My trip to India was a transpiration out of inspiration. What began as an email to a former colleague and friend staying in Delhi just to catch up, transpired to a series of exchanges of emails, and before I knew it, I was on my first solo flight, to a land I never thought I'd travel to.
If one were to have expectations to a foreign land, then one would miss the wonders that one's home land could never offer. I ventured to India with an open mind, with a quest to absorb as much as I can - the culture, the practices, the people, the history, the architecture... After all, that to me is the reason for travel.
Besides reading up on the basic customs, I did little else in terms of research. I wanted to see India with my own eyes, not some other authors'.
And so, my journey began.
The First Day
THE FLIGHT
Grace and mum sent me off at the airport. My flight on Air Sahara was at 9.30am, and so I was at the airport by 7.30am. Mum was a little apprehensive about my trip as it would be the first time I'd be travelling alone. Plus, she didn't have a clear picture about the level of security there. I could see the worried look on her face as I waved goodbye, but I knew she always had a heart to support whatever decision I made.
The flight on Air Sahara was fairly pleasant. I was surrounded by a group of 33 other Singaporeans who were on the same flight. They were on a packaged tour orgainsed by a community centre. People tell me my experience of India usually starts on the flight, but not for me.
REACHING DELHI
I sailed through immigration at the Indira Gandhi International Airport easily. Reaching there at 12.40pm, I was surprised that the airport was fairly empty. I pulled out the email with Jayant's instructions - turn left and wait at the lounge area when you come out. After retrieving my backpack that Jun so kindly lent me, I walked out, looking out for Jayant. And there he was, smiling widely and congratulating me for making it thus far alone. And yes, I was a little proud of my achievement so far, but it had been fairly easy. No jostling with hoards of locals and foreigners, no problems with immigration, no queues, and I got my baggage easily.
Jayant himself was surprised that the airport was empty. He said that if I had arrived any later, it would be packed. Lucky me. After a quick exchange of notes, I jumped into Jayant's car and headed for Ashok Hotel where I were to change my Singapore dollars to Indian rupees. I was told that it was important to change money with an authorised bank and get a printed chit so that it would be possible to change the rupees back to Singapore currency if need be.
The Ashok Hotel was grand. The tall sikh man standing by the doorway reminded me of Narajan Singh at the Raffles Hotel where I once worked. Along the way, Jayant told me about the history of the hotel, and pointed out the embassies at the central part of Delhi. It was sad to see that the embassies were like forts, protected by high walls and barb wires. That is what threats of bombs and terrorism worldwide has done to us.
We stopped by a cafe at near the Sheraton. Jayant seemed to know the manager there well, and it warmed my heart to see the manager ask Jayant how he could improve himself so that he could further his studies. That was how they valued education. In the backgroud, I saw high school students grouping together and having fun - no different from our Singapore students, right down to making their uniforms a fashion statement, the baggy hipster pants and shirts pulled out really loosely.
I had a sandwich and coffee and sat under the hot sun with Jayant as he went through with me the entire Blowhorn Travel itinerary I were to go through for the next six days. I tried to absorb as much information as I could, and tried to picture what I'd be going through. I was a little lost, but I knew it would all come together in a full picture after the whole trip was done.
VIEWING DELHI
We left the cafe and Jayant drove through what I learnt was the Imperial Delhi route. We passed by the parliarment house and it immediately reminded me of the parliarment house at Washington DC. Seeing the buildings and expanse of land, I figured the British must have spent loads of money to have these built to show their power to the local Indian people back then.
Tight security, wide roads...
Grand gates...
Grand architecture with a touch of colonialism...
White cars, used to signify ferrying a person of high status...
We headed next to the tomb of the second Mughal Emperor, Humayun. Jayant brought me round and briefed me on how I should approach the Taj when I head there alone tomorrow. The tomb was similar to the Taj in design, only less grand and not made out of white marble.
Emperor Humayun was a simple man and the tomb as built by his widow when he died. It was surprising to see that his tomb was the simplest - no engravings, no etchings. Just plain and simple like the man himself. Slowly, I learnt to appreciate the architecture of the tombs. Jayant pointed out the design elements characteristic of the tombs back then - the symmetry, the star of david (six-sided star), the grooves of the palm tree (characteristic of portugese design), and the quad-system of design (four trees surround one tree; four gardens surrounding a building etc).
The marble tomb of the emperor. In the background is one of the many lattice-carved marble with the intricate designs. Each slab you see is carved out of a single piece of marble. Imagine the intricacies and patience in having this made!
Jayant also pointed out how the shape of the domes have evolved throughout the years, it being more round now. In fact, I was told that when the Taj was being built, the king was so frustrated that the designer couldn't get the roundness of the tomb right, he pulled a persian girl, stripped her, and pinched her nipples just so the designer could get the idea of what he wanted!
We left the tomb and headed to the Parijat Guest House at GK1. It was simple guest house, and knowing that the accommodaation in Delhi can be really expensive (some US$400 for a deluxe room in a hotel), I appreciated the savings I got staying at the guest house. After all, I'd be out on the road most of time, so as long as I had a bed to sleep on, and good showering facilities, I was satisfied. :) Here's a look at my accommodation at the Parijat Guest House..
A big huge bed that could sleep three people easily...
The room had a simple sitting area as well...
And a beautiful front porch that had a multitude of flowering plants. Simply beautiful!
THE MARKETPLACE
I dumped my backpack and freshened up a little before meeting up with Ritu, who would be with me on the second leg of my trip to the countryside. Then both Jayant and Ritu accompanied me to the nearby marketplace to shop by myself. I appreciated the time alone, and found myself a bookshop which I was drawn to. Spending my first 250 rupees, I bought myself the book Sarah recommended I should read to understand the Indian culture better - Being Indian by Pavan K Varma.
It was getting dark and cold and so I headed back to the guest house to have my dinner - rice, chapati, curry and dahl.
I smsed my mum to tell her I was all ok on Day 1 in India. Tomorrow, I'll head to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.
Grace and mum sent me off at the airport. My flight on Air Sahara was at 9.30am, and so I was at the airport by 7.30am. Mum was a little apprehensive about my trip as it would be the first time I'd be travelling alone. Plus, she didn't have a clear picture about the level of security there. I could see the worried look on her face as I waved goodbye, but I knew she always had a heart to support whatever decision I made.
The flight on Air Sahara was fairly pleasant. I was surrounded by a group of 33 other Singaporeans who were on the same flight. They were on a packaged tour orgainsed by a community centre. People tell me my experience of India usually starts on the flight, but not for me.
REACHING DELHI
I sailed through immigration at the Indira Gandhi International Airport easily. Reaching there at 12.40pm, I was surprised that the airport was fairly empty. I pulled out the email with Jayant's instructions - turn left and wait at the lounge area when you come out. After retrieving my backpack that Jun so kindly lent me, I walked out, looking out for Jayant. And there he was, smiling widely and congratulating me for making it thus far alone. And yes, I was a little proud of my achievement so far, but it had been fairly easy. No jostling with hoards of locals and foreigners, no problems with immigration, no queues, and I got my baggage easily.
Jayant himself was surprised that the airport was empty. He said that if I had arrived any later, it would be packed. Lucky me. After a quick exchange of notes, I jumped into Jayant's car and headed for Ashok Hotel where I were to change my Singapore dollars to Indian rupees. I was told that it was important to change money with an authorised bank and get a printed chit so that it would be possible to change the rupees back to Singapore currency if need be.
The Ashok Hotel was grand. The tall sikh man standing by the doorway reminded me of Narajan Singh at the Raffles Hotel where I once worked. Along the way, Jayant told me about the history of the hotel, and pointed out the embassies at the central part of Delhi. It was sad to see that the embassies were like forts, protected by high walls and barb wires. That is what threats of bombs and terrorism worldwide has done to us.
We stopped by a cafe at near the Sheraton. Jayant seemed to know the manager there well, and it warmed my heart to see the manager ask Jayant how he could improve himself so that he could further his studies. That was how they valued education. In the backgroud, I saw high school students grouping together and having fun - no different from our Singapore students, right down to making their uniforms a fashion statement, the baggy hipster pants and shirts pulled out really loosely.
I had a sandwich and coffee and sat under the hot sun with Jayant as he went through with me the entire Blowhorn Travel itinerary I were to go through for the next six days. I tried to absorb as much information as I could, and tried to picture what I'd be going through. I was a little lost, but I knew it would all come together in a full picture after the whole trip was done.
VIEWING DELHI
We left the cafe and Jayant drove through what I learnt was the Imperial Delhi route. We passed by the parliarment house and it immediately reminded me of the parliarment house at Washington DC. Seeing the buildings and expanse of land, I figured the British must have spent loads of money to have these built to show their power to the local Indian people back then.
Tight security, wide roads...
Grand gates...
Grand architecture with a touch of colonialism...
White cars, used to signify ferrying a person of high status...
We headed next to the tomb of the second Mughal Emperor, Humayun. Jayant brought me round and briefed me on how I should approach the Taj when I head there alone tomorrow. The tomb was similar to the Taj in design, only less grand and not made out of white marble.
Emperor Humayun was a simple man and the tomb as built by his widow when he died. It was surprising to see that his tomb was the simplest - no engravings, no etchings. Just plain and simple like the man himself. Slowly, I learnt to appreciate the architecture of the tombs. Jayant pointed out the design elements characteristic of the tombs back then - the symmetry, the star of david (six-sided star), the grooves of the palm tree (characteristic of portugese design), and the quad-system of design (four trees surround one tree; four gardens surrounding a building etc).
The marble tomb of the emperor. In the background is one of the many lattice-carved marble with the intricate designs. Each slab you see is carved out of a single piece of marble. Imagine the intricacies and patience in having this made!
Jayant also pointed out how the shape of the domes have evolved throughout the years, it being more round now. In fact, I was told that when the Taj was being built, the king was so frustrated that the designer couldn't get the roundness of the tomb right, he pulled a persian girl, stripped her, and pinched her nipples just so the designer could get the idea of what he wanted!
We left the tomb and headed to the Parijat Guest House at GK1. It was simple guest house, and knowing that the accommodaation in Delhi can be really expensive (some US$400 for a deluxe room in a hotel), I appreciated the savings I got staying at the guest house. After all, I'd be out on the road most of time, so as long as I had a bed to sleep on, and good showering facilities, I was satisfied. :) Here's a look at my accommodation at the Parijat Guest House..
A big huge bed that could sleep three people easily...
The room had a simple sitting area as well...
And a beautiful front porch that had a multitude of flowering plants. Simply beautiful!
THE MARKETPLACE
I dumped my backpack and freshened up a little before meeting up with Ritu, who would be with me on the second leg of my trip to the countryside. Then both Jayant and Ritu accompanied me to the nearby marketplace to shop by myself. I appreciated the time alone, and found myself a bookshop which I was drawn to. Spending my first 250 rupees, I bought myself the book Sarah recommended I should read to understand the Indian culture better - Being Indian by Pavan K Varma.
It was getting dark and cold and so I headed back to the guest house to have my dinner - rice, chapati, curry and dahl.
I smsed my mum to tell her I was all ok on Day 1 in India. Tomorrow, I'll head to Agra, home of the Taj Mahal.
Journey to Agra
I woke up at 5.20am since my pick up from the hotel would be at 6.30am. Not that I took that long to get ready, but I had my stuff unpacked from my backpack and I figured it'd take a little more time to have it all repacked again.
Jayant had requested for the guest house to prepare a simple breakfast of toast and tea, which I appreciated in the wee hours of the day. It wasn't before long that Jayant arrived with Lakhbir, my driver for the next 3 days, who spoke simple English. He was dressed in a bright turquoise blue shirt and matching turban. After loading up my backpack and going through my itinerary again, Jayant waved me goodbye and there it began - my adventure - alone!
The air was really cold and it worked as a natural air conditioner in the car. The little window gap that I left open allowed cool air to enter, as well as the sounds and smells on the roads.
Slowly, I began to hear the sounding of the horn. I saw big trucks that had the BLOW HORN sign Jayant was talking about. I smelt burning coal and saw men and women wrapped in old rags warming their hands over a fire. I saw people peeping out of their tents by the road. It marvelled me to see animals by the road along the way - cows, camels, monkeys, dogs... they all shared the same road as the pedestrians, cars, trucks, carts, bicycles, motorcycles, scooters and the like. Yet in the supposed chaos, there seem to be some form of order, only understood by the locals.
A truck with the BLOW HORN sign at the back. Its purpose is to encourage other motorists to horn to let these truck drivers - the king of the road - know they are closeby.
I loved the view of the sun rise in the distance and took a picture of it...
I saw huts made of mud slabs, and later learnt that they were made of a mixture of mud and cow dung, considered one of the most useful natural resource in India. Besides being used as a fuel when dried, cow dung is also considered hygienic and the gas (methanol) from the dung can also be converted to energy (biofuel).
We stopped at the Country Inn Kosi. By then, it was freezing cold although the sun had risen. I was thankful I brought along mum's woolen turtle-neck top. After a much needed loo break, I headed for the cafe and had a cup of hot chocolate for 52 rupees. Whilst there, I saw a group of four college girls, probably from the US. It made me miss travelling with my friends a little. The cafe served other food such as southern indian food, sandwiches, and even chinese food, but I was satisfied with my hot cup of chocolate that kept me warm.
I resumed my journey in the car with my favourite Huggy Bear basking in the sun.
Jayant had requested for the guest house to prepare a simple breakfast of toast and tea, which I appreciated in the wee hours of the day. It wasn't before long that Jayant arrived with Lakhbir, my driver for the next 3 days, who spoke simple English. He was dressed in a bright turquoise blue shirt and matching turban. After loading up my backpack and going through my itinerary again, Jayant waved me goodbye and there it began - my adventure - alone!
The air was really cold and it worked as a natural air conditioner in the car. The little window gap that I left open allowed cool air to enter, as well as the sounds and smells on the roads.
Slowly, I began to hear the sounding of the horn. I saw big trucks that had the BLOW HORN sign Jayant was talking about. I smelt burning coal and saw men and women wrapped in old rags warming their hands over a fire. I saw people peeping out of their tents by the road. It marvelled me to see animals by the road along the way - cows, camels, monkeys, dogs... they all shared the same road as the pedestrians, cars, trucks, carts, bicycles, motorcycles, scooters and the like. Yet in the supposed chaos, there seem to be some form of order, only understood by the locals.
A truck with the BLOW HORN sign at the back. Its purpose is to encourage other motorists to horn to let these truck drivers - the king of the road - know they are closeby.
I loved the view of the sun rise in the distance and took a picture of it...
I saw huts made of mud slabs, and later learnt that they were made of a mixture of mud and cow dung, considered one of the most useful natural resource in India. Besides being used as a fuel when dried, cow dung is also considered hygienic and the gas (methanol) from the dung can also be converted to energy (biofuel).
We stopped at the Country Inn Kosi. By then, it was freezing cold although the sun had risen. I was thankful I brought along mum's woolen turtle-neck top. After a much needed loo break, I headed for the cafe and had a cup of hot chocolate for 52 rupees. Whilst there, I saw a group of four college girls, probably from the US. It made me miss travelling with my friends a little. The cafe served other food such as southern indian food, sandwiches, and even chinese food, but I was satisfied with my hot cup of chocolate that kept me warm.
I resumed my journey in the car with my favourite Huggy Bear basking in the sun.
Sikandra
It wasn't before long that I reached Sikandra, the burial place of the third great Murghal Emperor. Jayant said I needn't go in, so I didn't have plans to. But when I stepped out of the car, the tour guides had other plans.
It was my first experience at a tourist spot. I soon learnt that at every site, there are very willing tour guides (some better than others) who would be happy to approach you just as you have your first foot of the car. They will tell you you'd need a guide an say they are good. They will tell you that the area you'd be visiting is big and you will not understand what you see if you don't hire them. While this is all happening, another two or three men will come up to you, offering to sell souvenirs, postcards and other kinds of memorabilia. They were really a persuasive and entreprenuerial lot.
The guide that approached me when I reached Sikandra was cunning. He claimed he was from the same company - Blow Horn Travel - and he was asked to show me around. I was surprised since Jayant gave me strict instructions that I was just to view the outside, and not go in. I asked Lakhbir to clarify the situation, and the two men exchanged words in Hindi. After that, I was left to roam on my own for 20 minutes.
From the exterior, I took these photos of the tomb. Another grand architecture...
It was my first experience at a tourist spot. I soon learnt that at every site, there are very willing tour guides (some better than others) who would be happy to approach you just as you have your first foot of the car. They will tell you you'd need a guide an say they are good. They will tell you that the area you'd be visiting is big and you will not understand what you see if you don't hire them. While this is all happening, another two or three men will come up to you, offering to sell souvenirs, postcards and other kinds of memorabilia. They were really a persuasive and entreprenuerial lot.
The guide that approached me when I reached Sikandra was cunning. He claimed he was from the same company - Blow Horn Travel - and he was asked to show me around. I was surprised since Jayant gave me strict instructions that I was just to view the outside, and not go in. I asked Lakhbir to clarify the situation, and the two men exchanged words in Hindi. After that, I was left to roam on my own for 20 minutes.
From the exterior, I took these photos of the tomb. Another grand architecture...
Arga & The Red Fort of Agra
REACHING AGRA
The roads in Agra are far dirtier than Delhi. The road system was also messier and more congested. Or perhaps it was later in the day that saw the roads busier. The sun was scorching hot when I reached The Red Fort of Agra. This stop would be more challenging as compared to the previous site since I was to get a guide at the gate and buy my own tickets.
But as expected, a guide approached me as I stepped out of the car. Where Lakhbir had parked was quite a distance from the entrance where I was to buy my tickets. And throughout the way, this persistant guide insisted that I should hire him.
Jayant had instructed me to get a guide at the gate, but choose one I could understand, since not all guides spoke English well. This one that stuck by me sounded OK. I asked for his rate, and he quoted me 295 rupees, far more than the 100 - 150 rupees Jayant told me I should be paying. I told him he was too expensive and he finally pushed it down to 200 rupees, saying that I could pay him whatever I wanted after the whole tour. He guaranteed I'd be satisfied with his service.
My guide seemed experienced. He got me the combined ticket Jayant was talking about and breezed me through the long queues. I asked him how is it I needn't queue up to get my tickets and he told me that he's been working there for years, and so was familiar with the people and place.
THE RED FORT OF AGRA
This fort was built by the Mighty Mughal Emperor, Akbar the Great, and comprises an amalgamation of buildings and palaces, which were built by Akbar, Jahangir, Shah Jahan and even Aurangzeb. Built with red stand stone, the fort was built ingeniously to protect the royalty behind the fort. It was surrounded by strong high walls, and double ditches, one filled with crocodiles! My guide also explained to me the slopes towards the entrance, to facilitate the rolling of big boulders should enemies enter through the gate. Above, there were square spouts, through which hot oil will be poured on their enemies. He also pointed out where soldiers would station to shoot their arrows at their enemies. It seemed it was a place of no-mercy.
Spouts through which hot oil will be poured on enemies...
The double ditches which would hold water and crocodiles
The entire place took 95 years to build, from the different palaces for the different wives, to the gardens and the fort. It was interesting to see the mix in architecture, and I was beginning to get used to identifying patterns to represent the different culture/religion - elephant trunks (hinduism), stars (islam), arrow-head stripes (portuguese).
Design elements in the architecture
Intricate carvings on the red stone
My guide pointed out the gardens, in which grapes were once planted, not made for wines but for concubines to feed the emperors with grapes as they were entertained.
My guide told me he could bring me to a special palace, not open to the public. I asked him how he could get in. Again, he emphaised the fact that the people at the fort knew him, and so he could bring me to special places. Before I knew it, I was whisked into a dark room with four other caucasians. My guide seemed to be an expert at this. He lit the candles and explained that we were in the Glass Palace, where the wives of the emperor would take their turkish bath - warm bath, cold bath, both scented with rose water. At the sides, concubines would dance to the beat of the hitting of the hollow walls at the sides. Cleverly, these functioned as drums. Then my guide asked us to look at the ceiling, and he began to move his arms in circles. The light from the candles reflected onto the thousand of mirror pieces on the walls and ceilings and it seemed like a million stars were looking down on us. Simply magical.
At The Glass Palace - light reflected on the ceilings as my guide "dances" with the candles...
Well, all seemed magical til my guide pulled me one side and asked me to pay 500 rupees to the guard who opened the palace for us. I was shocked, but I knew I've been trapped. He told me the caucasians would be paying much more. I didn't want to know how much more!
My guide cooly continued the tour and I was also showed the place where Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son, a room facing the Taj Mahal, so he could see it being built even if he was under house arrest.
Here's the view of the Taj Mahal from the Agra Fort
The tour around the Agra Fort soon ended and my guide wished me well. He said I was like his daughter and he'll pray that I'll find a good man to marry soon. I guess it was odd for them to see a 31 year old girl travelling alone and single!
I paid the guide 250 rupees in the end. I felt bad as he was a good guide sans the Glass Palace incident. I took a picture of him just in case I had to find him again for future visits.
My guide at the Agra Fort...
As I left the fort, I was again hounded by men who wanted to sell me things. I was looking out for information on the fort since I didn't think I'll remember all that has been said. I chose a booklet of 12 postcards which had information on the fort. I was quoted a price of 100 rupees which I duly paid. After that, as I walked away, a few others followed me, trying to sell me bangles, wood carvings and other souvenirs. It was then did I realise that the booklet I bought could be bought at 50 rupees! I had forgotten to bargain! It was no wonder these men must be thinking this is one tourist they could easily fool!
Feeling cheated in more ways than one, I headed back to the car. Lakhbir asked me how much I paid the guide. I told him 250 rupees. He mumbled that it was too expensive. I should have just given him 100 rupees. Lesson learnt.
LUNCH AT THE SHERATON HOTEL
Lakhbir dutifully dropped me off at the Sheraton Hotel for lunch. Jayant promised I'd need a little civilization after that much of roaming around on my own. He was right. I appreciated the clean toilet, the quietness and the politeness of the staff. I ordered myself a club sandwich and tapped on my PDA the happenings that have happened so far.
My club sandwich - which I couldn't finish. The restaurant manager later told me the serving is usually for two persons.
I told Lakhbir to pick me up at 2pm and so I had some 15 minutes before he arrived. I was walking around the hotel lobby when a shopkeeper selling pashmina shawls pulled me in. He made me try on few shawls and wanted to sell it to me at 1400 rupees. I didn't really want to buy any because I was warned that things in Agra were more expensive, not to mention it being at the Sheraton. I bargained it down to 800 rupees, telling the man it was a lucky number for chinese. He asked for a hug and when he did, pressed his groin against me. I was shocked but smiled anyway.
Walking out, I wondered how the rest of the day would go. I was beginning to feel that I was an easy target for the local Indians.
The roads in Agra are far dirtier than Delhi. The road system was also messier and more congested. Or perhaps it was later in the day that saw the roads busier. The sun was scorching hot when I reached The Red Fort of Agra. This stop would be more challenging as compared to the previous site since I was to get a guide at the gate and buy my own tickets.
But as expected, a guide approached me as I stepped out of the car. Where Lakhbir had parked was quite a distance from the entrance where I was to buy my tickets. And throughout the way, this persistant guide insisted that I should hire him.
Jayant had instructed me to get a guide at the gate, but choose one I could understand, since not all guides spoke English well. This one that stuck by me sounded OK. I asked for his rate, and he quoted me 295 rupees, far more than the 100 - 150 rupees Jayant told me I should be paying. I told him he was too expensive and he finally pushed it down to 200 rupees, saying that I could pay him whatever I wanted after the whole tour. He guaranteed I'd be satisfied with his service.
My guide seemed experienced. He got me the combined ticket Jayant was talking about and breezed me through the long queues. I asked him how is it I needn't queue up to get my tickets and he told me that he's been working there for years, and so was familiar with the people and place.
THE RED FORT OF AGRA
This fort was built by the Mighty Mughal Emperor, Akbar the Great, and comprises an amalgamation of buildings and palaces, which were built by Akbar, Jahangir, Shah Jahan and even Aurangzeb. Built with red stand stone, the fort was built ingeniously to protect the royalty behind the fort. It was surrounded by strong high walls, and double ditches, one filled with crocodiles! My guide also explained to me the slopes towards the entrance, to facilitate the rolling of big boulders should enemies enter through the gate. Above, there were square spouts, through which hot oil will be poured on their enemies. He also pointed out where soldiers would station to shoot their arrows at their enemies. It seemed it was a place of no-mercy.
Spouts through which hot oil will be poured on enemies...
The double ditches which would hold water and crocodiles
The entire place took 95 years to build, from the different palaces for the different wives, to the gardens and the fort. It was interesting to see the mix in architecture, and I was beginning to get used to identifying patterns to represent the different culture/religion - elephant trunks (hinduism), stars (islam), arrow-head stripes (portuguese).
Design elements in the architecture
Intricate carvings on the red stone
My guide pointed out the gardens, in which grapes were once planted, not made for wines but for concubines to feed the emperors with grapes as they were entertained.
My guide told me he could bring me to a special palace, not open to the public. I asked him how he could get in. Again, he emphaised the fact that the people at the fort knew him, and so he could bring me to special places. Before I knew it, I was whisked into a dark room with four other caucasians. My guide seemed to be an expert at this. He lit the candles and explained that we were in the Glass Palace, where the wives of the emperor would take their turkish bath - warm bath, cold bath, both scented with rose water. At the sides, concubines would dance to the beat of the hitting of the hollow walls at the sides. Cleverly, these functioned as drums. Then my guide asked us to look at the ceiling, and he began to move his arms in circles. The light from the candles reflected onto the thousand of mirror pieces on the walls and ceilings and it seemed like a million stars were looking down on us. Simply magical.
At The Glass Palace - light reflected on the ceilings as my guide "dances" with the candles...
Well, all seemed magical til my guide pulled me one side and asked me to pay 500 rupees to the guard who opened the palace for us. I was shocked, but I knew I've been trapped. He told me the caucasians would be paying much more. I didn't want to know how much more!
My guide cooly continued the tour and I was also showed the place where Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son, a room facing the Taj Mahal, so he could see it being built even if he was under house arrest.
Here's the view of the Taj Mahal from the Agra Fort
The tour around the Agra Fort soon ended and my guide wished me well. He said I was like his daughter and he'll pray that I'll find a good man to marry soon. I guess it was odd for them to see a 31 year old girl travelling alone and single!
I paid the guide 250 rupees in the end. I felt bad as he was a good guide sans the Glass Palace incident. I took a picture of him just in case I had to find him again for future visits.
My guide at the Agra Fort...
As I left the fort, I was again hounded by men who wanted to sell me things. I was looking out for information on the fort since I didn't think I'll remember all that has been said. I chose a booklet of 12 postcards which had information on the fort. I was quoted a price of 100 rupees which I duly paid. After that, as I walked away, a few others followed me, trying to sell me bangles, wood carvings and other souvenirs. It was then did I realise that the booklet I bought could be bought at 50 rupees! I had forgotten to bargain! It was no wonder these men must be thinking this is one tourist they could easily fool!
Feeling cheated in more ways than one, I headed back to the car. Lakhbir asked me how much I paid the guide. I told him 250 rupees. He mumbled that it was too expensive. I should have just given him 100 rupees. Lesson learnt.
LUNCH AT THE SHERATON HOTEL
Lakhbir dutifully dropped me off at the Sheraton Hotel for lunch. Jayant promised I'd need a little civilization after that much of roaming around on my own. He was right. I appreciated the clean toilet, the quietness and the politeness of the staff. I ordered myself a club sandwich and tapped on my PDA the happenings that have happened so far.
My club sandwich - which I couldn't finish. The restaurant manager later told me the serving is usually for two persons.
I told Lakhbir to pick me up at 2pm and so I had some 15 minutes before he arrived. I was walking around the hotel lobby when a shopkeeper selling pashmina shawls pulled me in. He made me try on few shawls and wanted to sell it to me at 1400 rupees. I didn't really want to buy any because I was warned that things in Agra were more expensive, not to mention it being at the Sheraton. I bargained it down to 800 rupees, telling the man it was a lucky number for chinese. He asked for a hug and when he did, pressed his groin against me. I was shocked but smiled anyway.
Walking out, I wondered how the rest of the day would go. I was beginning to feel that I was an easy target for the local Indians.
The Taj Mahal
VISIT TO TAJ MAHAL
Lakhbir came to pick me up at the appointed time from the Sheraton's Hotel entrance and headed duly to the Taj Mahal. It was only a short ride away and before I knew it, he had turned into a car park filled with rickshaws, mini-buses and other cars and taxis. I then recalled that Jayant had informed me that he couldn't drive to the entrance of the Taj, and I had to take either the mini-bus or camel or rickshaw (whichever I fancied) to the Taj.
The car park was some 300m away from the entrance of the Taj and I could have chosen to walk if I had wanted to, and save some 100 rupees, but I decided that since I was pressed for time, I allowed myself to be harassed yet again by a group of locals who insisted I took their mode of transport. My rickshaw man smiled in silent victory when I announced I would be taking the rickshaw to my destination - the much talked about Taj Mahal, one of the seven wonders of the world.
Along the way, a guide insisted I should hire him, but Jayant had briefed me that I could walk around the Taj on my own so I waved him away firmly.
I was a little lost when my rickshaw man let me down and asked me to walk my way towards the entrance of the Taj. What I saw ahead was just a brown entrance. Nothing grand to talk about - could this be the Taj? He waved me towards the direction again and asked me how long I'd take. I told him I'd be back to meet him in 2 hours' time, so he could transport me back to the car park. He agreed and settled himself by the side of the road.
I walked ahead and along the way, touts offered to sell me souvenirs - miniatures of the Taj, elephants and what not. Again, I smiled and firmly declined.
Thankfully, I spotted a throng of tourists crowding around a little hut. I gathered that was where I was to buy my tickets and did so accordingly. I was given a bottle of mineral water and "shoe mittens" with my ticket price. 250 rupees.
After going through stringent checks on my bag and body, I was allowed in. It seemed surreal that I was finally on the grounds of one of the seven wonders of the world.
Jayant told me to take my time to absorb the architecture and beauty of the Taj, which I did so. He told me to ignore the security that would shoo the throngs of people so that they wouldn't hog the entrance. Somehow, being alone had its advantages since I wasn't hounded by "official" photographers who would offer to take a picture of you with the Taj in the background for a fee.
It surprised me to find so many local Indians (much more than foreigners) and it didn't dawn on me initially that not all of them resided in the state, and hence their visit to the Taj. This is where it's different from Singapore. While Singapore relies on overseas tourism, India's tourism is sustained by its local market.
I slowly made my way to the Taj, and marvelled at the grandeur of the tomb. Who would have thought that such intricate architecture, precise in all its measurements, was conceptualised years ago without the help of computers or technology. All it took was very adept hands and meticulous calculations to create a building that still stands proudly today.
As I walked towards the Taj, I realised that it was surrounded by other buildings, perhaps mosques and lots of greenery. Here's a few shots to share with you.
As you can see, there are many local Indians...
It was difficult getting a shot of the Taj Mahal without people in my view, but I did manage one close-to-good one!
The mosque I mentioned. There were two, one on the left, and the other on the right of the Taj Mahal.
When I got nearer to the Taj, I saw many local Indians handing over their footwear to a man who was mending shelves of shoes. As it was really crowded, it seemed a little messy as people tried to collect their footwear while others wanted to deposit theirs. I wondered if my Camper shoes would find my way back to me if I had left it there, and was thus thankful of the "shoe mittens" I was given at the entrance. Now, this is what sets the local Indians apart from the foreigners. Watch the feet, and you'd know!
A shot of my Camper shoes covered by the "shoe mittens"
I took lots of shots of the white marble and how intricately each piece/pattern was carved out of a single piece of marble. Now, those were the days where they didn't have the likes of our modern machines, and you can imagine how much time and patience and skill was needed to come up with designs such as these...
There were quotes from the Quran even engraved on the marble walls. And I was busily snapping away until I saw this sign:
Photography wasn't allowed inside the building where the tomb laid.
It was dark when I entered and the throngs of people made me feel claustrophobic. Everyone was glued to the central area where the tomb laid, and surround it was a fence of marble, intricately carved and edged out of one single piece of marble. The details that were on the outside were nothing compared to the tiny details on the fence. Through it, one could peep through to see the tomb.
I walked around a little more before exiting out from another opening, and found myself in the company of many people, just sitting around and enjoying the late afternoon sun.
A young couple approached me and started a conversation with me. They were curious to know where I came from and how was it I was travelling alone. They asked about Singapore and if they could find work here. They looked young and despite the halting English, I did manage to find out that they were MBA students taking a break. They studied in the Southern part of India and came to visit the Taj as it was their holidays. We exchanged email addresses and I took my leave as it was already getting late.
I walked away from the Taj quickly and wished I had more time to soak in the grandeur of the place. But I had to leave as I had to head to another place, as scheduled on my itinerary. Plus, I couldn't let my rickshaw man wait more than the two hours he was supposed to.
As I headed out of the first entrance, I was disorientated. As I looked to the left and right of me, I realised that people were leaving and coming in from both sides. I couldn't remember which side I came from, and to make things worse, the security at the exits ensured that once you left the place, you couldn't get in back!
I tried to recall hard and took the gamble to head towards my left. Thankfully, I made the right turn.
As I walked down the road, looking out for my rickshaw man, another man waved at me to hop on his rickshaw. I asked if he was Saleem, the name the rickshaw man introduced himself as. In broken English and a communication using gestures, he told me that Saleem was his friend and that he would bring me back to the car park. I honestly thought that perhaps, my rickshaw man had to go off so he sent a replacement, and just as I was doubting myself, there I saw, Saleem by the side of the road further down, waving frantically at me, and for his "friend" to stop.
I shouted at the rickshaw man to stop, and so did Saleem. I wagged my finger at the rickshaw man in disapproval as I said in simple English, "You bad. You lie." and headed off to Saleem's rickshaw. Just as I thought I was spared of a con job, Saleem insisted as he pulled the rickshaw that he had waited for me way too long and that I had to pay him 250 rupees instead of the 100 rupees earlier agreed on. I said no, but he pulled on, murmuring to himself, "You give me money. I happy. You happy. Everybody happy."
I think he got statement three wrong.
It was a tiring day, and having experienced being hustled for the entire day, I decided that it was enough. I got ready just the 100 rupees promised in my hand and kept the rest of my cash safely in my bag. As Saleem let me off at the car park, he smiled widely, expecting the 250 rupees. The smile dropped when he saw he was only to get 100 rupees. He got angry and waved the money away from me. He insisted on the 250 rupees, but I firmly rationalized, "You would have no money if your friend took me back. But I stop your friend. I take your rickshaw. You take 100 rupees."
His head dropped and with a disgruntled look, and he grudgingly took the money from my hands, murmuring under his breath.
I headed to the car where Lakhbir was patiently waiting. I briefly told him about the incident as he negotiated his way out of the car park. On the way out, Saleem spotted me and shouted a curse at me, raising his hands in the air. I looked away and took a deep breath. I felt I had enough for the day, but I had to head on to Fatehpur Sikri.
I prayed it would be less of an adventure. But I was wrong.
Lakhbir came to pick me up at the appointed time from the Sheraton's Hotel entrance and headed duly to the Taj Mahal. It was only a short ride away and before I knew it, he had turned into a car park filled with rickshaws, mini-buses and other cars and taxis. I then recalled that Jayant had informed me that he couldn't drive to the entrance of the Taj, and I had to take either the mini-bus or camel or rickshaw (whichever I fancied) to the Taj.
The car park was some 300m away from the entrance of the Taj and I could have chosen to walk if I had wanted to, and save some 100 rupees, but I decided that since I was pressed for time, I allowed myself to be harassed yet again by a group of locals who insisted I took their mode of transport. My rickshaw man smiled in silent victory when I announced I would be taking the rickshaw to my destination - the much talked about Taj Mahal, one of the seven wonders of the world.
Along the way, a guide insisted I should hire him, but Jayant had briefed me that I could walk around the Taj on my own so I waved him away firmly.
I was a little lost when my rickshaw man let me down and asked me to walk my way towards the entrance of the Taj. What I saw ahead was just a brown entrance. Nothing grand to talk about - could this be the Taj? He waved me towards the direction again and asked me how long I'd take. I told him I'd be back to meet him in 2 hours' time, so he could transport me back to the car park. He agreed and settled himself by the side of the road.
I walked ahead and along the way, touts offered to sell me souvenirs - miniatures of the Taj, elephants and what not. Again, I smiled and firmly declined.
Thankfully, I spotted a throng of tourists crowding around a little hut. I gathered that was where I was to buy my tickets and did so accordingly. I was given a bottle of mineral water and "shoe mittens" with my ticket price. 250 rupees.
After going through stringent checks on my bag and body, I was allowed in. It seemed surreal that I was finally on the grounds of one of the seven wonders of the world.
Jayant told me to take my time to absorb the architecture and beauty of the Taj, which I did so. He told me to ignore the security that would shoo the throngs of people so that they wouldn't hog the entrance. Somehow, being alone had its advantages since I wasn't hounded by "official" photographers who would offer to take a picture of you with the Taj in the background for a fee.
It surprised me to find so many local Indians (much more than foreigners) and it didn't dawn on me initially that not all of them resided in the state, and hence their visit to the Taj. This is where it's different from Singapore. While Singapore relies on overseas tourism, India's tourism is sustained by its local market.
I slowly made my way to the Taj, and marvelled at the grandeur of the tomb. Who would have thought that such intricate architecture, precise in all its measurements, was conceptualised years ago without the help of computers or technology. All it took was very adept hands and meticulous calculations to create a building that still stands proudly today.
As I walked towards the Taj, I realised that it was surrounded by other buildings, perhaps mosques and lots of greenery. Here's a few shots to share with you.
As you can see, there are many local Indians...
It was difficult getting a shot of the Taj Mahal without people in my view, but I did manage one close-to-good one!
The mosque I mentioned. There were two, one on the left, and the other on the right of the Taj Mahal.
When I got nearer to the Taj, I saw many local Indians handing over their footwear to a man who was mending shelves of shoes. As it was really crowded, it seemed a little messy as people tried to collect their footwear while others wanted to deposit theirs. I wondered if my Camper shoes would find my way back to me if I had left it there, and was thus thankful of the "shoe mittens" I was given at the entrance. Now, this is what sets the local Indians apart from the foreigners. Watch the feet, and you'd know!
A shot of my Camper shoes covered by the "shoe mittens"
I took lots of shots of the white marble and how intricately each piece/pattern was carved out of a single piece of marble. Now, those were the days where they didn't have the likes of our modern machines, and you can imagine how much time and patience and skill was needed to come up with designs such as these...
There were quotes from the Quran even engraved on the marble walls. And I was busily snapping away until I saw this sign:
Photography wasn't allowed inside the building where the tomb laid.
It was dark when I entered and the throngs of people made me feel claustrophobic. Everyone was glued to the central area where the tomb laid, and surround it was a fence of marble, intricately carved and edged out of one single piece of marble. The details that were on the outside were nothing compared to the tiny details on the fence. Through it, one could peep through to see the tomb.
I walked around a little more before exiting out from another opening, and found myself in the company of many people, just sitting around and enjoying the late afternoon sun.
A young couple approached me and started a conversation with me. They were curious to know where I came from and how was it I was travelling alone. They asked about Singapore and if they could find work here. They looked young and despite the halting English, I did manage to find out that they were MBA students taking a break. They studied in the Southern part of India and came to visit the Taj as it was their holidays. We exchanged email addresses and I took my leave as it was already getting late.
I walked away from the Taj quickly and wished I had more time to soak in the grandeur of the place. But I had to leave as I had to head to another place, as scheduled on my itinerary. Plus, I couldn't let my rickshaw man wait more than the two hours he was supposed to.
As I headed out of the first entrance, I was disorientated. As I looked to the left and right of me, I realised that people were leaving and coming in from both sides. I couldn't remember which side I came from, and to make things worse, the security at the exits ensured that once you left the place, you couldn't get in back!
I tried to recall hard and took the gamble to head towards my left. Thankfully, I made the right turn.
As I walked down the road, looking out for my rickshaw man, another man waved at me to hop on his rickshaw. I asked if he was Saleem, the name the rickshaw man introduced himself as. In broken English and a communication using gestures, he told me that Saleem was his friend and that he would bring me back to the car park. I honestly thought that perhaps, my rickshaw man had to go off so he sent a replacement, and just as I was doubting myself, there I saw, Saleem by the side of the road further down, waving frantically at me, and for his "friend" to stop.
I shouted at the rickshaw man to stop, and so did Saleem. I wagged my finger at the rickshaw man in disapproval as I said in simple English, "You bad. You lie." and headed off to Saleem's rickshaw. Just as I thought I was spared of a con job, Saleem insisted as he pulled the rickshaw that he had waited for me way too long and that I had to pay him 250 rupees instead of the 100 rupees earlier agreed on. I said no, but he pulled on, murmuring to himself, "You give me money. I happy. You happy. Everybody happy."
I think he got statement three wrong.
It was a tiring day, and having experienced being hustled for the entire day, I decided that it was enough. I got ready just the 100 rupees promised in my hand and kept the rest of my cash safely in my bag. As Saleem let me off at the car park, he smiled widely, expecting the 250 rupees. The smile dropped when he saw he was only to get 100 rupees. He got angry and waved the money away from me. He insisted on the 250 rupees, but I firmly rationalized, "You would have no money if your friend took me back. But I stop your friend. I take your rickshaw. You take 100 rupees."
His head dropped and with a disgruntled look, and he grudgingly took the money from my hands, murmuring under his breath.
I headed to the car where Lakhbir was patiently waiting. I briefly told him about the incident as he negotiated his way out of the car park. On the way out, Saleem spotted me and shouted a curse at me, raising his hands in the air. I looked away and took a deep breath. I felt I had enough for the day, but I had to head on to Fatehpur Sikri.
I prayed it would be less of an adventure. But I was wrong.
Fatehpur Sikri
FATEHPUR SIKRI
Lakhbir was driving faster than usual. Perhaps it was running late and he had wanted me to see the place before sun down. In a way, I was thankful for it as it meant I'd be heading for my hotel sooner.
I was begin to soak in the atmosphere of the shops leading up to Fatehpur Sikri when I was rudely interrupted by groups of men shouting at my car. As I looked up, I shocked to find a man running into the path of the car and attempting to stop it with his own bare hands. Lakhbir drove through without second thoughts, almost ramming through the group of men who were attempting to pull back the car with their hands. There were shouts as Lakhbir stepped on the accelerator, only to bring the car up to speed.
I was stunned for a moment. What happened? I asked Lakhbir why they stopped us. He coolly replied, "They are guides."
I understood what that meant. And I was thankful that Lakhbir sped through. It was perhaps coming to the end of the day, and these guides must have been hungry for their last opportunity to earn some cash before Fatehpur Sikri closed. Like my car, others must have sped through too, and to see them so desperate made me feel sad that they had to resort to this. Still, I couldn't imagine what would have happened if Lakhbir hadn't bravely sped through.
It was some 300m from where that happened before I reached the gates of Fatehpur Sikri. When Lakhbir stopped, I was apprehensive about leaving the car. The thought of having to be hassled again made me tired. But I braced myself, knowing it was the last leg for the day. Plus, I knew where I'd be heading next would be a wonderful world heritage site. I couldn't wait to check in.
An elderly man that looked very much like a school discipline approached me, offering to be my guide. By then, I knew what the market price was and despite him quoting me a price of 295 rupees, I flatly told him 100 rupees. He told me to listen to him first, then I could pay him what I wanted at the end of the tour. In my head, I decided that I'd pay him about 150 rupees if he was good.
My guide told me that Fatehpur Sikri was made up of two sites - Fatehpur (meaning City of Victory) and Sikri. He showed me the palaces of the king, the places where they enjoyed performances, the rooms of the concubines, the kitchen of the cooks, and the unique architecture that cleverly integrated design elements drawn from the Chinese, Muslims, Portuguese, Hindus and Persians.
The site was spread across a very large land area...
My guide explained each location within the site carefully, and I would have liked him more if not for the fact that he decided that he wanted to hold on to my camera. "I'll take the pictures for you. I'll tell you when you can take the pictures and when we should walk."
Gulp. OK. Not only did he look like a school master, he acted like one!
Behind me lies the site of Sikri, a holy site that housed a white marble mosque. (Notice my smile isn't as wide cos I wasn't quite happy I had to pose in the way he wanted, and where he wanted!)
My guide walked at a really fast pace and it was only after a while did I realise it was perhaps the site was about to close. My legs were aching from a whole day of walking and the brisk walk made my calf muscles tense up. Still, I followed him closely. Somehow, after seeing the group of men trying to stop my car, I was afraid I would be left defenseless if left alone.
I had to take off my shoes before entering the second site. My guide then brought me to one of the men who was selling cloths. Jayant did tell me about a little donation I could make at the white mosque, so I wasn't surprised when he asked me to make a donation. All I needed to do was to pick a fabric, and he would pack it up with some flowers and three pieces of thread, each representing a wish I could make inside.
I chose the smallest cloth, since he said it would be donated to make children's clothing. But the man insisted that I took the medium sized cloth instead, which he said would go to the women. He happily packed it all up and told me what I should do in the mosque, and asked to be paid 1100 rupees! I was shocked. I could almost cry at that time. I didn't know how to say no to three men, including my guide who were surrounding me, telling me the donation is for a good cause and that I'd be blessed.
Not that I didn't want to donate. I just didn't realise that it'd be so much! And with it going towards charity, it just felt wrong to bargain. Still, I felt uncomfortable, and relented, digging out the 1100 rupees from the envelope in my bag where I kept my spare cash.
Another man then led me into the mosque while my schoolmaster-looking guide hung on to my camera. For a moment, I was afraid I'd never get to see it again. In the mosque, I did what I was told and tied the strings on the marble-latticed walls. I was told not to tell the wishes to anyone, so that they will be granted.
The White Mosque - made entirely out of marble...
I heaved a sigh of relief when all of it ended and I saw my guide (with my camera still). He asked me to take out 10 rupees to give to the man outside the site who took care of my shoes. I handed it to the man who kindly gave me my shoes back.
I hardly had worn my shoes when I realised my guide was already some ten step ahead. I stumbled after him just to keep up. He led me back to the first site and along the way, told me that he could tell my future. At the end of the tour, he asked when I'd return. I told him that since he could tell my future, he would know! He then took a glance at me and said slowly, "You have a good future. Five years time. You will come with your husband."
I laughed in my heart. But he didn't wince a bit. He must have been serious. I wondered how much of this will come true!
I was truly happy to spot the turquoise shirt when I emerged from the site. Lakhbir was waiting for me and the sun was just about to set. It was getting dark.
I noticed that Lakhbir hadn't topped up the petrol, and was really worried I would have to stop halfway to push the car if we ever did run out of it! As though he read my mind, he swung into a very basic petrol station. Not the kinds you'd find in Singapore, but a really simple one. Nothing more than a shed, two pumps and a few chairs strewn around a basic plot of land covered in sand.
Lakhbir sounded his horn for the petrol attendant to assist him. A man popped his head out of the shed and waved his hand. They had run out of petrol!
Lakhbir decided to head to the Laxmi Villa Palace hotel, much to my relief. The day was a tough one. And I needed a well-deserved rest. It was pitch dark when I reached the hotel so I couldn't quite see what the architecture was like. Lakhbir parked his car at the adjacent car park while I made my way to the hotel. I told him to pick me up at 8am the next day. As I walked, I wondered where Lakhbir would stay for the night. Would he have food?
The man at the reception was warm and friendly. They had my room reserved and promptly led me to my room. It was on the ground floor facing the courtyard. It began to drizzle and it was getting cold. And when the man opened the door to my room, I knew it was all worth the wait.
The Laxmi Villa Palace...
I was hungry and really looking for the chilli masala toast that Jayant was talking about. I settled my backpack and freshened up a little before heading to the dining room. There, I ordered the toast and a serving of naan. I didn't realise it'd be such a huge serving! The waiter frowned when I couldn't finish up what I had ordered and I felt bad that I was wasting food. In my heart, I wished someone would be finishing up the spares.
My Dinner...
I updated the happenings for the day on my PDA while having my dinner. It was nice that after a long day, I was able to compose myself to a state of calm. The dining room was silent and I could faintly hear the sound of the falling rain.
Jayant called up to check that I was all OK. He was proud of what I did that day, and said this would be my most adventurous day. I was glad. I had much for the day. I didn't really want to be hassled again.
The day must have really drained me physically and psychologically. I laid on my bed for an hour and a half, not even wanting to do anything else. I decided I should have a good nights' sleep so I dragged myself out of bed, headed for a warm shower before turning down the lights and going to bed.
Tommorrow will be a nicer day, I am sure!
Lakhbir was driving faster than usual. Perhaps it was running late and he had wanted me to see the place before sun down. In a way, I was thankful for it as it meant I'd be heading for my hotel sooner.
I was begin to soak in the atmosphere of the shops leading up to Fatehpur Sikri when I was rudely interrupted by groups of men shouting at my car. As I looked up, I shocked to find a man running into the path of the car and attempting to stop it with his own bare hands. Lakhbir drove through without second thoughts, almost ramming through the group of men who were attempting to pull back the car with their hands. There were shouts as Lakhbir stepped on the accelerator, only to bring the car up to speed.
I was stunned for a moment. What happened? I asked Lakhbir why they stopped us. He coolly replied, "They are guides."
I understood what that meant. And I was thankful that Lakhbir sped through. It was perhaps coming to the end of the day, and these guides must have been hungry for their last opportunity to earn some cash before Fatehpur Sikri closed. Like my car, others must have sped through too, and to see them so desperate made me feel sad that they had to resort to this. Still, I couldn't imagine what would have happened if Lakhbir hadn't bravely sped through.
It was some 300m from where that happened before I reached the gates of Fatehpur Sikri. When Lakhbir stopped, I was apprehensive about leaving the car. The thought of having to be hassled again made me tired. But I braced myself, knowing it was the last leg for the day. Plus, I knew where I'd be heading next would be a wonderful world heritage site. I couldn't wait to check in.
An elderly man that looked very much like a school discipline approached me, offering to be my guide. By then, I knew what the market price was and despite him quoting me a price of 295 rupees, I flatly told him 100 rupees. He told me to listen to him first, then I could pay him what I wanted at the end of the tour. In my head, I decided that I'd pay him about 150 rupees if he was good.
My guide told me that Fatehpur Sikri was made up of two sites - Fatehpur (meaning City of Victory) and Sikri. He showed me the palaces of the king, the places where they enjoyed performances, the rooms of the concubines, the kitchen of the cooks, and the unique architecture that cleverly integrated design elements drawn from the Chinese, Muslims, Portuguese, Hindus and Persians.
The site was spread across a very large land area...
My guide explained each location within the site carefully, and I would have liked him more if not for the fact that he decided that he wanted to hold on to my camera. "I'll take the pictures for you. I'll tell you when you can take the pictures and when we should walk."
Gulp. OK. Not only did he look like a school master, he acted like one!
Behind me lies the site of Sikri, a holy site that housed a white marble mosque. (Notice my smile isn't as wide cos I wasn't quite happy I had to pose in the way he wanted, and where he wanted!)
My guide walked at a really fast pace and it was only after a while did I realise it was perhaps the site was about to close. My legs were aching from a whole day of walking and the brisk walk made my calf muscles tense up. Still, I followed him closely. Somehow, after seeing the group of men trying to stop my car, I was afraid I would be left defenseless if left alone.
I had to take off my shoes before entering the second site. My guide then brought me to one of the men who was selling cloths. Jayant did tell me about a little donation I could make at the white mosque, so I wasn't surprised when he asked me to make a donation. All I needed to do was to pick a fabric, and he would pack it up with some flowers and three pieces of thread, each representing a wish I could make inside.
I chose the smallest cloth, since he said it would be donated to make children's clothing. But the man insisted that I took the medium sized cloth instead, which he said would go to the women. He happily packed it all up and told me what I should do in the mosque, and asked to be paid 1100 rupees! I was shocked. I could almost cry at that time. I didn't know how to say no to three men, including my guide who were surrounding me, telling me the donation is for a good cause and that I'd be blessed.
Not that I didn't want to donate. I just didn't realise that it'd be so much! And with it going towards charity, it just felt wrong to bargain. Still, I felt uncomfortable, and relented, digging out the 1100 rupees from the envelope in my bag where I kept my spare cash.
Another man then led me into the mosque while my schoolmaster-looking guide hung on to my camera. For a moment, I was afraid I'd never get to see it again. In the mosque, I did what I was told and tied the strings on the marble-latticed walls. I was told not to tell the wishes to anyone, so that they will be granted.
The White Mosque - made entirely out of marble...
I heaved a sigh of relief when all of it ended and I saw my guide (with my camera still). He asked me to take out 10 rupees to give to the man outside the site who took care of my shoes. I handed it to the man who kindly gave me my shoes back.
I hardly had worn my shoes when I realised my guide was already some ten step ahead. I stumbled after him just to keep up. He led me back to the first site and along the way, told me that he could tell my future. At the end of the tour, he asked when I'd return. I told him that since he could tell my future, he would know! He then took a glance at me and said slowly, "You have a good future. Five years time. You will come with your husband."
I laughed in my heart. But he didn't wince a bit. He must have been serious. I wondered how much of this will come true!
I was truly happy to spot the turquoise shirt when I emerged from the site. Lakhbir was waiting for me and the sun was just about to set. It was getting dark.
I noticed that Lakhbir hadn't topped up the petrol, and was really worried I would have to stop halfway to push the car if we ever did run out of it! As though he read my mind, he swung into a very basic petrol station. Not the kinds you'd find in Singapore, but a really simple one. Nothing more than a shed, two pumps and a few chairs strewn around a basic plot of land covered in sand.
Lakhbir sounded his horn for the petrol attendant to assist him. A man popped his head out of the shed and waved his hand. They had run out of petrol!
Lakhbir decided to head to the Laxmi Villa Palace hotel, much to my relief. The day was a tough one. And I needed a well-deserved rest. It was pitch dark when I reached the hotel so I couldn't quite see what the architecture was like. Lakhbir parked his car at the adjacent car park while I made my way to the hotel. I told him to pick me up at 8am the next day. As I walked, I wondered where Lakhbir would stay for the night. Would he have food?
The man at the reception was warm and friendly. They had my room reserved and promptly led me to my room. It was on the ground floor facing the courtyard. It began to drizzle and it was getting cold. And when the man opened the door to my room, I knew it was all worth the wait.
The Laxmi Villa Palace...
I was hungry and really looking for the chilli masala toast that Jayant was talking about. I settled my backpack and freshened up a little before heading to the dining room. There, I ordered the toast and a serving of naan. I didn't realise it'd be such a huge serving! The waiter frowned when I couldn't finish up what I had ordered and I felt bad that I was wasting food. In my heart, I wished someone would be finishing up the spares.
My Dinner...
I updated the happenings for the day on my PDA while having my dinner. It was nice that after a long day, I was able to compose myself to a state of calm. The dining room was silent and I could faintly hear the sound of the falling rain.
Jayant called up to check that I was all OK. He was proud of what I did that day, and said this would be my most adventurous day. I was glad. I had much for the day. I didn't really want to be hassled again.
The day must have really drained me physically and psychologically. I laid on my bed for an hour and a half, not even wanting to do anything else. I decided I should have a good nights' sleep so I dragged myself out of bed, headed for a warm shower before turning down the lights and going to bed.
Tommorrow will be a nicer day, I am sure!
Third Day Adventure
The weather was gloomy as the day started with a drizzle. I packed my backpack and headed to the dining room again for a hearty breakfast as Jayant had suggested. I ordered the American breakfast comprising 4 slices of toast, cornflakes, two sunny side up, fruits, juice and tea. The same waiter served me and asked, “Only one person eating?” “Erm, yes.” I answered, wondering if I did appear a little too greedy. He walked away with a disgruntled look on his face, as if to say, “You’d better finish up the food today!”
My Breakfast
Much as the waiter had anticipated, I couldn’t finish the toast and fruits. I was filled to the brim. I felt I was ready for the day. I asked for the bill, and the waiter shook his head when he saw I couldn’t finish the food. Ooops!
I headed back to my room with a tinge of regret that I had to leave the nice room so soon. I wished I had more time to laze around but I had to go. I checked myself out and waited by the gate of the hotel for Lakhbir to drive in. As I waited, I realized the hotel was really unique and beautiful. I had missed out on how it looked the previous night as it was too dark. In the daylight, it looked really nice and quaint. And I took a picture of it.
The doors lead to the rooms. Notice the pretty paintings around the doorframes. Very pretty.
It was five past eight and when Lakhbir didn’t arrive, I figured he had perhaps come earlier and parked at the car park. So I made my way there and true enough, the car was there. When I approached the car, I realized he was in the same clothes he wore the previous day. And he was frantically trying to tie his turban. The car smelt stale as I entered it, and so as not to rush him, I told him to take his time. Within minutes, he had his turban tied, his shirt tucked in again and car cleaned of fallen leaves and condensation.
I felt bad that as I stayed in the luxury and warmth of my room, Lakhbir had stayed in the car for the night. I wondered if he had eaten. I wondered if he kept warm in the car. Wasn’t there a place for him to stay? I kept quiet throughout the journey as I tried to reconcile understanding the culture and humanity. Was this how It was in India?
We were heading to Jaipur next, the City of Victory. On the way, we stopped by a bird sanctuary to find out if they conducted education tours for students. It was quite a site to see 5 to 6 bird guides surrounding me as they tried to tell me how good they were as a guide. They weren’t pushy when I told them I wasn’t going into the park. In fact, they were friendly and witty, even in their basic English. They joked and teased each other as I took a few pictures.
We reached Jaipur at around 10.30am. Lakhbir stopped the car sooner than I had expected. My itinerary Jayant set for me said I were to have a toilet stop before I headed for the City Palace Museum, but Lakhbir missed it and sent me straight to the Museum instead.
He let me down on the opposite side of the road, and pointed me to the direction of a grand building. I asked meekly if I were to cross the road, hoping that he could sense my apprehension in fighting the traffic of cars, bikes, horse-carts and what not, and drop me off on the same side of the road as the museum instead. “Yeah, you just cross.” Gulp! I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t anticipated this. I smiled bravely, told him to come pick me up some an hour and a half later and closed the door. As he drove off, I wondered how best to make it to the other side of the street. At that moment, I was thankful for the “training” I got in crossing roads in Hanoi. You just have to not worry about the traffic and cross! And so I did.
When I reached the other side of the road, I was proud of myself. But I was in for another challenge. The “museum” looked surprisingly sparse, and parts of it looked as if it were under construction. There was no ticket booth or an entrance to be seen. I spotted two Sikhs behind a cordoned area chatting away and bravely walked towards them, surpassing the restricted area. I caught their attention immediately since I was trespassing. I asked if the building behind them was the City Palace Museum.
“No, no. This not City Palace.”
“Where is the City Palace Museum?”
“Oh, half a kilometer from here.” He gestured towards the road perpendicular to where I was standing. “You walk there.”
I thanked the men and whipped out my handphone to give Lakhbir a call. But instead of a ringing tone, a message telling me that his phone was not switched on came on! I was stunned for a moment and didn’t quite know what to do next. It didn’t make sense for me to be waiting an hour and a half for Lakhbir, so I decided to walk to the City Palace Museum myself. I gazed ahead of me and saw a grand looking building straight ahead. I was quite sure it was just a short walk away.
I bravely crossed the road again and made my way down the busy road leading to the grand looking building. In between, along the grass patches laid poor local Indians who had pitched their tents and perhaps stayed there for the night. Two children and a woman found it unusual to see a foreigner walking along their roads and followed me for a while. My heart was beating faster and when strange men approached me to initiate a chat, I just looked ahead and walked in a quick steady pace. I kept a straight face, but my heart was thumping hard.
I really didn’t know what was going through my head when I started walking. I had no map with me, and I really didn’t know if I was heading in the right direction. I spoke no Hindi and I didn’t know if the people in Jaipur spoke English. I had only just entered the city and what an adventure awaited me!
After successfully crossing a major road, thanks to some locals who took the lead, I reached the grand looking building and to my disappointment, it wasn’t the City Palace Museum as I had thought. Instead, I was led to another stretch of roads, lined with shops that sold everything Indian you can imagine – cloths, pottery, flowers, cords, cables, carpets, shawls… The place was really crowded as the bikes jostled with the cars that challenged the trucks in the sounding of horns. The horse carts maneuvered with the bulls while pedestrians weaved in and out, walking ahead and shopping at the same time.
I was honestly shaken, but I knew I had to get to my destination. I spotted three young Indian women dressed casually like any Singapore youth would, and decided to walk close to them to well, blend in. All was well til they decided to take a stop to shop. I couldn’t possibly tag along! And so, I bravely walked ahead til I reached the next road junction that was far wider and far more congested than the roads I had crossed. I stood at the junction for a full two minutes and wondered if the grand building I saw across the road was the City Palace Museum. I didn’t want to take a wasted risk and so turned around and asked the shopkeeper at the side of the road if what I were facing was the museum. “Oh, this is the back-side of the museum. You got to cross this road, then cross that road, then walk down, then turn left, then walk straight then you’ll find the front side of the museum.”
“Cross this road?” I almost forgot the rest of the instructions. Looking at the road made me frightened enough. Hanoi did train me, but this is far more challenging since the cars were going at a higher speed.
“Ya..ya… Cross the road.” He waved his head from side to side as he spoke.
“The cars won’t hit me?”
“No, no… traffic is too slow. They won’t hit you.” He smiled and waved me towards the edge of the junction.
“Slow? Right…” I thought to myself, trying to gather as much courage as I could. As if God was watching down from heaven, three big-sized women walked past me and crossed the road. Instinctively, I followed them closely behind and before I knew it, I was miraculously on the other side of the road.
I just had another road more to clear and I took a full ten minutes before I got to the other side on my own. I walked towards the lane as the man had suggested and with the help of some friendly passersby, I managed to reach the entrance of the City Palace Museum.
My Breakfast
Much as the waiter had anticipated, I couldn’t finish the toast and fruits. I was filled to the brim. I felt I was ready for the day. I asked for the bill, and the waiter shook his head when he saw I couldn’t finish the food. Ooops!
I headed back to my room with a tinge of regret that I had to leave the nice room so soon. I wished I had more time to laze around but I had to go. I checked myself out and waited by the gate of the hotel for Lakhbir to drive in. As I waited, I realized the hotel was really unique and beautiful. I had missed out on how it looked the previous night as it was too dark. In the daylight, it looked really nice and quaint. And I took a picture of it.
The doors lead to the rooms. Notice the pretty paintings around the doorframes. Very pretty.
It was five past eight and when Lakhbir didn’t arrive, I figured he had perhaps come earlier and parked at the car park. So I made my way there and true enough, the car was there. When I approached the car, I realized he was in the same clothes he wore the previous day. And he was frantically trying to tie his turban. The car smelt stale as I entered it, and so as not to rush him, I told him to take his time. Within minutes, he had his turban tied, his shirt tucked in again and car cleaned of fallen leaves and condensation.
I felt bad that as I stayed in the luxury and warmth of my room, Lakhbir had stayed in the car for the night. I wondered if he had eaten. I wondered if he kept warm in the car. Wasn’t there a place for him to stay? I kept quiet throughout the journey as I tried to reconcile understanding the culture and humanity. Was this how It was in India?
We were heading to Jaipur next, the City of Victory. On the way, we stopped by a bird sanctuary to find out if they conducted education tours for students. It was quite a site to see 5 to 6 bird guides surrounding me as they tried to tell me how good they were as a guide. They weren’t pushy when I told them I wasn’t going into the park. In fact, they were friendly and witty, even in their basic English. They joked and teased each other as I took a few pictures.
We reached Jaipur at around 10.30am. Lakhbir stopped the car sooner than I had expected. My itinerary Jayant set for me said I were to have a toilet stop before I headed for the City Palace Museum, but Lakhbir missed it and sent me straight to the Museum instead.
He let me down on the opposite side of the road, and pointed me to the direction of a grand building. I asked meekly if I were to cross the road, hoping that he could sense my apprehension in fighting the traffic of cars, bikes, horse-carts and what not, and drop me off on the same side of the road as the museum instead. “Yeah, you just cross.” Gulp! I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t anticipated this. I smiled bravely, told him to come pick me up some an hour and a half later and closed the door. As he drove off, I wondered how best to make it to the other side of the street. At that moment, I was thankful for the “training” I got in crossing roads in Hanoi. You just have to not worry about the traffic and cross! And so I did.
When I reached the other side of the road, I was proud of myself. But I was in for another challenge. The “museum” looked surprisingly sparse, and parts of it looked as if it were under construction. There was no ticket booth or an entrance to be seen. I spotted two Sikhs behind a cordoned area chatting away and bravely walked towards them, surpassing the restricted area. I caught their attention immediately since I was trespassing. I asked if the building behind them was the City Palace Museum.
“No, no. This not City Palace.”
“Where is the City Palace Museum?”
“Oh, half a kilometer from here.” He gestured towards the road perpendicular to where I was standing. “You walk there.”
I thanked the men and whipped out my handphone to give Lakhbir a call. But instead of a ringing tone, a message telling me that his phone was not switched on came on! I was stunned for a moment and didn’t quite know what to do next. It didn’t make sense for me to be waiting an hour and a half for Lakhbir, so I decided to walk to the City Palace Museum myself. I gazed ahead of me and saw a grand looking building straight ahead. I was quite sure it was just a short walk away.
I bravely crossed the road again and made my way down the busy road leading to the grand looking building. In between, along the grass patches laid poor local Indians who had pitched their tents and perhaps stayed there for the night. Two children and a woman found it unusual to see a foreigner walking along their roads and followed me for a while. My heart was beating faster and when strange men approached me to initiate a chat, I just looked ahead and walked in a quick steady pace. I kept a straight face, but my heart was thumping hard.
I really didn’t know what was going through my head when I started walking. I had no map with me, and I really didn’t know if I was heading in the right direction. I spoke no Hindi and I didn’t know if the people in Jaipur spoke English. I had only just entered the city and what an adventure awaited me!
After successfully crossing a major road, thanks to some locals who took the lead, I reached the grand looking building and to my disappointment, it wasn’t the City Palace Museum as I had thought. Instead, I was led to another stretch of roads, lined with shops that sold everything Indian you can imagine – cloths, pottery, flowers, cords, cables, carpets, shawls… The place was really crowded as the bikes jostled with the cars that challenged the trucks in the sounding of horns. The horse carts maneuvered with the bulls while pedestrians weaved in and out, walking ahead and shopping at the same time.
I was honestly shaken, but I knew I had to get to my destination. I spotted three young Indian women dressed casually like any Singapore youth would, and decided to walk close to them to well, blend in. All was well til they decided to take a stop to shop. I couldn’t possibly tag along! And so, I bravely walked ahead til I reached the next road junction that was far wider and far more congested than the roads I had crossed. I stood at the junction for a full two minutes and wondered if the grand building I saw across the road was the City Palace Museum. I didn’t want to take a wasted risk and so turned around and asked the shopkeeper at the side of the road if what I were facing was the museum. “Oh, this is the back-side of the museum. You got to cross this road, then cross that road, then walk down, then turn left, then walk straight then you’ll find the front side of the museum.”
“Cross this road?” I almost forgot the rest of the instructions. Looking at the road made me frightened enough. Hanoi did train me, but this is far more challenging since the cars were going at a higher speed.
“Ya..ya… Cross the road.” He waved his head from side to side as he spoke.
“The cars won’t hit me?”
“No, no… traffic is too slow. They won’t hit you.” He smiled and waved me towards the edge of the junction.
“Slow? Right…” I thought to myself, trying to gather as much courage as I could. As if God was watching down from heaven, three big-sized women walked past me and crossed the road. Instinctively, I followed them closely behind and before I knew it, I was miraculously on the other side of the road.
I just had another road more to clear and I took a full ten minutes before I got to the other side on my own. I walked towards the lane as the man had suggested and with the help of some friendly passersby, I managed to reach the entrance of the City Palace Museum.
City Palace Museum
I was greeted with brightly painted walls in yellow, deep red and white when I entered the museum. I learnt that the museum was split into three areas – textiles, art and weaponry. Each was interesting, as you had to wind in and out of pillars or climb spiral staircases to get to the exhibits. The art museum featured art in the previous era as well as the original Persian carpets, books, calligraphy and even the sedan chairs that they used to carry their emperors on. It’s amazing to see how the art forms changed over the years. Too bad photography isn’t allowed the museum or I’d be capturing those shots!
The textile museum was nice too since it showed what the kings and royalty wore during that time. I remember one piece particularly clearly because it was so huge! I overhead one of the hired guides who was showing two Caucasian man around that the king was some 700 pounds. You can imagine who wide the waistband was! Plus, the king was short, so it was kind of disproportionate.
Shots of parts of the museum
Cannons...
The weaponry section featured weapons used at war. There were loads to look at, but I didn’t quite know how to appreciate it, so I walked out of the place quite quickly.
I went into a shop within the museum that sold handicrafts. It was quite nice to see them actually making what they were selling, from woven fabric to metals and even paper. I was tempted to buy the papers but it was a little pricey and so I gave it a miss.
The loom - and we were looking for this in Singapore?!
Lakhbir called me in between my tour around the museum. He had forgotten to charge his handphone and hence it was dead when I attempted to call him. I made arrangements for him to pick me up at the entrance of the City Palace Museum. I waited some half an hour but still, there was no sight of him. I called him again and was quite frustrated that the line kept getting cut off. It seemed he was at the “entrance” too, but still I couldn’t spot him. Finally, out of frustration, I passed my handphone to the security guard standing by the entrance to give Lakhbir directions to the entrance I was at. Thankfully, there was a group of youths standing close-by and one of them kindly gave Lakhbir directions to where I was. He then told me that Lakhbir would meet me round the corner, near the entrance to an Observatory nearby. I thanked him profusely and made my way round the corner.
The lane there was pretty sparse and so it smelt of dried urine. Still, I carefully trotted along, appearing as “gung-ho” as I could. You can’t imagine how happy I was when I finally spotted Lakhbir driving down with his car!
I then told Lakhbir to skip the hotel stop he was supposed to send me to before the City Palace Museum stop and go straight to the Loharu House, my accommodation at Jaipur.
The Loharu House
It took Lakhbir awhile to find the Loharu House since he wasn’t familiar with the roads in Jaipur. After getting some directions from the locals there, he managed to turn into the Civil Line, a place where Jayant told me politicians or people of higher status stayed. The roads there were significantly cleaner and well maintained.
As the car swerved into the driveway of the Loharu House, I could understand why Jayant said it belonged to a descendant of a royalty. The gardens were pruned to perfection. The flowers on the trees swayed in the gentle breeze as I opened the car door. The place smelled fresh.
An Indian man came to the driveway where Lakhbir had stopped his car. “Miss Deborah?” he asked. I smiled. They had expected my arrival.
“Would you like to have lunch?”
The aroma emerging from the dining room was too strong to resist. A whiff of it was enough to help me make my decision. “That will be wonderful!”
Another Indian man, significantly of the lower end of the hierarchy came by and offered to carry my backpack. He led me up the marbled staircase, lined with family pictures of royalty. We then came to a rooftop garden that led to a few rooms. He opened one of them and showed me in. He then told me to come down to the dining room anytime I was ready for my lunch.
My Room
The key to my room. Most keys to the guest rooms are like that. I love that it's so antique!
I took a while to settle myself down before heading down to the dining room. There was an elderly man and a kind looking woman having their lunch as well.
“Welcome! Sorry, we didn’t know you’d be arriving so early or we’d have waited for you.” she said. I thanked her and told her I was early, as she busied herself telling the servers to bring me my plate. Before I knew it, I was served hot chapatti. I helped myself to the servings of curry at the small buffet table.
“This is my husband.” I wished I had caught the name, but I didn’t, and smiled at him instead.
“You have a beautiful place,” I commented, trying to strike a conversation.
“Thank you,” the lady smiled with pride.
“And how may I address you?” I asked.
“You can call me Fauziah,” she smiled at me kindly.
“Oh.. So you are Mrs Fauziah! I’m so sorry. It’s so nice to meet you. Jayant has been talking to me about you!”
“Oh yes,” she continued. “Danialle called this morning to check if you had already checked in.”
“Try some chutneys. This is nice… Do you eat this?” She pointed to small bowl of deep-fried okra. “Go on, taste it and see if you like it.”
I took a spoonful of the surprisingly light vegetable and crunched on it. The mix of spices cooked with the okra made it a wonderful dish to eat with the rice and curry. Just as I thought I had finished the chapatti on my plate, another hot one came.
Fauziah was known as Begum, a title conferred upon the women of royalty. It was obvious during my lunch that it was so. She bossed her manager and servers around in a kind but firm manner that saw them in silent reverence of her.
After pointing me to some sweet dates and Indian candies, I was left to have my lunch on my own, something I appreciated.
I walked around the place after lunch, and realized the gardens were far bigger than what I saw. She had a few gardeners working on her greenery, explaining why it was so immaculately pruned.
As I walked round the porch, I saw Lakhbir cleaning the car, clearing out the leaves from inside the car and polishing the windows. I had asked him to go have his lunch (since I knew he didn’t have breakfast) and pick me up some 3 hours later before I had checked in, but there he was. He couldn’t have possibly come back so soon. “Did he have lunch at all?” I wondered.
I went back to my room and realized that there wasn’t a TV in the room. Neither was there any radio or entertainment to speak of. The room was quiet except for the droning of the ceiling fans. Maybe the quietness was nice, and so I took out my book that I had bought in Delhi and started reading it. After a while, I got bored and decided to update my PDA with the happenings of the day. When that was done, there was still some two hours before I was to head down to MI Road for some shopping. That was when I decided to indulge on a phone call overseas.
I called Wendy, but she didn’t pick up her call so I called Grace and spoke to her for a while. It was nice to hear a familiar voice finally! I was concerned about the phone bills and asked Grace to check and send me a text message to tell me how much it would cost. It worked out to around S$1 a minute, which I thought was quite manageable since I spoke to her for some 15 minutes only. (I was billed later and found out it cost me almost S$4 a minute after charges from the Indian telco!).
After I put down the phone with Grace, I called Jun then Wendy. Again, it was wonderful speaking to them. That added some bulk to the final phone bill! But I guess I missed my friends as much as I was enjoying the time on my own in India.
As the car swerved into the driveway of the Loharu House, I could understand why Jayant said it belonged to a descendant of a royalty. The gardens were pruned to perfection. The flowers on the trees swayed in the gentle breeze as I opened the car door. The place smelled fresh.
An Indian man came to the driveway where Lakhbir had stopped his car. “Miss Deborah?” he asked. I smiled. They had expected my arrival.
“Would you like to have lunch?”
The aroma emerging from the dining room was too strong to resist. A whiff of it was enough to help me make my decision. “That will be wonderful!”
Another Indian man, significantly of the lower end of the hierarchy came by and offered to carry my backpack. He led me up the marbled staircase, lined with family pictures of royalty. We then came to a rooftop garden that led to a few rooms. He opened one of them and showed me in. He then told me to come down to the dining room anytime I was ready for my lunch.
My Room
The key to my room. Most keys to the guest rooms are like that. I love that it's so antique!
I took a while to settle myself down before heading down to the dining room. There was an elderly man and a kind looking woman having their lunch as well.
“Welcome! Sorry, we didn’t know you’d be arriving so early or we’d have waited for you.” she said. I thanked her and told her I was early, as she busied herself telling the servers to bring me my plate. Before I knew it, I was served hot chapatti. I helped myself to the servings of curry at the small buffet table.
“This is my husband.” I wished I had caught the name, but I didn’t, and smiled at him instead.
“You have a beautiful place,” I commented, trying to strike a conversation.
“Thank you,” the lady smiled with pride.
“And how may I address you?” I asked.
“You can call me Fauziah,” she smiled at me kindly.
“Oh.. So you are Mrs Fauziah! I’m so sorry. It’s so nice to meet you. Jayant has been talking to me about you!”
“Oh yes,” she continued. “Danialle called this morning to check if you had already checked in.”
“Try some chutneys. This is nice… Do you eat this?” She pointed to small bowl of deep-fried okra. “Go on, taste it and see if you like it.”
I took a spoonful of the surprisingly light vegetable and crunched on it. The mix of spices cooked with the okra made it a wonderful dish to eat with the rice and curry. Just as I thought I had finished the chapatti on my plate, another hot one came.
Fauziah was known as Begum, a title conferred upon the women of royalty. It was obvious during my lunch that it was so. She bossed her manager and servers around in a kind but firm manner that saw them in silent reverence of her.
After pointing me to some sweet dates and Indian candies, I was left to have my lunch on my own, something I appreciated.
I walked around the place after lunch, and realized the gardens were far bigger than what I saw. She had a few gardeners working on her greenery, explaining why it was so immaculately pruned.
As I walked round the porch, I saw Lakhbir cleaning the car, clearing out the leaves from inside the car and polishing the windows. I had asked him to go have his lunch (since I knew he didn’t have breakfast) and pick me up some 3 hours later before I had checked in, but there he was. He couldn’t have possibly come back so soon. “Did he have lunch at all?” I wondered.
I went back to my room and realized that there wasn’t a TV in the room. Neither was there any radio or entertainment to speak of. The room was quiet except for the droning of the ceiling fans. Maybe the quietness was nice, and so I took out my book that I had bought in Delhi and started reading it. After a while, I got bored and decided to update my PDA with the happenings of the day. When that was done, there was still some two hours before I was to head down to MI Road for some shopping. That was when I decided to indulge on a phone call overseas.
I called Wendy, but she didn’t pick up her call so I called Grace and spoke to her for a while. It was nice to hear a familiar voice finally! I was concerned about the phone bills and asked Grace to check and send me a text message to tell me how much it would cost. It worked out to around S$1 a minute, which I thought was quite manageable since I spoke to her for some 15 minutes only. (I was billed later and found out it cost me almost S$4 a minute after charges from the Indian telco!).
After I put down the phone with Grace, I called Jun then Wendy. Again, it was wonderful speaking to them. That added some bulk to the final phone bill! But I guess I missed my friends as much as I was enjoying the time on my own in India.
Trip to MI Road
I went down to the driveway to meet Lakhbir as scheduled and met the Begum. I asked her if she knew where MI Road was, and she kindly offered to give Lakhbir directions. While waiting for Lakhbir to drive his car over, we had a quick exchange of our jobs. Besides running the Loharu House, she also ran her own Montessori school. And so she was particularly interested when I told her I was a teacher. I shared with her about how understanding the psychology of adolescents is important in education and she echoed my sentiments exactly. She asked if I could write her a short note of what I shared with her so that she may include it in a paper she is writing about underage drinking and driving. I promised her I would.
The road to MI was particularly crowded. Perhaps it was getting late and the evening traffic was filling up the roads quickly. After making a few turns, Lakhbir told me I had reached MI road. I looked doubtful since it didn’t resemble much of a shopping street. Besides a few shops, there wasn’t much to shop or eat. I told Lakhbir I would be back in an hour as he parked his car.
The Roads of Jaipur
The sky was getting darker, and the winds were blowing quite strongly. I walked quickly up the road, and came across a shop that sold pashmina shawls. I had wanted to go in, but was afraid I’d get swindled again, and so I walked ahead, hoping to find a bookshop. I came to the end of a row of shops and I knew if I had walked ahead more, there wouldn’t be much to shop either, and so I made a turn back. Just then, it started to drizzle. I quickly pulled my hood over my head to shelter me from the rain. But the rain started to come down in big drops of water, only to drive me into the shop selling pashmina shawls! I figured, if I were to get stuck in the rain, I might as well be stuck in a shop I could do some browsing in!
The Kashmirian men welcomed me almost immediately. I began to wonder if history would repeat itself. I asked to look at some bells with intricate designs, made of paper. I thought they would make nice gifts for my colleagues back home. After I chose some to buy, one of them decided to show me some shawls. Honestly, he was really nice. He pulled out almost all the different kinds of shawls to show me the difference in quality, and the difference in price. And so with the rain pouring outside, he explained the difference between Kashmir wool and Pashmina wool. The former comes from the belly, thus giving a rougher texture, while the latter comes from the chin of the animal, giving a finer texture. I also learnt about the difference in pricing, the hybrids (mixed with silk for use in summer and winter) and the ultimate pure pashmina with hand embroidery, usually bought as bridal gifts - a whopping 25000 rupees!
As he was speaking to me halfway, the shop was hit with a loud bang and the shop turned pitch black. I was stunned for a moment and was thankful that the street lights outside shed some light into the shop through the glass doors and windows. Funnily, the man continued talking to me as if none of this happened, until I told him, “I can’t see you!”
“Oh, don’t worry. You just listen to me.” He then asked his colleagues to switch on the generator and within minutes, the lights were back on. They did all these in such a calm manner, it seemed as if this was an everyday affair!
I finally gave in and bought Grace a shawl, and one for myself. They were far more expensive than what I bought at the Sheraton, but I know there were far better in quality. I paid 6200 rupees in all for 2 shawls, the bells and stars. I definitely felt the pinch of having spent so much, but I figured it made a good gift for Grace. Plus, that was the only shop I could get something decent.
I left the shop since the storm had faded into a drizzle. I walked fast towards where Lakhbir parked his car just in case it decided to rain again. I wouldn’t want to be caught in another shop! Then suddenly, a slim Indian man stopped me and asked me for a few minutes. I really wanted to get back to the car as I was already 5 minutes late, but the man insisted on a conversation with me. I tried to excuse myself but he seemed offended.
“Why do you foreigners like to come to India but you are so unfriendly with us?”
That stopped me in my tracks and standing in the light drizzle, I tried to think of an answer. It got me thinking for a while, and I gave the reason that it could be because of the language difference, or they were afraid speaking to strangers (just like I was).
“Then why come if you are afraid?”
Again, that got me thinking. He did make a valid point and it got me realizing again why I was there for. Still I think it takes a lot of guts and an open mind to dare venture the kaleidoscope of cultures, class and income capacity. The differences seem so vast yet it's amazing how these locals seem to know their place in this country they call their home. As a foreigner, I ask myself how and where can I fit in without being seen as a foreigner?
I finally excused myself, telling him I had a friend waiting for me. An Indian friend. Indeed, after the incident at Fatehpur Sikri, I did regard Lakhbir as a friend. He seemed happy to know a foreigner like me had an Indian friend.
It took Lakhbir a while to get out of the car park lot since the traffic by that time was densely heavy. Everyone seemed eager to get out of the rain. Some roads were beginning to flood, which made traffic even heavier. It was enlightening to see how the locals make their way home, some on a white horse, most on bikes, while others squeezed onto the public buses, climbing up the ladder at the back of the bus onto the top of the bus. It gives a totally different meaning to “getting on the bus” – literally!
BACK AT THE LOHARU HOUSE
I went back to my guest room at the Loharu House. The storm had damaged the garden outside my room as the pots had toppled over and smashed into pieces. The fans and lights in my room were also affected and so I called for help and within minutes, a man came over to fix it. I then asked for hot water, for which I made a cup of instant noodles. It was surely comforting on a cold night.
I took out the book I bought at Delhi - Being Indian, highly recommended by both Sarah and Jayant, and started reading it. I don't know how long before I dozed off but when I woke up it was late. I showered and headed to bed. It would be my last night I could turn in early and wake up relatively late.
The road to MI was particularly crowded. Perhaps it was getting late and the evening traffic was filling up the roads quickly. After making a few turns, Lakhbir told me I had reached MI road. I looked doubtful since it didn’t resemble much of a shopping street. Besides a few shops, there wasn’t much to shop or eat. I told Lakhbir I would be back in an hour as he parked his car.
The Roads of Jaipur
The sky was getting darker, and the winds were blowing quite strongly. I walked quickly up the road, and came across a shop that sold pashmina shawls. I had wanted to go in, but was afraid I’d get swindled again, and so I walked ahead, hoping to find a bookshop. I came to the end of a row of shops and I knew if I had walked ahead more, there wouldn’t be much to shop either, and so I made a turn back. Just then, it started to drizzle. I quickly pulled my hood over my head to shelter me from the rain. But the rain started to come down in big drops of water, only to drive me into the shop selling pashmina shawls! I figured, if I were to get stuck in the rain, I might as well be stuck in a shop I could do some browsing in!
The Kashmirian men welcomed me almost immediately. I began to wonder if history would repeat itself. I asked to look at some bells with intricate designs, made of paper. I thought they would make nice gifts for my colleagues back home. After I chose some to buy, one of them decided to show me some shawls. Honestly, he was really nice. He pulled out almost all the different kinds of shawls to show me the difference in quality, and the difference in price. And so with the rain pouring outside, he explained the difference between Kashmir wool and Pashmina wool. The former comes from the belly, thus giving a rougher texture, while the latter comes from the chin of the animal, giving a finer texture. I also learnt about the difference in pricing, the hybrids (mixed with silk for use in summer and winter) and the ultimate pure pashmina with hand embroidery, usually bought as bridal gifts - a whopping 25000 rupees!
As he was speaking to me halfway, the shop was hit with a loud bang and the shop turned pitch black. I was stunned for a moment and was thankful that the street lights outside shed some light into the shop through the glass doors and windows. Funnily, the man continued talking to me as if none of this happened, until I told him, “I can’t see you!”
“Oh, don’t worry. You just listen to me.” He then asked his colleagues to switch on the generator and within minutes, the lights were back on. They did all these in such a calm manner, it seemed as if this was an everyday affair!
I finally gave in and bought Grace a shawl, and one for myself. They were far more expensive than what I bought at the Sheraton, but I know there were far better in quality. I paid 6200 rupees in all for 2 shawls, the bells and stars. I definitely felt the pinch of having spent so much, but I figured it made a good gift for Grace. Plus, that was the only shop I could get something decent.
I left the shop since the storm had faded into a drizzle. I walked fast towards where Lakhbir parked his car just in case it decided to rain again. I wouldn’t want to be caught in another shop! Then suddenly, a slim Indian man stopped me and asked me for a few minutes. I really wanted to get back to the car as I was already 5 minutes late, but the man insisted on a conversation with me. I tried to excuse myself but he seemed offended.
“Why do you foreigners like to come to India but you are so unfriendly with us?”
That stopped me in my tracks and standing in the light drizzle, I tried to think of an answer. It got me thinking for a while, and I gave the reason that it could be because of the language difference, or they were afraid speaking to strangers (just like I was).
“Then why come if you are afraid?”
Again, that got me thinking. He did make a valid point and it got me realizing again why I was there for. Still I think it takes a lot of guts and an open mind to dare venture the kaleidoscope of cultures, class and income capacity. The differences seem so vast yet it's amazing how these locals seem to know their place in this country they call their home. As a foreigner, I ask myself how and where can I fit in without being seen as a foreigner?
I finally excused myself, telling him I had a friend waiting for me. An Indian friend. Indeed, after the incident at Fatehpur Sikri, I did regard Lakhbir as a friend. He seemed happy to know a foreigner like me had an Indian friend.
It took Lakhbir a while to get out of the car park lot since the traffic by that time was densely heavy. Everyone seemed eager to get out of the rain. Some roads were beginning to flood, which made traffic even heavier. It was enlightening to see how the locals make their way home, some on a white horse, most on bikes, while others squeezed onto the public buses, climbing up the ladder at the back of the bus onto the top of the bus. It gives a totally different meaning to “getting on the bus” – literally!
BACK AT THE LOHARU HOUSE
I went back to my guest room at the Loharu House. The storm had damaged the garden outside my room as the pots had toppled over and smashed into pieces. The fans and lights in my room were also affected and so I called for help and within minutes, a man came over to fix it. I then asked for hot water, for which I made a cup of instant noodles. It was surely comforting on a cold night.
I took out the book I bought at Delhi - Being Indian, highly recommended by both Sarah and Jayant, and started reading it. I don't know how long before I dozed off but when I woke up it was late. I showered and headed to bed. It would be my last night I could turn in early and wake up relatively late.
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