Playing with Fate

Do you believe in fate? I now do, or at least the interception at some points in our lives from forces beyond our control...

I had landed in Jaipur in a haze. My over-night train screeched to a halt at 7 o'clock in the morning and the sun was just coming up over the already-bustling "pink" desert city. I instantly felt sick in the crowd of rickshaw drivers that swamped me for a ride, hoping to rip off the gora during the ride. Feeling ill and annoyed from the rikshaw driver following me, I caved and did something I never would have usually done; I took him up on his offer. "Take me to a cheap hotel, 200 rupees per night, close to station”.

The request was filled, but what I had gained in speedy service, I paid for in the worst 2 days I had in India. The two men, the rik driver and his friend, stalked me. They followed me into the restaurant and ate with me, wanted to drive me places I didn’t necessarily want to go, followed me into establishments, called me incessantly, and, as I found later, were telling anyone who could hear that I was their girlfriend. During those two days, I was taken to establishments where I was overcharged 3X the amount of gifts, slept in a hostel that had me fearing for my life and security each night, and felt trapped the entire time.

During one visit to the Amber Fort, I was asked by two Quebecers to take their photo. I asked of them the same. Chance encounter.

On the way down from the fort, I remembered the Tiger Fort- I needed to go because when else would I have a chance to watch the sunset? I asked the driver to turn around and take me to Tiger Fort. “No, no. Not possible, too far. We go tomorrow?” That’s not how it works in India- you give the directions and money, and they follow, else it’s disrespectful on their part. “I am going up there. If not with you, with someone else. Now.” I had stuck up for myself and was breaking free.

The two Quebecers were at the very top of the fort, overlooking the pink city below, currently bespeckled with pinpoints of light from the windows. Blaring Hindi music cut into the twilight, matched by the drifting laughs of children, singing from a festival, and the pounding of drums. That night was crucial. As my new companions and I sped through the night streets, after I had garnered the courage to tell the matachods to fuck off with no fear of the stalking to follow the next day, I made up my mind. I would cancel tomorrow’s ticket to Jodhpur and stay in Jaipur for a few more days, and commit myself to leave the city feeling good about it, rather than the sinking sour feeling I had at the time.

The following days were perfect. I did exactly what I wanted to do, stayed exactly where I wanted to stay, and felt free once again. I had no idea the coincidental events that were to come.

I met three more Quebecers the following night and they shared the Jodhpur hotel name where they had stayed and had an excellent time. “Make sure you ask for the not strong bang lassies!” were their parting words.

I arrived at Yogi’s guesthouse with no expectations, as per usual in India. I was pleasantly surprised, and found myself drawn to the camel trek that was offered. I wouldn’t have gone at the time, rather traveled to Jaisalmer, if not for the desert wedding incorporated into the trek.

The two Dutch guys and I left on the third day from that desert because of complications in planning and compensation. We arrived late into Jodhpur, couldn’t find a rickshaw (when does that ever happen?) finally managed to grab hold of one, literally, and asked to be taken to a hotel that cost 200 rs or less per night. The rickshaw screeched to a halt and I was out on the street. A guy stood in front of me, “Can I help you? I am a tour guide, practicing my English.” Right, at midnight, you just happen to be out practicing your English. I didn’t know then the special relationship I would have with this guy and his friends, and especially his brother. I was shown my room, I liked it.

After moving all of my belongings into the room, which meant one backpack and a handbag, I was out on the balcony for a smoke and chill before bed. I met a guy named Gucci and clicked instantaneously. I was sweaty, hadn’t bathed for three days, hadn’t washed my hair in god knows how long, and was sucking on a cigarette like an old hag, and this guy looked at me like I was the goddess Aphrodite.

The days that followed contain some of the happiest memories of my life.

If I hadn’t had that awful experience and met two people that encouraged me and put me onto the right path; if I hadn’t decided to stay in Jaipur for that extra few days; if there wasn’t a wedding that tempted me to go camel trekking and if Yogi hadn’t fucked us over, resulting in an early return back to the city; if our rickshaw driver decided to take us to a different hotel; if Sam hadn’t been standing outside of my rickshaw when I emerged…if all of these circumstances didn’t match up, then I would have missed such happiness and experience.

I now reflect on those Jodhpur days as pivotal. I opened up; something that had been reserved and feared by me now emerged with such ease. I learned once again how to love, to trust, but most important of all, I discovered a new wonder for life and an inspiration that I am certain will follow me for the rest of my life.

Rickshaws are Way Under-rated

What comes to mind when you think of an auto rickshaw? Hot polluted air in lungs, open access to passer-by, death-defying speeds? Yes, it is all of these things- but on my first trip to the India of my heart, it grew to a pivotal life-changing importance. Think I may be deranged? Possibly, but allow me to explain.

What is an auto- rickshaw, or tuk tuk, so synonymous with any discussion on India and her transportation options, or even the city scape? It's a cheap, three-wheeled alternative to a taxi, with the same system in mind of driver and passenger. The driver sits in the front padded seat, behind a motorbike-type steering bar and a pane of glass, adorned with images of his Bollywood flame and stickers of a chosen diety. The passenger sits on a long cushy seat in the back, which can seat three comfortably, surrounded by padded walls and ceiling. There are no doors or windows. The auto rickshaw is open to the street on one side, and on the other, the "wall" comes up to the elbow in height.

The passenger can scarcely hear above the din of the engine roaring to life at the pull of a lever, the constant putter of effort, along with the blast of the horn.

It's almost certain that the driver is unsatisfied with not being able to rip off his newly acquired passenger as much as he had planned, and will cut his losses by weaving and speeding through traffic. To save sanity and nervous sweating, the journey begins to take the form of an amusement park ride. "This is fine. I won't get into an accident. It's perfectly safe. That was not just the wheel of a truck 2 centimeters from my shoulder." The unkempt sporadic roads only lend to the credibility of this 'ride of a lifetime'. Between the bumping, sliding, adjusting, and cursing for yet more haste but care, there isn't much time to think. Except of your life, which periodically flashes before your eyes.

After bargaining skills become refined, uncomfort dealt with on reflex, and experience garnered, the auto rickshaw ride becomes one of contemplation. The rider has time to take in the city and observe its culture, allow sights and scents to waft over them, to feel the soothing cool breeze through oppressing heat outside.

Auto-rickshaw rides marked my stay in India; it was on that initial fertile day in Madras that I wondered how I could possibly handle the city, deal with the language- barrier, find friends, just live. Just then, my eyes landed on a foreign woman in a salwar kameez barking commands to her driver in purposefully broken English. She was confident, savvy and full of anticipatory energy. I took note from the back of what I previously thought was a death machine on wheels.

It was also from a rickshaw, several weeks later, that I became lost at night and learned how to adapt to a potentially dangerous and highly tense situation on the fly. The mantra I found for that night followed me throughout my travels later on.

I learned to bargain hard, picked up hindi words and slang, learned the power of circumstance, tested my charm, solidified friendships, evaded the police, brainstormed articles, and discovered my love for the multi-layered India- all from my seat in the humble tuk-tuk.

Hundreds of stories are recalled at the very word; they swirl, shake, and swerve, just as the machine I once used daily would as it barreled down Mogappair West to N'Bakkam and beyond.

The destination was often unknown to me and sometimes even improvised. 'Where do I feel like going?' became 'How do I feel right now?' Introspective meant the library, creative meant any event location I found on-line, sexy meant N' Bakkam for shopping and coffee, upset and stressed meant anywhere- as long as the ride was long. There was time to think, observe, re-align, mull over a dilemma, sing the fear and pain away along to Amy Winehouse, brainstorm new article ideas, and sometimes meet people along the way. It wasn't just a ride for me, it was an experience.

So you can continue to cuss it, blame it, wonder at it, and hate it all you want. I know I did often and creatively. But this part-time instrument of torture was also the full-time reason for the lasting memories I have cultivated from India.

Elephants, tea plantations- no joke- this is the real Munar

Taxi rides are generally unremarkable- unless you're riding one 2,000 metres above sea level up a range of hills lined with lush tea plantations, sky-high trees, and dappled with bright bursts of flowers in full bloom. Oh, and scattered with larger-than-life elephants that ramble along the side of the road with their trainers.

The climb to the top of the Munar plantations was breath-taking: the green seemed to extend into eternity beyond the last hills, the fresh breeze tussling hair and bringing a smell of sweetness, the lush smell of fresh grass and leaves. The sun slowly rose from behind the foliage and set itself high into the clear blue sky, warming but not scorching.

It would be an understatement to say that this was a peaceful retreat from city life- heaven can't be described in such light terms.

What added to the magic was the colour of our guide's eyes: clear percing green/blue, set in a dark brown face. The contrast of colours was beautiful. Later in the day, my rickshaw driver looked me in the eyes with his pair of dazzling blue ones to quote me a price and I was once again in awe. 'Are you wearing contacts?" I shamelessly wanted to ask.
Back to aforementioned tour...

We were shown 6 hours of dizzying tea plantations, dazzling views, darling shops, and daring drops. At one of the look-out points, I sat on a rock for what seemed like hours. I gazed out onto the deep valley so far below and meditated on everything from finding inner peace to what I was going to eat for dinner (it turned out to be Chinese vegetable noodles and a "jumbo" sundae. Misleading description.) After climbing the 50 wide-spaced steps to the top of the trail, and finding my breath, we continued to more excitement.

But nothing could be more exciting than the day's previous activities. Mainly, this included riding a horse and an elephant. No, not at the same time! First a 10 minute jaunt down a reservoir-bordering path, riddled with brambles and flora. Then another 10 minutes atop the massive grey wrinkled back of Mina. These were only about 15 minutes apart, so I guess I was close to riding them at the same time?! Circus tricks, indeed.

Being atop a creature of that size gave me an entirely new appreciation for this earth and my role in it. I mainly thought of how insignificant we are as humans. And not in a cynical way. Look at the size of an elephant compared to any human! Puney, in comparison. I was lucky to see how magnificent and beautiful and gentle these animals are, which is more than many people can claim for themselves. All throughout the ride, I was feeling this elephant move beneath me and realized my love for animals all over again. A being like that should never be intentionally killed, and yet hunting and sawing off tusks is perpetuated in India and Africa.

After stocking up on masala tea, home-made chocolate, and an out-of-place "NY" hat (to rally the heat off my heat-stroke prone head) it was down hill and back to our amazingly cheap yet clean and quaint hotel for a rest-up.

Tomorrow is a new day, occupied with travelling back to the Flat, our home away from home. And believe me, rest is a must if planning to catch the train anywhere in India.

Never-ending Jet-lag

I glanced at the clock on my i-pod: in Chennai, I would be up and about- the busiest time of the day. In Toronto I would be sleeping like a baby by now. Two pulls.
It goes beyond jet lag. Will my body and mind continue ticking on Toronto's clock because it's safe and comfortable or will it thrive in the unknown and greet the change openly? Only time will tell.
Upon landing, my body was telling me to hit the sack, but my mind was reeling with the simple fact that I was in India. That night I had my first nightmare in 3 months. I awoke alone in the dark and thought to myself "it figures that I would have a nightmare on my first night..."
More sleepless nights and restless days followed- like walking through a dream but knowing that it should feel real. I was in a cloud.
Do jet-lag pills really work- because I have a nagging suspicion that they are mere placebos. It might have even worked if I took some sleeping pills with me to calm my inner workings down. It's great that I realize this after I'm actually in the foreign country.
My technique is to just drink plenty of water and begin to unwind once the sun starts it's decent. Getting up in the morning is more like crawling out of Hades. The bed is hard and the wood warped, the air is damp and thick- like a mid-way point in between comfortable and un-bearable.
Exercise is another big one. I haven't been getting any. It balances out because I've been eating minimally, if at all. When I do, massive heartburn and stomach-churning commences.
I have a sneaking suspicion it's the bumpy rickshaw rides which leave me craving the touch of land below my feet. And keeping more than a .05 cm distance between myself and other vehicles at all times.
Slow recovery from jet-lag is the way to go. Another recommendation? Take plenty of cold showers, whether out of choice or not.