Driving to Pushkar: Number Plates & Elections
I remember the trip to Pushkar. We traveled to Jaipur by train, and someone gave us the number of a reliable taxi driver. Until we arrived in Jaipur, we had no clue how we intended to visit Pushkar. This statement alone will give you an excellent idea of how lousy our plans were. Think about it: if you can wing it, then wing it!
I also remember it was election time in Rajasthan, but we didn’t consider the elections until we left for Pushkar. The driver was to pick us up from the club but called in the morning and asked if we could go to his home, from where he’d drive us to our destination. We reached his house, and he made some tea for us and gave us some biscuits to eat while he bathed and did his morning prayer. We had no firm agenda, so we lapped the tea and gobbled the biscuits.
The two of us resembled cows chewing cud in a meadow.
Our sound man came out in thirty minutes, opened the boot of his car, and took out a set of number plates. Then, he changed the number plates on the vehicle, beamed, and asked us to get in. The two of us exchanged looks, convinced he was going to kidnap us and dump our bodies in Rajasthan’s sandy dunes. It was our last day on earth. Neither of us is a theist, but we looked up at the skies and asked the mystical power of Nature to look after our bodies and souls.
We could have canceled the trip but continued to Pushkar. Why not? The sun was out, the sky was blue, and the clouds were white. What could go wrong? After thirty minutes of silence from the two occupants in the rear seat (us), I plucked up the courage to ask about the number plates.
It transpired that, during election times, political parties commandeer taxis and pay them a pittance. If we traveled to Pushkar in a cab, he assured us, the local hoodlums of the politicians would not think twice about dumping us on the highway and making off with the car. Enlightenment dawned upon us, along with the sobering realization of the ease of kidnapping someone, changing number plates, and disappearing into the distance. I seem obsessed with kidnapping: when I use the word, I assume it to include many nefarious activities.
Since those days, social media has taken over our lives. WhatsApp groups spawn WhatsApp University graduates and conspiracy theorists. I was ahead of the time when I conjured all sorts of conspiracies and dark scenarios while watching our cabbie change his number plate!
We stopped halfway for a chai break. The hotel had an excellent garden. A bus unloaded its cargo of tourists who pottered around, mumbling inanities about mystical India while I shot some photos of a few butterflies, whom I named ‘The Family Sam.’
After we reached Pushkar, someone tried to steal something from my companion’s camera bag, which our excellent driver retrieved.
Driving Back from Pushkar: Parathas on the Road.
The journey back was uneventful, except for the second breakfast we stopped for. In one of my previous posts, I complained about our lousy breakfast at the hotel. Breakfast was not on our agenda when we stopped at the dhaba on the highway. But when I walked around and watched the cook making parathas, the saliva dripped from my tongue. My saliva threatened to spill out of my mouth, so we ordered one each. Then, we ordered a second one. We may have ordered a third, but the memory of the day’s first breakfast weighed on our stomachs. I promise you, this paratha was one of the best I have eaten. The cook had migrated to this lonely spot on the highway from Agra. Agra is another lousy town, so I sympathized with his logic.
The People of Pushkar
Local People
Before I end this post, I should mention something about the people I saw in Pushkar. The town is filled with pilgrims, holy men, foreign tourists, and photographers. The locals I saw owned the chai shops, restaurants, and temples.
Piety drives pilgrims, and many sleep out in the open because there aren’t enough rooms in the town. During festivals and peak tourist season, the price of the rooms skyrockets, and I doubt most pilgrims can afford accommodation. Pilgrims will brave the discomfort and indignity of sleeping in the open to pray at the temples, visit the holy lake, and seek God’s blessings for a better life when reborn. Faith drives religious belief, not logic, and this is a global phenomenon. Once, I argued about this, but don’t bother anymore. To each their own, I say. You have your belief; I have mine.
Foreigners
I don’t know why foreigners come to Pushkar and stay for months. The town is grubby, and only the promise of opium will keep them here. I cannot think of any other explanation unless it involves nefarious activities. Of course, some international and domestic photographers congregate here to photograph the camel mela. These images fill the pages of travel magazines, accompanied by lurid descriptions of their misadventures in India. Very few wish to understand the local culture, and I include well-heeled Indians in this group.
Villagers
Meanwhile, the villagers focused on their camels, ablutions, drinking chai, smoking marijuana, and gossiping. Weed is illegal in India, and our late Prime Minister, Rajiv Gandhi, bowed to American pressure and banned it in 1985. The only thing he created was a weapon for politicians to use when they wish to harass someone. The ban is ridiculous: if Americans want to control narcotic consumption in America, they must focus on America, not on the globe. This behavior is symptomatic of the tensions American politicians create across the world. They believe the rest of the world must follow their lead on everything, and this attitude is stupid.
It is impossible to stop the production and consumption of weed and bhaang in India. Sadhus consume it; we all believe Shiva himself consumes and sanctifies its use. Politicians know how to manipulate people into voting for them, and their mental abilities stop there. The populace, unfortunately, allows politicians to manipulate them and then wonders why life is so difficult.
Will I Revisit Pushkar? I Doubt It.
Okay, now. That was my take on Pushkar. I dislike the town, but a friend urged me to revisit it a week back. He promised to show me the old havelis and to accommodate me in one of them. Time will tell if I ever visit Pushkar again. I am not hopeful: I would rather travel to Ajmer.
That close-up of the child- magnificent.
The foreigners look like bozos. Hmph. I suppose they're not considered "foreigners" here...they just comprise the strange, tattooed-and-bearded, phone-flashing bars that surround me. Why me?
"Faith drives religious belief, not logic, and this is a global phenomenon. Once, I argued about this, but don’t bother anymore. To each their own, I say. You have your belief; I have mine."
Same here, same here.
"The ban is ridiculous: if Americans want to control narcotic consumption in America, they must focus on America, not on the globe. This behavior is symptomatic of the tensions American politicians create across the world. They believe the rest of the world must follow their lead on everything, and this attitude is stupid."
I was nodding away most vigorously with you, dear friend. HMPH.
"We stopped halfway for a chai break. The hotel had an excellent garden. A bus unloaded its cargo of tourists who pottered around, mumbling inanities about mystical India while I shot some photos of a few butterflies, whom I named ‘The Family Sam.’"
Could not stop smiling. The high note for me. Love finding immense beauty in seemingly mundane moments.
Wonderful post. Always an immense thrill to visit different places through your words and your lens, Rajiv.
Cheers.
Super has always!! Meticulous as always