Laksmi and a Drive from Hell
It is very late. We have been driving for hours. At one point the highway road sign states that Nagpur is 108 kms away. Further along the same highway, another sign reads, Nagpur 140 km. It seems we are getting farther from Nagpur the further we drive towards it.
Driving through the high plains at night the temperature is plunging and certain spots feel like a full winter blast of wind. We are many kilometers from Nagpur and the road is getting very dangerous. Potholes begin to attack in the dark and they are difficult to detect with the inadequate headlight of the rickshaw. Trucks are driving erratically, playing insane road games with the oncoming traffic.
We are forced off the road several times for our safety. One truck enters our lane to pass the truck in front and inexplicably turns off his lights. Shocked, I pull the rickshaw off the road until it has passed. Yet another truck drives with his tail lights off in the foggy night so that we encroach a few meters to his tail. Then there are the people. One old woman is staggering towards us in the middle of our lane like living dead. I have to swerve to avoid hitting her given my limited visibility.
This is night driving in India at its worst. It’s a gauntlet of murderous trucks and death seeking pedestrians and animals along a stretch of road seemingly smoothed by a cheese grater. I dream of Laksmi waiting in Darjeeling and continue forward in our mission against poverty.
Posted at 11:00PM Jan 04, 2007 by D Bums Comments[0]
The Three Stooges of Amravati
Having toured Ajanta, the Bums had a very late start and a long distance (nearly 500 km) to cover in order to reach Nagpur, the geographical center of India. We were moving rapidly through the high, dusty plains until we approached a toll booth in Amravati.
Quite suddenly, a jeep containing three men pull in front of us and wave us off the highway. We are a bit confused and continue to the toll booth and pull alongside the official office.
Three men, dressed rather badly in cheap polo shirts and crappy jeans, get out and speak to us in Hindi. They look like men headed to a smoky all male bar like we witnessed in Thrissur. None speak English; confusion reigns. They pull out some cheaply laminated ids that could have easily been created at Playland and claim they are from some tax collector agency. I grin and may have even laughed at the sight of the cheap ids. They insist that we go with them to some office back in town. We refuse. It is getting late and we feel that these stooges are out for rupees.
Bennett fumbles around for the Lonely Planet guide, looking for the word Baksheesh, having forgotten the word for bribe. After a delay, we decide to go back to their office with them, as it was unlikely we would be heading towards Nagpur until the matter is settled.
Their boss emerges from the office and laughs; he is amused by the idiocy of his stooges. He sees our rickshaw, which is clearly non-commercial, and proceeds with protocol. He wants to see the contents of my bag. I pull out my dirty laundry bag. It is enough. He waves us off and we wave back continuing our trip to Nagpur.
Posted at 05:00PM Jan 04, 2007 by D Bums Comments[0]
Ben Franklin, George Washington, and some villagers from Madhya Pradesh
On the bus trip up to the Ajanta caves, I am questioned by some villagers on holiday from Madhya Pradesh. In the course of questioning, I show them a hundred dollar bill and a one dollar bill. They are enthralled and snap photos of the currency on their cell phones. They pass the bills around and carefully return them to me after each person has had a chance to examine it.
At one point, a man asks, pointing to Ben Franklin, who he is. In a land of epic heroes and Mahatma Gandhi, I have trouble describing Ben Franklin’s importance as a statesman, inventor, philosopher, and party beast. I remember the image of Franklin that all American children have as a man who flew a kite with a key at the handle to conduct lightning. Then I remember the movies of Satyjit Ray where lightning instilled terror in the villagers on the plains. They’d probably think he was the local idiot. I am left dumbfounded.
Luckily, they ask about George Washington and the White House. Easy one. He’s the father of the United States of America. If he’s the father of the U.S., why is he on the one dollar bill instead of the hundred like this Ben Franklin guy? Again, I was stumped.
As for the White House, the villagers were not impressed. Having seen the Taj Mahal and other Mughal palaces, the White House seemed to be a mud hut like the ones in their village.
Pondering these questions later, I felt comfort and a certain Yankee pride, despite the fiasco of the last six years, in knowing that the father of the U.S.A. was on the lowest monetary denomination and that the White House was no Taj Mahal. These were emblems of the common man, which is something the communist parties around the world never understood. Having witnessed the deification of Che Guevara in our drive through Kunnar, I have doubts that the D.Y.F.I. will ever understand it.
Posted at 09:00AM Jan 04, 2007 by D Bums Comments[0]
Lovely Children of India
Children on holiday to Ajanta. They come ask me questions in English. We have a playful chat and I snap their photo.
Posted at 07:00AM Jan 04, 2007 by D Bums Comments[0]
360 Rupees
Maybe we're paying too much. We ponder this question over dinner at a truck stop across the street. Palak Paneer and Aloo Paratha. Quite Good!
Posted at 07:00PM Jan 03, 2007 by D Bums Comments[0]
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