Pink city blues

Jaipur. The capital of Rajasthan. But i am getting ahead of myself. How can i speak of where i am, if i cannot revisit in words the places i have been? I will try to paint the journey here for you.
After Rishikesh we attempted to reach the jungle of Rajaji, only to get stranded in Haridwar. It proves more and more difficult to organise transport in this country. Only one major train per day. Not one helpful attendant at the train station. No seats available for 5 days. Frustrated, hungy and tired, i revealed my emotional climate in a flurry of detailed gesture, then stormed across the road to a small travel agency. The clerk, who looked like a curry version of Lou from Neighbours, was very helpful, and insisted he could get us on a train or bus the following day, if we agreed to drink a chai with him. A small price, we conceded. The train proved too expensive, so we decided to deny common sense and take the bus. Always an inefficient, unreliable option. By this time the daylight was thin, and the jungle seemed a stretch. It was not difficult to find a place to stay in Haridwar. But we looked at four places to make sure we got a good deal, hot water, etc.

Haridwar is a beautiful little town on the Ganga, and a great number of Hindus flock there every year to cleanse themselves in the holy river. We enjoyed a Thali at a street cafe, surrounded by locals who looked very suprised to see us, then walked along the river enjoying the slow ebbing away of daylight. The hard pink walls held a stiking architecture between the rippling waters and the haze of red sky.
The following morning we were up late and hanging around a make shift bamboo bus station built under a holy Banyan tree. Say what you will, they are pretty cool trees. Already i find myself contradicting myself. The filth of Haridwar, of Delhi, of Jaipur. None of them has bothered me as much as the filth of Rishikesh. Perhaps because Rishikesh claims to be something else. Perhaps it was something else. Something deeper that dresses as disgust with mess. So tis. The bus trip was interesting.

We left a little late, no suprise. It was our first time on a bus during the day, so we enjoyed the view for an hour or so. When Marty started to drift off, i pulled out my ipod. This would be only my second time listening to music in a private context, since leaving melbourne. Something strange happens when you add music to experience. Memory is part of it, yes. But something else. Perhaps it is because music summons or expresses emotion in a way that words alone cannot, i don't know. As we stumbled along at 25 km per hour, i saw village after village. Piles of rubbish, people burning wood by the road to keep warm, children playing. I have been seeing such images for a month now, and although they are unfamiliar, they appear and disappear without much impression. Without much feeling. But when i looked out at unfamiliar, unremarkable India, while listening to Band of Horses (that second track on the new album), it seemed somehow different. I could gas on about the bulls eating tires, or the many people working in the cane fields, or the broken old temples and wrecked cars. But it was one image in particular that made me shake with tears. One particular moment that made me believe that my eyes and the music and the world as it was through the window were all one, just for one second, dancing and beautiful and good. As we negotiated past a tiny shop, freestanding, surrounded by crap, a small child stood on a pile of rubbish, flying a kite. And he was flying that delicate little object with such intent, completely committed to the thin fabric dropping and soaring with each breath of wind. The flimsy toy seemed desperate to drop, to rest on the floor and be free of the breeze. But the youngster kept forcing it higher and higher. I know that this is romantic projection on my behalf, but in that moment that child seemed profound, flying his kite, balancing on a filthy heap of scum and debris. And the soaring optimism of the music, unheard by all others, appeared to seep from the sky, fill up the fields, the kite and the child, at least in my mind. And then it was gone. And the road shuffled past, and the music slowly faded. I kept listening to the Band of Horses until the album was over. Still unwell, the motion of the bus was playing havoc with my system, so i opted for something a little smoother for a while. Rolling waves of ambient noise meshed with the falling darkness, until i fell asleep. We stopped a couple of times at dodgy overpriced food stands before waking with a start in Jaipur at 4am. This town runs on commission, so the first hotel we found charged us through the nose. We moved into a cheaper place the following day, visited the nearby Amber fort (another stinking fortress), and went shopping with our guide, Raju, today. We bargained hard, and i think Marty's commercial pursuits worked out ok for a western enterprise. We knew it was time to head home when Raju took us to a gem dealer who wanted us to carry some precious stones to Australia for him so he could dodge import taxes. Don't trust anyone who pulls the grand morale story about denying taxes to governments who misuse public funds while people die in the streets. I head for Pushka in 2 days. Alone. No hurry no worry no chicken no curry. Full power.