Dishing India Masala

Books & Birds—"One Piece"

2011-01-29T05:50:00.000-08:00

The five-day Jaipur Literature Festival turned out to be pretty fantastic albeit very busy. I saw almost 20 sessions and wrote about many of them for the festival organizer's press releases. Some of my favorites included the witty Martin Amis and southern gentleman Richard Ford. Listening to travel writers, fiction writers, memoirists, was inspiring. Learning more about Indian literature and culture was enlightening. The event ended with an author's ball at the ancient Amber Fort, which is spectacularly lit up at night underneath a starry sky. There were marigold and rose petals strewn everywhere and music throughout the evening.

Me and Candace Bushnell at Amber Fort in Jaipur

I had a drink with A. Revathi who ordered brandy then red label whiskey. She spoke at the festival about her autobiography, "The Truth About Me" as a transgender person. Then I had dinner with a group that included Martin Amis, Isabel Fonseca, Jay McInerney and Candace Bushnell. Me and Candy are going shopping together next time in Jaipur.

Brown Hawk Owl sleeping the day away

Now, I am at The Bagh, one of my all-time favorite heritage hotels in Bharatpur next to Keoladeo National Bird Park. It's such an elegant, tasteful oasis with the most fantastic food. I can't gush enough about it. I had fresh mustard greens the other night and keema muttar, a really toothsome dish of minced mutton, spices and peas. And the 12 acres with hundreds of trees are filled with birds from yellow-footed green pigeons and grey Indian hornbills to a very rare Brown Hawk Owl. The markings on its white breast look like little brown hearts. One of the workers pointed it out to me one day and said "One piece" indicating there was only one owl of that kind in the tree, like it was a piece of toast. So funny. I love it.

Jaipur Literature Festival—A Really Big Show

2011-01-23T02:19:00.000-08:00

Today is the third day of the Jaipur Literature Festival at Diggi Palace. It's packed with literature lovers from around the world, writers, authors, Pulitzer Prize winners and students whom I've seen screeching at the name of Junot Diaz like he's a teenage idol.

Martin Amis, Junot Diaz, Jay McInerney and Richard Ford.

I'm managing a team of writers covering each of the 200 plus author sessions for press releases sent around the world. So far I've covered sessions as diverse as "A Hijra's Life" about A. Revathi, a transgender woman, who wrote her autobiography, "The Truth About Me," to "The Crisis of the American Novel" with panelists Richard Ford, Junot Diaz, and Jay MacInerney with Martin Amis moderating. Newsflash: There is no crisis as all of us as readers know.

Topics are obviously wide ranging and include history, politics, art, music, travel, writing seminars, and fiction galore. This year (my first) one of the overriding themes is preservation and care of Indian literature in its original languages (over 120 of them) and translation to English so the legacy does not disappear.

The amazing things about the festival are its accessibility to authors and artists and exchange of ideas. This FREE festival is jammed. I can't imagine how many people are here but last year there were 30,000. For authors, crew, and delegates (who actually pay a relatively nominal price of $300 for five days) the food and drink including beer and wine is plentiful and free flowing. The sponsors, of whom there are many, must have poured millions into it. The directors, William Dalrymple and Namita Gokhale are tireless, as are all of the people working it.

Aside from the literary part of the festival, it's fantastic people watching and the outdoor setting is beautiful—I can hear parakeets squawk and cows moo at some of the sessions. There are two days left of the festival. If you're in Jaipur, come!

Baby Monkey Sitting Backwards on a Pig

2011-01-19T18:39:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my friend Jennifer Worick, I recently saw the video Baby Monkey (Going Backwards) on a Pig. Now, I have my own version.

Baby Monkey grooming a pig

Yesterday I visited Galta, aka The Monkey Temple, a 30-plus minute tuk-tuk ride from Jaipur. Surrounded by rocky canyon walls, the grounds encompass grassy lawns, beautifully painted havelis, a three tier pool used for bathing by both monkeys and humans, and temples dedicated to Hanuman, the monkey god.

Tuesday is Hanuman day so the resident monkeys, both red faced (Rhesus Macaque) and black face (Hanuman Langur) are well fed. Worshippers of Hanuman, the god of strength and valor, offer fruits, chapatis (Indian bread) and peanuts to the primates.

I walked to the top of the canyon, past the pools and satiated monkeys to find an area where lots of baby monkeys were at play among a few big pigs. The monkeys swung, scrambled, screeched, fought, and played with plastic water bottles. I fed them a few peanuts.

One baby monkey became very interested in a reclining pig—that at first I thought was dead. "He is resting," said the self-professed "monkey whisperer" standing there. Then I noticed the white bristles of his coat moving up and down with his breath.

The baby monkey proceeded to climb all over the pig, look in his ears, search for treats (fleas?) on the top of his head, sit backwards on back and play with his tail. The only thing he didn't do was ride him.

NEW Delhi Airport

2011-01-14T05:11:00.000-08:00

Wow. The Indira Gandhi International Airport has come light years in just the four years I've been traveling to India. The new landing pad has it all—state-of-the-art travel facilities, sleek and modern interiors, good shopping, lots of dining choices and way better bathrooms. But in a way, I miss the feel of the "old" airport.

Yogic mudra art at the New Delhi airport.

Gone are the porters roaming about ready to help with luggage for a few rupees. It's all self-serve now, I'm sure a result of increased security. The little place with tea for 15 rupees is gone. Instead, there's a chain sandwich shop.

Technology is vastly improved, but I was more entertained back then. When my luggage was lost in October, 2006 I experienced my first machinations of Indian bureaucracy. I filled out forms with carbon copy papers in between, then watched as an employee copied exactly what I wrote onto other forms. At the desk was a dusty dinosaur of a printer. I was sent across the terminal to get my lost luggage form stamped—apparently for no reason since the official didn't even glance at it. Now, nearly everything is automated.

Walking outside I breathed my first breath of pungent and memorable smoke-filled night-time air in Delhi and watched the chaos of cars and people before me. (One thing that's mysteriously missing from this modern terminal is inclined curbs—handy for luggage carts and the handicapped. They might be there, but I couldn't find them.) Now, people wait behind guard rails and taxis are ready and waiting in numbered spots in orderly queues. Yes, it's more convenient, but not nearly as lively.

Oddly, upon my arrival this time the area inside the terminal had that same smoky smell. I was nostalgically comforted.

Idol Makers

2011-01-08T22:28:00.000-08:00

Putting the finishing touches on Krishna.

This is not about singers on American Idol. Jaipur is where some of the real idols are made. Within the labyrinth of the Johari Bazaar in the "Pink City" of Jaipur are dozens of idol makers. These artists have been hand-carving marble statues of Hindu deities for generations, sometimes specializing in a single deity. It is said there are hundreds of thousands of gods and goddesses within the Hindu philosophy, so they have plenty to choose from.

The skills of these artists are noteworthy. They carve freehand and from memory. Their workshops in the alleys are wide open. It's a fascinating place to watch the craftsmen at work.

The smallish anterior rooms are all painted a powder blue, perhaps to better show off the white marble statues. At dusk there is a fine mist of white marble dust swirling through the air, coating the dirt roads and giving the alleys an appropriate ethereal, other-worldly look. Artists in their white pajamas are purchased atop some of the larger idols, hammer and chisel and hand. Some are painting them in bright colors (I saw black idols with pink toenails). There is no room for error—if there is a flaw in the carving, it cannot be used in a temple. A small likeness of Ganesh may take 40 days to carve, a 5-foot tall Krishna may take 11 months.

Hard at work creating gods and goddesses.

Some artists not only carve images of Ganesh, Shiva, or Hanuman, but also busts of departed loved ones, freedom fighters such as Mahatma Gandhi, and even Nobel Laureates. Some of the most startling statues are lifelike likenesses of loved ones. I mistook one seated in the lotus position for a real person.

What Would Buddha Say?

2010-11-16T06:01:00.000-08:00

Image of Buddha at Mahadbodhi temple.

I spent the last few days of the tour with a group of eight lovely French people who had been on the same river cruise. After docking in Patna we traveled by car to several sites on our way to Varanasi. One stop was Bodhgaya, the spot where Gautama Buddha attained enlightenment under the Bodhi tree. Having neglected my research on this place I went with a simple image of a majestic lone tree on a quiet hillock that emanated sacred vibes.

Our group was short on time so we went directly Bodhgaya. It was closed. As fate would have it, the crown prince of

Thailand

was visiting the same day. So instead of visiting the spot of enlightenment, we went first and had buffet lunch in one of the many tourist hotels in the dusty, congested city. Afterward we returned and the prince had left, presumably going to the Thai monastery. There are many Buddhist monasteries in Bodhgaya from all over Asia including

Japan

Korea

Bhutan

and

Tibet

Upon entering the grounds I saw the Mahadbodhi temple on the spot of a temple originally built in the first BC. THE tree was behind it. In honor of the crown prince's visit this magnificent temple was all tarted up with golden bows made of flowing fabric, artificial lotus flowers, fake cherry trees in full blossom and glitter encrusted Styrofoam peacocks. I would have much preferred the undecorated version. Within the temple is a golden statue of the Buddha accessible through a small doorway. There was much pushing and shoving to see this image of the enlightened one. I blocked a group of pilgrims from running over the senior citizen French lady in front of me. What would Buddha say?

Leaves of the Bhodi tree.

We made our way to the back of the temple to see the Bodhi tree, which is said to be a sapling of the original. This beloved tree was surrounded by chanting and frequently dour-faced pilgrims, its heavy sprawling branches providing shade to followers, monks and tourists alike. Behind iron gates a silver throne marked the spot where the Buddha sat. I tried in vain to imagine the Buddha there. It was too crowded. I took pictures. Around the side of the temple were stepping stones imprinted with beautiful golden lotuses and placed in spots where Buddha took his first steps after enlightenment.

A monk sifting through meditation beads.

Around the perimeter of the grounds was another tree where monks from the monasteries come on a daily basis to meditate, chant, read and prostrate themselves. They have simple elevated wood palates covered with prayer rugs. One monk meditatively sifted through prayer beads. Another monk was looking at his cell phone while his family visited. A mongrel made his way among them, wagging his tail.

I looked for a quiet place and found one structure empty of people. It housed several stone carved statues of Buddha. Votives and incense burned on a small alter. The statues looked perfectly serene. I had a few minutes to sit before leaving.

On the way out there was a deluge of souvenir sellers. I didn't want a Bodhi tree leaf in a plastic baggie or a string of plastic prayer beads. I just wanted to take away the sense of peace I felt in the room of silent Buddhas.

Oh the Things I've Seen!

2010-11-10T20:50:00.000-08:00

Sunset on the Ganga River.

Slowly, slowly we are making our way up the Ganges river. Every day has been different. And oh, the things I have seen! There is almost no way to see this part of India by way of land. It's extremely difficult to get to these spots via terra firma. Here are a few of the sights I've seen and things I've experienced along the Mother Ganga:

* Hot pink goats in the villages. They're painted bright pink and in various patterns so they are easily identifiable.

* Seventy species of birds. Among my favorites are the Black Ibis with its long curved beak and the golden colored Brahminy ducks.
* Entering the Ganga via a lock from a smaller feeder river. Until this boat began sailing last year, the lock had been closed for 40 years.

The decorated feet of a young village girl.

* Cremations, Hindu celebrations of life and death. I saw four simultaneous cremations with a fifth body being transported atop a bus.

* Sitting on the stupa of a ninth century Buddhist University and watched the sun set on the Ganga. I longed to spend the night in that peaceful place among the ruins.

* I watched a big black water snake swimming toward the boat.

* Limestone statues of the goddess Tara. The carving was exquisite.

A couple of goats kidding around.

* A ferry boat crossing the Ganga jammed with passengers and a horse.

* The most magnificent and glorious sunset on the Ganga. It was my first after we entered the main river. The reflection of the sun on the water was the color of pure gold, the sun itself was a deep bright orange and the sky was lit with pink. I understood the essence of the word Glorious.

* Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of open-billed storks roosting in trees on an island with a century-old temple

* A woman balancing a green gourd the size of a watermelon on her head.

* A village festival where there were dozens of water buffalo, their horns painted a deep red.

* A child of less than three staring at me with a combination of horror, confusion, and fear. It was clear he thought I was an interloping alien.

* Twelfth century terra cotta temples with carvings of daily and heavenly life.

* Riding in old fashioned horse-drawn tongas.

* A palace in Murshidabad built by one of the last Nawabs filled with art treasures from the early 19th century.

* Baby goats butting heads.

* Sending candles and marigolds downstream on the Ganges for Diwali. I watched the lights float into what seemed eternity.

More to come...

Weaving and Smoking

2010-11-07T23:17:00.000-08:00

Women stringing thread to weave on the handloom.

This morning we stopped in the village of Akbarpur, where there are lucrative cash crops in mango and lychee fruits and small cottage industries including weaving cotton Gumchas (bathing sheets) and making bidis. Bidis (aka beedis) are hand-rolled cigarettes.

Women handweave the handsome, Ralph Lauren-esque plaid gumchas that are several meters in length and take up to four hours to weave. I bought one for a friend who is very fond of plaids for about $4 . The women make them on old handlooms in their houses which are open to a courtyard. Children, chickens and goats do roam there.

Women and young girls produce the bidis.They use tendu leaves for wrappers, fill them with tobacco and tie them with thread to keep everything in place. With a basket of supplies in their lap, women can roll up to 600 bidis a day. After rolling them, they bundle 25 together and tie it with orange thread. The finished products are then shipped off to bidi companies for packaging.

I haven't smoked in more than 20 years (I started when I was 12) but in the spirit of supporting a cottage industry I bought a bundle. Besides, I find bidi smoke aromatic. I paid 60 rupees (about $1.50) and later found out the fair price was 10 rupees (about 23 cents).

Me on the sun deck smoking my bidi

Accompanied by a Kingfisher Strong I lit my bidi. It didn't taste good like a cigarette should, but then I think all smoking materials are unpleasant no matter where their point of origin. My relapse into smoking was short-lived and like Bill Clinton, I didn't inhale.

Buffalo Baths & More

2010-11-06T05:05:00.000-07:00

The other day I watched a water buffalo being bathed on the bank, in the shallow waters along the Bhagirathi River. A young man was giving the buffalo's flank a good scrubbing which he (the buffalo)

A water buffalo gets a bath.

seemed to enjoy immensely. The boy lifted the buffalo's tail and cleaned it thoroughly which he (the buffalo) didn't seem to enjoy, much less immensely. Then, with two whacks from a stick administered to his rump, the buffalo submerged his powerful animal body up to his shoulders. His bath over, his black coat was all shiny.

Like a Discovery Chanel documentary, this timeless land unfolds as we glide soundlessly on the river. Am I still in the 21st century?

A ferry boat crosses the river--standing room only.

I watch people work. With their hips swaying, women in vibrant saris balance great bundles of harvested grasses on their heads. A fishing boat filled with men gather sand from the river bottom to use in building their homes. They use perforated buckets on bamboo poles.

We pass fields of tumeric and mustard greens, banana trees, sugar cane and pampas grass.

At all times during the day small children come running out of their homes screaming "Ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta," the equivalent of hello. There are no other boats on the river like this and they are thrilled at the sight of it. Sometimes I wish they were not so thrilled. Today we cruised past many small villages. Children streamed out of the jungles and onto the banks like ants from a flood. Okay kids, I see you. Please give your little lungs a rest. You're scaring the birds.

Locals on the river bank.

And there are a lot of birds: gray headed lap wings, open-billed storks, and white breasted kingfishers. Clouds of white egrets are as plentiful as pigeons, The other day I saw a pack of jackals including a male and female nuzzling each other.

Farming, bathing, fishing. Daily life goes on, even when it stops. Yesterday we slowly passed by two bodies being cremated. It was the first time I've seen this. After lighting a fire beneath the head, they slowly slipped off a white cover from one of the bodies. It seemed completely natural to see this. It's part of the ebb and flow of life here.

Whatever Floats My Boat

2010-11-02T23:09:00.000-07:00

My cute, woodsy cabin.

I've never been interested in one of those big obnoxious luxury cruises where you stuff yourself silly with buffet food and take a craft class making houses with popsicle sticks (seriously, my mother said she did this on one—she liked it.) However, I love floatin' on this boat in

India

. I arrived five days ago and boarded the Bengal Ganga. The official two-week cruise starts this evening when the rest of the guests arrive. In the meantime, I've been enjoying every minute of this ship full of old-school cool, little luxuries and service extraordinaire.

Built in the colonial style, the ship is decked out in shining teakwood and polished brass. It has only 28 rooms so it makes for a more intimate cruise. My cozy twin-bedded cabin is perfect. The room has a desk, closet and a nicely done bathroom with soft towels (yeah! towels at Indian hotels are often stiff and rough as sandpaper). There's plenty of storage, cabinets and drawers below the beds. I want a bed exactly like this for my home. My room is even big enough to accommodate sun salutations during my morning yoga practice—but the upper sundeck is even better. I leave the screened windows open most of the time for the fresh air. It had been very warm but in the last two days it has suddenly turned cool—wish I would have brought my Seattle fleece but I have a nice wool scarf I scored in Jaipur.

A pretty lime green home on the lush banks of the Hooghly.

My days anchored on the Hooghly river (which eventually joins the Ganges) have been spent watching the daily doings of people along the river, bathing, building, washing, praying, and playing. Children get excited when they see the boat and come running and shouting. There's no other boat like it on the River. From the shore I hear cows mooing, roosters crowing, and sheeps bleating. I saw a Gangetic dolphin surface early one morning and lots of snowy white egrets flying around. Big kites (the bird kind not the toy) soar in the sky. One landed very near on the defunct smokestack. They are powerful birds of prey but I think they were just looking for an easy meal from the fisherman.

One day I went fishing with the local fishermen. Their small boat had a little "tunnel" covered with thatched palm leaves. They fish, cook, eat, and sleep on the boat. While they use their fishing nets, my angling gear was an empty plastic water bottle with nylon line wrapped around the middle of it. On the end of the line was an iron weight of about 2 kilos and two fishing hooks which I baited with roti (bread) dough balls. Of course I managed to tangle my line up but the fishermen patiently untangled it for me. The helpless American. I didn't catch a thing. But it was peaceful and relaxing.

The rest of the time I've written, read or napped on the sundeck. And I've eaten. The food here is phenomenal. It is not drenched in the gravies and oils so prevalent in the restaurants of Rajasthan. It's home cooked Indian food with very fresh vegetables prepared well with just the right amount of seasoning. The soups, vegetables, fish, chicken and Indian breakfasts like upma are so good I've been eating every bite. I hope they have a tailor on board so I can have my pants taken out. I'm not used to eating three big meals a day. I've also enjoyed the company of the ship's manager each evening for happy hour and dinner. Atul and I had Kingfisher beers and talked about our cultures, Indian philosophy and I practiced my Hindi. His English is perfect.

A lone fisherman on the river.

The staff, all 30 of them, are the best. It doesn't hurt that many of these "boys" are quite attractive Rajasthani men with winning smiles. I don't even mind waking up at 6:30am to one of those smiling faces knocking on my door, black coffee in hand...

How to Take a Bath Without Taking Off Your Clothes

2010-10-31T06:53:00.000-07:00

Any time of the day I can step outside my cabin and see people bathing. I never thought something so mundane could be so interesting. The boat I'm on is docked next to a ghat, steps that lead down the bank of the Hooghly River in India. People wash their clothes, swim, play and pray on the ghat. But mostly they come to bathe in the brown waters. Only very small children get naked for their baths. Men wear their underwear (aka "vestments"), shorts or lungis which are knee length sarongs. Women wear their saris. They are covered at all times but manage to take a thorough bath. They are expert at it.

This morning I had tea and watched as a dark skinned old man rubbed and rubbed, and scrubbed and scrubbed, turning himself white with lather. It is a vigorous operation, part ablution part exercise. Repeated face splashing, dunking, submerging. Finally cleansed, he stood waist deep in the water facing east, his hands together in prayer over his heart.

A young, well-muscled, nicely built man walked into the river, his black and red checked lungi tightly wrapped around his hips. Okay, so I noticed these things. The very thin cotton lungi became diaphanous. With his back toward me I noticed he was well muscled elsewhere. (Sorry ladies, I didn't have my camera with me.)

Feeling a little bit like a voyeur I continued to watch him lather up and wash. When he finished, he put his shorts on under the lungi. It reminded me of the surfers in California taking off their wetsuits with a towel wrapped around them. The lungi turned out to have multiple uses. It was a sort-of cover-up in the river. It became a towel after a good wringing. After oiling his body and hair, he tied it around his head, the tail of the lungi trailing down his back. Finished, he took off on his motorcycle. I wondered if he bathed there everyday.

Now I turned my attention to a group of ladies in their colorful saris. Soaking wet, the voluminous saris clung to their curves. They wear no foundations beneath them. A young woman in a blue print sari was waist deep in the water. She took the sold blue petticoat worn underneath it and slipped it off. Then, gold bangles flashing on her wrists, she wriggled into the petticoat and transformed it into a strapless dress. The 6 meters of sari cloth came off and she washed it in the river. Next, she re-wrapped the sari underneath the petticoat and returned the petticoat to its rightful place beneath the sari. She plunged into the water, her long black hair floating on the surface. She shampooed her hair then rinsed and rinsed and rinsed it.

There is something very peaceful and calming about watching this simple daily ritual. After three days here I know I'll miss this ghat when we start upstream.

Indian T-shirts—Say What?

2010-10-30T06:46:00.000-07:00

Young Indian men love their "slogan" T-shirts and I love reading them. These fashion statements are informative, insightful, humorous, and sometimes provocative. However, often they're a confusing collection of words, inexplicable single words, missing words, malapropisms, and incomplete thoughts. They are a source of great amusement for me. On this trip, some of my favorites include:

õ "Straight" This was on the back of a bicycle rickshaw driver. He was transporting my friend, who is gay.

õ "Play Boy" This T is very popular.

õ "Knock Yourself" I'm guessing this meant to say "Knock Yourself Out" but I don't really know.

õ "Wacky"

õ "Girlfriends are like medicine. They come with expiry dates." Usually worn by an unattractive man.

õ "My Sexy T-shirt" Worn by a guy with a sexy smile.

õ "Power Pack" This was accompanied by an image of a screaming face.

õ "Bad News in New York"

õ "King of Air" Did it mean to say King of THE Air: Of Air waves? King of the sky?

õ     "Jesus Engineered Shirt"  Huh?

*       "Sometimes when I'm alone I google myself"

*       "If you're reading this then you are not sleeping"

õ "Dear Santa All want for Christmas is a list of all the naughty girls." The reverse side: "Survive"

A Day in the Shop & Substitute Guru

2010-10-28T07:13:00.000-07:00

Me and the Substitute Guru

A typical day at the jewelry shop I'm working in starts at 11am. I take a tuk tuk to the shop. The "boys" open the shop and give Ganesh, the elephant god his marigold and rose garlands, and say prayers. Then we have chai. We do a little work. Then the holy man comes in offering more prayers for Ganesh. For 10 rupees (about 22 cents) he smears red powder on my forehead and then presses a few grains of rice into the paste on my head. It is not very flattering. It looks like I'm walking around all day with a bleeding gash on my head with maggots in it. The rice falls off at the most inopportune moments throughout the day.

Sometimes a guru comes in after the holy man. He pulls up a chair and talks to Ganesh. One day he turned to me and said I have a brilliant mind and would buy a house in

India

. After all the mandatory prayers we work a little and have more tea then lunch. Lunch is wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. It's pretty much the same every day—dahl with a lot of oil, vegetables in a lot of gravy and oil, and buttered naan. We eat, go back to work then have tea. The day ends about 8pm.

Today there was a substitute guru in the shop. He had a long white/gray beard, long slicked back white/gray hair, thick spectacles, and a forehead full of saffron colored powder and a big round red tilak (prayer mark) on his third eye--the spot just between his eyes, the seat of intuition. He was 76 years old, the same age as my father. I just bought some special raisins and almonds for my upcoming trip on the Ganges River. I offered some to him and we talked. He told me after December I would be successful and that I would buy a house in

India, just as the regular guru did.

Oddly enough, I have heard this from several soothsayers, holy men and gurus here and in the

United States

. Either they're all reading out of the same astrology book or they know something I don't. He told me to pray to Ganesh every day before I write and pray to Durga every morning. I like the energy of this god and goddess and what they represent. Ganesh is the Remover of Obstacles and Durga is a strong and brave female warrior who kicks ass. I thanked him, put the raisins and almonds in a baggie for him and he left.

My Morning Commute

2010-10-27T02:22:00.000-07:00

I have been working in a jewelry store here in Jaipur for the past few weeks. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my hotel is across town. In the morning it's maybe a 20-minute ride. In the evening it can take up to one hour when traffic is at its worst. I ride through the old town of Jaipur, also known as the Pink City since the walls are painted a terra cotta color(not sure where the "Pink" came from.)

My driver, Ali, picks me up in his tuk tuk (motorized auto rickshaw). I slip into the pink vinyl seat with big hearts stitched on the back rest. It seats two, comfortably, three squeezed tight and seven or eight if you're Indian. Ali wears a cap, presumably because he's bald, and black eyeliner because it wards off the evil eye. He speaks good English and knows the city well. He overcharges me about 20 rupees.

We share the road with every conceivable mode of transport including camel carts, elephants, horse drawn

tongas

, donkeys, bicycle rickshaws, auto rickshaws, cars, and motorbikes. A menagerie of animals including the above mentioned, vie for space. Dogs, pigs and piglets, speckled goats, monkeys and of course cows weave in and out of traffic or simply stand there in the case of the cows. One evening we were stopped in traffic. I was eye to eye with a cow's anus. He/she was standing on the median. I'll spare you the details of what happened next. Damn this jam.

Some of the other things I've seen:

õ Eunuchs beating drums, dancing, singing, and generally making a ruckus in front of businesses. They go away only after they're paid.

õ Carts of street food, including some electric yellow noodles that looked radioactive.

õ Women dressed in brightly colored saris embellished with sparkles. Every morning I see women cobblers (rare) squatting with the tools of their trade. They are so beautiful polishing and repairing shoes in their pink, red, turquoise, and green saris that look like evening gowns and prom dresses gone wild. Their wrists are heavy with bangles.

õ Piggies and piglets dining on the remains of the previous day, immensely enjoying their discarded fruit peels, old vegetables, plastic biscuit wrappers, and garden variety garbage.

õ A dirty cream colored donkey painted with orange spots and orange stripes, presumably for identification.

This morning, I saw a completely naked old man standing on the roadside. Ali didn't even blink an evil eye. I doubt anyone else did either.