals took particular delight in our two blond bombshells, Anne and Susie, who stood out even more than our four non-blondes.

Next stop: Humayun’s tomb, dedicated to the 16th C. Mughal emperor, and commissioned by his wife, this sandstone masterpiece was a predecessor of the Taj Majal. The late afternoon sun magnified the splendor of this monument to love, as we circled the edifice, catching glimpses of a shining Sikh temple in the background, and posing for a variety of team photos along the way.

Remarkably enough, the best was yet to come. After freshening up at the Oberoi, we headed to Prabha’s old college chum’s home for dinner. Ajit and his lovely bride Soraj, rivaled our good friends A&P as ideal chef, host, and hostess, where we also enjoyed the company of their brother-in-law Hemand. Ajit spun yarns of two poor, starving IIT students sharing a free Chinese feast and stretching four-rupee pouches of tobacco for a week, where Prabha learned the excellent rolling techniques he demonstrated in the fields of Bhutan four decades later. We shared stories of children, travel, and marriage, like old friends reconnecting after decades apart. Perhaps we met in earlier incarnations, for we truly felt like we were among close friends and family. No doubt, it will be tough to top the hospitality, stories, and home-cooked delights Ajit and Soraj bestowed upon us (we even liked the gulab jaman). We so enjoyed their company that we are trying to rearrange our itinerary next week to meet them for a night out at the Kebab Factory (a restaurant, not an offshoring facility). Unfortunately, our schedule called for an early morning flight to Varanasi, and we were forced to bid an early adieu, before Ajit had a chance to break out the brandy and cognac.

On our bus ride back to the hotel, we paused to reflect on the miraculous three days we’d experienced thus far. And, the fun has just begun. As Susie remarked, “I could go home now, and say I had an incredible and full journey.” We also paused to thank our “real hosts,” trip designers, and close friends, A&P. We miss you dearly, but trust us, your spirits and voices are deeply embedded in our consciousness as we embrace and digest the many faces (and edifices) of India. Dhanyawad and Namashkar.

1/26/06: Airlines That Go Bump in the Morning AKA Hello, Thali

After first class and flawless transatlantic and cross-continental treatment from Lufthansa, Susie, Anne, and your humble narrator squeezed in a few hours of restless sleep at our not-so luxurious hotel near the Mumbai airport. Down at 3 and up at 5:30am for our 7:15 Jet Airways flight to Aurangabad and an afternoon of spiritual spelunking in the Elora caves. Or, so we thought. Unfortunately, Rick’s seat was shot down by a 5am check-in attack from a 51-person Japanese tour group (and airline overbooking). After much consternation, Anne and Susie boarded the flight, while Rajen from Ventours escorted Rick out of the airport and to the luxurious airport Hyatt to freshen up and cool off (without uttering a single obscenity or deafening roar, no less). After a quick rinse and a relaxing game of computer bridge (small slam), and some downward dog, Rick embarked on a behind the scenes tour of Mumbai, with Rajen as the informal guide and Satish behind the wheel. With Republic Day (national holiday) limiting traffic and crowds, Rick got a palatable, and not so overwhelming taste for city life. First stop, the “open laundry,” a two-acre, thousand-gallon-per-hour human washing machine. Hundreds of undercastemen laboriously splash, pound, and ring the laundry the old-fashioned way, and they don’t earn much -- a mere 2 rupees per sari. The remainder of the am (that’s pm minutes 30 minutes CST) found us crusading the back alleys of a Christian enclave, strolling barefoot through a Jain temple, wandering a series of open-air markets, avoiding hawkers of 50 Rupee copies of Freakonomics, visiting a holy cow orphanage, failing to comprehend a courtyard explanation of the Gita, watching vultures hover over an open Parsis graveyard, recycling bottled water and coffee at the regal Taj Hotel’s spotless WC, and glimpsing the Arabian Sea from Chowpatty beach. Our tour culminated in a culinary masterpiece, a vegetarian thali at Rajen’s favorite dining spot, where I was the sole honky and where 40 natives patiently waited for a table as we devoured our last dollop of dhal. Back to the Hyatt for a quick catnap, before Satish returned this weary traveler to Jet Airways’ production of the MUM-me Returns, where, Rick’s evening flight landed him in Aurangabad without incident, just in time to meet up with Anne, Ronna, Susie, and Paul, and load up on the dinner buffet at the Taj.

And Then There Were Six

As Anne and I finish (we hope) packing this morning, the past few weeks seem more like an Agatha Christie novel than the normal pre-vacation fire drill. As of five weeks ago, our Northern India trip, so perfectly architected by Prabha, fielded a team of 10. Sadly, the 10th little non-Indian, Peter, encountered medical problems, so that he and Lois are unable to join us. Fortunately, he's in the midst of a miraculous recovery. More bad news arrived on Friday morning, when our 8th not-so-little Indian, and fearless leader, Prabha, failed a stress test (apparently the only time he's gotten anything other than a A on a test in his life), and entered Evanston hospital on Sunday (another life first). The good news is that a stent appears to have resolved the problem, and he's on the road to recovery. The bad news is that he won't be able to join us on our road to Jaiselmer (which, as I understand it, is a leading cause of high blood pressure in Rajasthan). We will miss Prabha and Anita's company and guidance, however, we also know that the best way to thank them for all the hard work they've put into this trip is to have a great time. So, we hereby dedicate this odyssey to our good friends, Prabha and Anita, without whom this trip wouldn't have been imagined, much less possible.

Map of Our Trip