Peculiarities of the Indian character, pt II

 

Udaipur

I wrote earlier in this Blog about some insights I’d had into the India culture and psych, or perhaps just some of the annoyances of touts and other various chaps. Looking back on it, some of it is right, some of is wrong, and some of it is still under debate.

Four instance, damp washing is still right.

 

I’m sorry, I meant to say, it was really about four instances that instilled in me some characteristics in Indians that I hadn’t seen before. Let me explain each of these in detail.

 

 

First: I felt sorry for Rishvan, the owner of the guesthouse we have been staying. In his lifetime, he must have heard thousands of stories of tourists being ripped off by this driver or that merchant. Blah, blah, blah. It was probably the first thing he heard from any tourist who came to stay with him. We got talking to, and became friendly with him after the first few days. Turns out he was a really funny and decent lad (surprising, once you remove the ‘business’ side of people, they become warm and personable). He began telling us his view on the situation. An Indian man (let’s say, a shoe seller) is running is business (in India, specialisation is everything. You’ll have one man who’s done the same microscopic thing (sell omelettes for instance) for thirty-plus years.). The purpose of his business is to make money from the business to provide for him family. Naturally, he want’s that business to be successful to provide a better life for his family. If, he lives in a culture where nothing is fixed in price, so if he see’s a customer who will pay more for his product, he will naturally try and sell to the customer who will pay more. Fair game. He will ask the customer. If the customer says ‘no thanks’ he will quickly realise it is not a sale, he will do nothing further. If however, the customer says, ‘I will take a look’ he will begin the process of trying to extract maximum price from the customer. Fair game. The characters desire for a product will largely determine how much they will pay for it. Their information or knowledge regarding the product is irrelevant. it is their desire, not their knowledge, that will determine the price. Or, and it’s a key ‘or’, if they begin the negotiation process, it is a test of their skill as a businessman. If they win a low price, then alas, they are a good business man, if the tourist pays a higher than a price the seller will except, then wallah, he is the superior business man. Fair game.

 

So, from the Indian’s point of view, no one is being ripped off. He is a sharp-minded businessman. From the tourist point of view however, who is used to a cold beer being $5, paying $10 for a beer is a rip-off.

 

Not so, it is a matter of culture. In Indian culture, it is sharp minded business in a fair game; in our culture it is a ‘rip-off’ because we paid more than the price on the sticker said it should. Neither is wrong; each is right, depending on which side you view it from.

 

The obvious defence of this comes from the following story. You turn up to the airport in the dark. You have not one iota about where you are staying or where you are going. All you seek is darkness and a man asking for thirty dollars. Okay, you pay it. Better to get a hotel and have some sleep. You later find out you can get the same ride for three dollars. Darn, you got ripped off. No. You did not have the required information to make an informed decision and thus simply paid the price you were offered. Now, that can’t be an excuse ‘you didn’t know what you were doing,’ because you can get information on just about anything these days, and if you don’t know basic prices, or have pre-arranged transport, then maybe you shouldn’t go there in the first place. Again, not a rip-off, but simple business practice.

 

The best thing in all this, is perhaps the time when both win. This is easy to describe. You buy a bag for $10 that you love dearly. Seller offered $30, you bargained to $10, felt happy, and shook hands. Problem solved. However, the seller could have sold for $2. Darn. You got ripped off. No, you got something that you determined as being far greater value than the time you spent working for it. Perhaps, half an hour’s work bought you a bag you really loved. In this case, price is irrelevant – you paid less for what you would have paid more for, or for which you would have sacrificed more of your time for. A win-win: nice thing to have (the classic line in India: “I am happy, you are happy, everyone is happy”).

 

Second. A man in Jodhpur asked us a question that I hear quite literally ten times a day.

 

“Where are you from?”

 

“New Zealand,” we begrudgingly say.

 

“NO!” he says, “In India they always ask you three questions: where are you from, where are you staying, and how long are you in India.”

 

“Uh, ok,” we say, smashing another omelette down.

 

In India, I suddenly click. Every question, without fail, is designed to illicit information in an attempt to profit. Let me illustrate. “Where are you from?” will allow people to associate and identify with you in some artificial way, such as “Daniel Verttori very good cricket.” You will then inevitably be asked to come into a shop.  

 

“Ah, yes, let’s talk.” No.

 

Realising his insincere approach, you often rebuff. That’s a bad thing, because some guys are genuine. You would hope that. So when someone’s talking to you, it’s to get business, not be your friend. This sounds sad, and to an extent, it is. We don’t want to be talked to simply because we could be a source of profit. It’s sad how much it happens, and in a way detracts from the experience. It’s not like this everywhere either. Philippines especially had friendly people, who were happy in their life, and were more than happy to just talk. In India, it’s hustling all the time.

 

There is a caveat though. Most places I go I am in tourist or commercial zones. By nature, they are places congregated with a lot of sellers, and you will thus be asked multiple times if you would like to buy things. So it would be natural towards my bias view that ‘Indians aren’t out to be your friend; they are out to sell you something” because I hang around in these zones. Where I to hang with families, or small communities, my view would be entirely different, based on different experiences and different information. Indian friends of mine are exactly that – friends. It’s just hard to those friends over here.

 

The young, though, a few years younger than, do generally seem interested and engaged, and not out to fleece you. I’ve enjoyed talking to them.  

 

Okay, back to our three question man. He says, 

 

“people want to know where you are from so they can bond with you, like Mick Jagger is in my shop or something. They want to know where you are staying because they will then know how rich you are. If you are staying in an upmarket hotel or palace, they will know you are rich and will sell you genuine articles. If you are staying in scungy guesthouses (like us), they will offer you fake knock-offs.”

 

Again, good business sense. Qualify how much a customer will pay from his choice of lodging. And disguise that he won’t know as much. He continues,

 

 

“He wants to know how long you are in India for so he knows if he cheats you whether you will come get him or not. Want to know the secret?”

 

“Yes,” we say.

 

“One, say you are from Delhi, two, say you work at the Embassy and have worked there for three years.”

 

Wow, these are really good tips. I’m thinking, this is a really genuine guy. Then, as my balloon deflates and the same bullshit comes through, he asks,

 

“now come have a look at my shop.”

 

You could perceive me as having read the situation wrong. Maybe be was genuine, and then offered us to look at his shop, and not genuine only so he could get us into his shop. But consider this: when we turned up for our omelettes the man asked if ‘this was our first time.’ Yeah, it sure was. A few minutes later he was sneakily on the home, and soon holding is ‘brother’ (and later ‘cousin’) on the shoulders introducing him to us. Oh right, genuine only to get us into his shop. Not genuine, per se. Rats.

 

There are two saving graces too all this, which, although I intended to sound positive, actually sounds quite negative. Let me try again.
 

 

  

Three: Dinner with an Indian family. Yes they had a silk shop below, and yes they lived above the silk shop, but in this case I think they were genuinely genuine, and good and honest people. I left feeling good and happy, without the familiar let down of a hard sell. I wrote about this in ‘guess who’s coming to dinner.’

 

Four: This was Disco man, who I written quite a lot about, and will write more. Though he was running a business, by his nature and his behaviour I feel he was genuine. They two can mutually coexist, and I think in this case we found a genuine man and a genuine business man. That’s a good mix to have. 
 

 

 

So I don’t know if I have saved their graces, all the while acknowledging my deeply inherent bias of being a westerner in India and a naïve tourist one at that, but I do know there are genuine pockets of real connection between people without the tentacles of business, and I do know that the vast majority of people are capable of more genuineness than they show in their business lives. I know Indians would be genuine to each other, and I know every Indian friend of mine is infinitely genuine, but I don’t know if the two will ever meet. I’ll always be a tourist, and a tourist will always have the dollars to spend, and probably, in all likelihood doesn’t want to make friends with a humble shopkeeper, even though some do, like me. So if I were a businessman or something, I would rationally not try to make friends, but see it as business, because the customers don’t want to be friends in the first place so why try. Even if some do, there’s not enough point in putting all the effort relative to the reward. So I will do as I always do. And the westerner thinks ‘he doesn’t want to be friends with me’, so I won’t try. It’s a sad reality, really.
 

 

  

Reading over this, I really think I need to get out of these so-called ‘tourist places’ because it’s really distorting my view. But it’s hard, because you have just a few days in a city, and want to see the best places and have the nicest time. You can’t have that exploring a pointless suburb for half a day in a city of 20 million, rather than taking in the sites and highlights, where the restaurants, nightlife and other travellers usually are anyway.

 

 

 

I guess that just goes back to the other blog “the art of being a traveller”. You’re not there for friendship, or enlightenment, you’re there on holiday. Just imagine people saying ‘I’m going away to make friends’ or ‘I’m going to go make friends with random village people’, they would be ridiculed. Much better to say, “I’m going to see the Taj Mahal.’ I’ll have more to say on this in later entries.
 

 

 

[I wrote this on Bhang Lassi]

 

 

The art of being a tourist

 

Udaipur

 

I’ve learnt a lot of things by now. Some of those have to do with daily life, though I'll never get to the point where I know more than I don’t know. That never happens does it? Other things though, you get rather good at, and through mistakes, missteps, and general embarrassments, you steadily start to improve. Take for instance my first outfit on my first ever trip to Thailand: wearing jeans and a New Zealand cricket shirt in Patong, Thailand with 35 degree heat and the concrete feeling like its sizzling you. Idiot. Today, I definitely know more than I don’t know in that area: don’t bring jeans to South East Asia.

Andrew (now sadly departed from our travels) said something wise. He said:

 

“travellers thing that have a right to greater insights than does the ‘normal’ population… we’re just on holiday.”

 

Having fallen for this in the past (I am away from the 9 to 5 office job, therefore, I have greater ideas and insights about life than colleagues do, a logical falicy), I now realise there is much sense in what Andrew says, as there usually is. He is, after all a travel veteran of 40+ countries.

I see a lot of guys around India, Udapaiur in particular, and usually Australian, wearing all kinds of Indian getup – garments and robes, bangles, tattoos – all kinds of stuff, and with normally funky looking haircuts and smoking cigarettes somewhat haphazardly. Now back home, they’re probably accountants, sales clarks, bank tellers, engineers, builders, plumbers, public servants, and all kinds of things like that. Here, they are zoned-out, spiritual, enlightened, adopted members of ancient Indian religion, and harmonious brothers with the shopkeeper down the road. They’ll trip out to something in the sanitised ‘backpacker zone’ then go back to the guesthouse and listen to music on their iPods and have a snickers bar. At the same time, they probably think I'm some stuck up guy who won't change from his usual garb.

 

What I’ve learnt from my perception of that situation (which isn’t neccessarily, to say it’s true) is this: when travelling, you can’t pretend to be someoneyou’re not. You can try new things, have wonderful and exciting experiences, meet people who give you a better insight and understanding of the world, and so forth, but at the end of the day, you are still you. You’ll grow, become wiser, broaden your personality, and generally become more interesting. But you won’t be someone you’re not. You’ll still be you. So why settle for an alternative version of yourself, why not just be yourself, and work on improving yourself in whatever way you can.
 

I call this one "The Donkey and the Tree"

 

Okay, enough preaching, here are a few practical things.

If baffles me when people stay they spent one, sometimes even two nights in a particular place (there are exceptions, though). People say ‘I turned up, had a look around, when up to the monument (or other such attraction) and left’. We normally find a better routine is this:

Arrival day – look and explore around day (fort/temple’s also) – activity day (normally optional) – friendships day – …– departure day. That’s anywhere from two to [X] number of days. I find it normally depends on the people you meet. If you arrive in a city, see what there is to see, get bored and lonely, then by all means leave. There is no point sticking around a place that has nothing to offer. But if you arrive, settle in, meet some people, you can really have a good time with them, even though you’ve ‘seen’ all there is too see. It doesn't hurt to stay a few days, even if you aren't doing much.

 

Sometimes, you find some real gems that you didn’t know where there. The three of us were in our third of fourth day in Udaipur, which we were enjoying a great deal. We ‘found’ a really big mountain, walked up it, climbed over some barriers (not security guarded for once), and managed to find the highest point in Udaipur, giving us a panoramic view of the city. It was really something. 

 

It is also wonderful when you get into something of a habit. For instance: wake up, go see omelette man; go see lassi man; go see chai tea man; go sleep; play cricket; go to dinner; go to omelette man; go to lassi man; go to bed.

 

I think also, it’s important to realise that you are on a break, on a holiday. It’s not supposed to be full on, 100% all the time, filling in all the Facebook photos that you’re expected to do. Nah, if the time allows, just spend a day (or more) chilling out, enjoying the sun, and reading a good book.

 If you’re on a long stint, like the almighty beak-dipper and I, it’s best to pace yourself. We’ll get bored just ‘walking around’ all day looking at things, so take time to do normal things like read the paper, floss your teeth, read the Financial Times, walk to the ‘dairy’, stare out the window, and all manner of things like that. You’ll get burn-out otherwise.

 

 

Eating a variety of things at a range of places is important too. Many people say that, by virtue of being away, you must eat ‘street’ food, or ‘local’ food. This is true – you must. However, this is far from saying you must eat it all the time. Not only will that too become tiresome, but you will miss out on many other exotic tastes elsewhere. My experience with food is not to sweat it (sorry Yobin) – eat where you want, when you want, and get as much variety that you can. It’s okay to get a pizza from an Italian restaurant, and it’s okay to order a butter chicken from an upscale Indian restaurant full of other tourists. It’s just as okay to eat at a street cart with a handful of Indians. Anything goes – eat what you want.

 

 

One other thing – the language barrier in India can make things difficult. Most speak no English, so communicating over any matter of things can be difficult. It’s wise to just say a single word and make sure that’s understood before continuing on. For instance, you might just say ‘hotel’ instead of ‘can we please go to our hotel.’ It gets hard when you’re in a more pressurised situation (say, trying to legitimately get yourself onto a train by a certain time) and when you speak English to them, there’s a flurry of Indian  conversation between five different people, and then someone finally comes back to you. Difficult, but not impossible – and always improving. 

 

 

Most people everyway are pretty friendly and approachable, and are usually in exactly the same boat as you (tourists, that is). It’s easy to say hello, if you just do it. I really like most people I come across, no matter where they are from.

Andrew is right. Travelling is not about ‘finding yourself’ or seeker ‘greater meaning’ (though there may be exceptions, and perhaps finding religion through travel is a legitimate by product). or having the right to some psychedelic superiority to the general population. Travelling is about having some of the best experiences of your life, meeting great and wonderful people, learning about the world and people from other cultures, and perhaps for some, growing to become a better person. It’s also about having a break from your profession and the rigours of your job, recharging the batteries, spending time with loved ones, and doing the everyday things that normally you don’t have time to do.

 

 

 

 

So maybe, as a traveller, I have learnt a bit more, but I still think I don’t know more than I don’t know; so I’ll guess I’ll just have to keep travelling until I do.   

 

 

 

Be careful what you wish for

 

The assualt

 

Udaipur

 

*** Warning: Contains unsavoury content ***

 

So – we all know the food in India is amazing. Curries, tandoori chicken, roti’s, lassi’s, citochori's, pakora's, dosa's and all sorts of other India food I can’t remember the name of.

 

 
 

Like with anything though, there is a trade-off. That trade-off is in the bathroom, in a bed session wrapped in a blanket, in stomach cramps, in never-ending colds, and general lethargy. Rather than go into explicit details, let me describe each of our various ails and perils.

 

Andrew spent the better part of two days in bed while we were with him, through lack of energy and feeling sick. He’d been sick three times before we met with him.

 

Swags got a cold a few days after I got one, but got hit with a virus so much worse. His cold multiplied, he spewed twice on the train, once on the way to the guesthouse, and spent the rest of the day in bed with a raging fever and complete lack of energy. He has recovered though, and for all intensive purposes, appears healthy.

 

Yobin’s got off relatively lightly. He has a mild cold, which got worse yesterday but it okay today, and a sore throat. He also copped a tennis ball in the ribs, which bruised ever so lightly, and which we never hear the end of.

 

 

 

Me, I’ve gotten off pretty good so far. I’ve had only mild stomach cramps on occasion, though I’ve had a cold for a while now, and ever since we got to Jaipur. It’s not a bad cold, and has stayed pretty steady. I’ve got pills for it, so it’s going okay. Bowel wise, I’ve been okay too. That said, its late afternoon and I haven’t eaten yet, and I haven’t left the Guesthouse for fear of… well, you can use your imagination.

 

So overall, not too bad, but it hasn't been long, and ever-hoping for the best in the next couple of weeks.

 

It's funny - as the three of us share a (small) room every night, usually a double plus an extra, we normally put the sickest person off to the 'quarantine' bed, or if two people are sick, the healthy one gets the 'safe zone' bed.
 

Oh well, must be going, time for dinner.
 

The Disco King

Udaipur

 

Udaipur is proving kind to us. We settle into our guest house as recommended by Andrew and quickly fell in with two English blokes, and our little group of three grew to five. Simon and Michael became our friends, and we enjoyed many meals together, as well as relaxing at the Guesthouse. Both are chefs at a highly prestigious English country club and are in India on vacation. Both are top fellows.

 

Mike, Swags, Yobin, Crackson, Si

Our first meal, at a nice restaurant right beside the lake, featured several Kingfisher Strongs and good conversation. Two of the five of us changed our order after being convinced by other members of the party.

 

There’s not much of a night life in Udaipur; nor in Rajasthan for that matter, and what you find is that it’s hard to find large numbers of people sharing a drink. Most drinking tends to be done in the sanctimony of guesthouses, or over a meal. Given the fact that Rajasthan is a place of stone cities, temples, forts, palaces and religion, it’s no surprise there is a lack of drinking culture.

 

But when you do find it, boy is it going off!

 

“Come, come” yells the whispily bearded young man from up on his balcony, frantically waving his hands. Okay, let’s give it a shot. Turns out this chap has converted his living room into a disco. It’s got Indian mats and cushions on the floor, a Portuguese style balcony, a laptop hooked up to distorted speakers and English tunes, and flashy disco lights.

 

We rock up, and the place is dead empty. Stone cold, nothing. But that doesn’t stop us. As is my habit, I took over the music list, and soon I had my favourite music from England and beyond, with the five of us seated on the floor drinking beers, talking and laughing. It felt good to hear music again. Since parting with my iPod, I’ve been missing music ever since.

 

The Disco King was ever so friendly – he asked me to make a playlist for him, supplied us with beers and rum, and made pleasant conversation. His crazy friend came in, and ranted for ten minutes in roughshot Hindu/English about how he hated womankind, accused us of a certain kind of buggery and left not before shaking each of our hands three times. He then continued his wobbly rant all the way down the deathly quiet streets.  

 

Almost a ghost town at night

 

At one point, the Disco King leaned in close.

 

“You want Bhang,” he said. Oh right, Bhang.

 

“Oh sure! We'll take three of those!” He told us to smoke is illegal, but to mix in with lassi (“Bhang lassi”) or cookies is no problem at all (remember, this blog is half fictional, half truth)

 

We walked home a little later, the streets empty and deserted as is customary past 11pm, mindful of the rabid dogs and fearsome growls all the way home.

 

I tell you; those dogs are scary. They’ll mess with your head, and leave you shaking with fear when you finally retreat to your bed.

A nice photo of Yobin. Thankfully, the glasses now belong to a three year old kid from Jodhpur.

Bollywood star in the making?

 

Guess who's coming to dinner

Udaipur

 

Udaipur, White City, City of Love, Lake City – whatever you like to call it, it’s a beautiful place. For the first time since our arrival (barely a week ago) we see water, and we flock to the lake edge like horses to water. Calming, soothing, the sun shimmering off its surface; the City of Love is the place to be.  

 

On one of the many rooftop restaurants we meet a girl named Roos, or her Hindu name, [tbc]. I pick her for Irish… then Welsh, then English, then Scottish… turns out she’s Dutch, speaks five languages, and is dressed in full Hindu get-up. It’s her 21^st birthday today, and her second visit to India. She spent six months here on her 1^st visit learning Hindu and immersing herself in the culture. We spend the afternoon with her, talking to her Indian friends and visiting the local markets. She invites us to dinner with her friends, so we arrange to meet at around seven.
 

 Swags is out for the count, so me and Yobin go. The house is in the centre of town, above a major tourist thoroughfare. We climb the stairs to a single stone room, greet the family, the children, and enjoy some chai tea. Before long we’re up and playing with the kids – there’s a flat football, a spinning top, and a pole – more than enough to entertain oneself for housrs We get to the roof, about four stories high and look out over the city and all the activity below. The two kids – fourteen and ten – amuse themselves with running races and tag, while we talk and observe the scenes below. Turns out the house is over two hundred years old, and has been in the family for all that time. They run a tailoring shop below, which the guy tells me was among the first – 22 years ago – of the dozens of shops that now litter the area.  
 

 

 

 

Roos, Ben and I, and the family enjoy dinner of rice and curry lentils, paneer and onion pakora – the non-spicy version. Sunil – our host – has some more cooked up, this time with curry and chilli’s in it. I prove my partiality to hot foods by eating two green chilli’s – no effect, despite the hurls of laughter all around.

 

 

Post-dinner entertainment consists of shifting to an even smaller room, adding about three more people (grandma, cousins, friends), turning up the music loud, and dancing with joy. The little trooper is especially energetic; Ben and I, unfortunately, prove our awkwardness at dancing. At one point, they encourage us to dance. I have a vision that haunts me ever since that night – me and Yobin standing there awkwardly, flapping our hands around trying to dance, Indian music blaring and distorting through the T.V., and seven Indians sitting huddled on a mattress staring at us with blank expressions and frozen looks. They were simply stunned. I can’t imagine what they were thinking. When the girls did finally get up, one of the kids taped us dancing on his phone. I hope that video never sees the light of day, better yet, destroyed.  

 

 

Scarred from our dancing experiences, we said our goodbyes, and recovered with cocktails at a beautifully lush lakeside hotel overlooking the lake and illuminated royal palace.

 

 

Happy birthday Roos – and thank you!
 

 

 

 

Horsey riding

Udaipur

 

Two of  the three of us have never ridden a horse. The third claims to be an expert from a brief ride as a youngster at a school camp. Two of us are soft from sitting in offices. Swags is a plumber. Whenever we go on long bike trips, we’re complaining within the first two hours from sore under-bottoms (once, on an ambitious 80km adventure down the Wanganui river trail, I could only ride half the journey, and had to walk back the next day).

 

We set out. The fourth horse, the one at the end of the column ridden by our new friend, starts to buck and fray, nearly sending the guy crashing to the ground. Nervous looks ensue. They swap horses, and five horses set off on a gentle walk, all in single file. The tour is led by an ancient Afghani looking man, complete with red turban, dark, deeply lined skin, and Sherpa style clothing. He rides a pure white horse; mine is a beautiful looking apache.

 

The unease at riding an untamed horse through the countryside quickly dissipates, and I find myself looking in awe at the surrounding countryside. It’s nice to escape all the noise, traffic and pollution; and the hills and trees look so peaceful. It’s slightly damp, the last of a light morning fog remains, and there is a slight chill in the air.

 

We ride through a village that hasn’t yet seen electricity, or the modern world for that matter, looking at the small huts made of clay stone and straw roves, saying hello to all the children, and leaving a spray of dust through the main streets.

 

We eventually reach an isolated lake side setting, looking out over the ever-peaceful lakeside scene, watching our horses munch the trees. We mount once more, and begin the journey back.

 

I am one with the beast. Or so I tell myself.

 

My horse is the last of the pack, and every so often, we find ourselves trailing. I give a quick kick to the side and we begin a trot, catching up to the others. It’s a serene feeling to be in control of a horse; to tell it to trot, to stop, to turn, and to simply rub your hand across its powerful body.

 

Later that evening, looking over the city from a rooftop once more, I couldn’t help but feel the chill on my skin once more, and remember the stroll through the countryside, where hardly anyone said a word, and it was the beauty of the countryside that reigned supreme, save for the bond between animal and man.

 

***

 

Sadly (or perhaps, fortunately) I didn't have my camera on me that morning, so I'll just throw in a few random photos with captions to explain. Udaipur is a beautiful place and we were certainly spoilt. Here's just a few of the many good ones we took along the way.

Trying unsuccessfully to be a tourist. I took hand soap. Fortunately this kind old lady cleaned my trousers. It cost me 50 Rupees and took her about 20 minutes. Best clean ever.

The Royal Palace.

View of the little people.

Breaking the rules again. For once they didn't tell us off (maybe security were on a lunch break).

 

Swags being swags. These shoes would later be stolen on a train. Stink.

The palance at the centre of the lake. Visually stunning, especially with the sun reflecting off it.

Lord of Udaipur

Another of my favorite sunsets. Beautiful.