Kindness of Strangers

Sunday, September 21, 2008

We have only one week to experience India, which is a very short time for a very large country, so we decided to concentrate on The Golden Triangle, referring to the shape that is created between the cities of Delhi, Agra (home to the Taj Mahal), and Jaipur. Most people spend a few days in each place, but we quickly determined that Delhi wasn’t for us, and Agra can easily be experienced in a day, so rather than racing around for a week we are spending five nights in Jaipur.

Known as “The Pink City,” Jaipur was painted a dreamy shade of pink in 1876 to welcome the Prince of Whales. The historical center of town is awash in a deep, dusty rose color, providing whimsy to this chaotic, but rather small, city. We chose Jaipur as a place to settle in for a bit because, aside from its tourist attractions, it offered opportunities to engage in a number of quintessential Indian experiences that we were eager to try: visiting an astrologer, seeing a Bollywood movie, and indulging in Ayurvedic treatments.

The moment we stepped onto the train station’s platform, we were bombarded with an onslaught of touts, offering us everything from rickshaw rides to tours to hotel rooms. We desperately searched for the prepaid autorickshaw stand - a system in place at most major transportation hubs to help travelers avoid getting completely scammed. We have learned that the worst thing one can do in northern India is to arrive at a city without plans - having a slip of paper with the name and address of your hotel written that you can hand to the dispatcher at the prepaid autorickshaw stand is critical. We exited the station, where a dense wave of touts washed over us; a security guard poked a long, wooden stick into the mass to help create a path.

We gave the scammers the slip and traversed the jangling streets of Jaipur by autorickshaw, a three-wheeled mini-cab that rattles nosily, belching exhaust as it weaves manically through traffic. After our long journey we were delivered to the Jaipur Inn, an oasis of calm. We were immediately met by the affable manager, Pushpendra, whose father, Ramin, opened the Inn 32 years ago. The property has long been a budget traveler’s favorite, and it’s clear why: truly friendly service; lovely, affordable rooms that scream India; and great food all combine to make for a memorable experience. We felt immediately at home.

Before we knew it, Pashpenbar had invited us to make a New Mexican dinner one evening during our stay, and Ramin was excited to enlist Maikael’s help with a computer problem. We spent a lovely afternoon enjoying tea on Ramin’s airy patio adjoining the Inn, which is something straight out of Monsoon Wedding, with its lush tropical gardens, wrought iron patio furniture, swirling fans, and canvas awnings to keep the rain out. His patio is lined with black and white photos from his time in the Indian Air Force where, as a young man, he is pictured alongside a host of Indian dignitaries, including the then-president! Ramin is one of the most genteel people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  He is Indian Vincent Price, in looks, stature, and voice.  He graciously invited us to “a completely Indian dinner” on his patio. We ate like kings, dining on steamed rice, tender dal, steaming chipati bread, chunks of potato with stewed tomatoes, and a medley of sauteed vegetables.

Jaipur had already won me over, but there was more to come.

The next morning we awoke to clear blue skies and decided to make our way to the City Palace at the heart of Jaipur. A fascinating collection of buildings from different eras of maharaja rule in Rajastan, including the current maharaja, City Palace is the perfect introduction to the city. We ambled through the Textiles Museum, which houses a fascinating collection of royal garments and a dizzying array of turbans, explaining the significance of different sizes, shapes, and colors. My favorite part of the collection was a royal polo uniform, a sport, I learned, that originated in India, not England. I’m not really into weaponry, but the Armory houses a collection of signs with the letters created by various weapons: the “Welcome” sign is spelled out in daggers. But the centerpiece of City Palace is Sarvatobhadra, an open courtyard lined with pink buildings. The gallery in the center houses massive silver vessels, the largest sterling-silver objects in the world, which were made for the Maharaja Madho Singh II to transport holy water from the Ganges River on his trip to England in 1902.

We made our way around the block to keep our appointment with a renowned astrologer to have our horoscope read. Greeting us at the entry of the dim office was a faded, wooden, hand-lettered sign that simply read “Dr. Vinod Shastri, Astrologer and Palmist.” Soon the man himself greeted us, a soft-spoken, smiling person clad in a gauzy white shift. His bowl cut of jet black hair and Coke-bottle glasses intimated not at a guru but at a regular Joe with impish charm. After taking down our exact time and location of birth, his assistant plugged the information into a computer - I was expecting parchment paper and complex star charts, not printer paper.

He called us in one by one into his cluttered office. By simply glancing at a diamond-shaped chart filled with a series of numbers, he was able to interpret the complex results of a 30 page report! Dr. Shastri proceeded to poke at my palms with great intensity, finally concluding, “Your palm and astrology are very similar.” He revealed pretty specific information from my past (after graduating college I was faced with two career paths - one of which involved pursuing a helping profession) and also gave me some insights into the next five years (I can look forward to a career change in October 2009, and maybe a child in 2010 or 2011).

True or not, it was a quintessentially Indian experience. Astrology is a huge part of Indian culture; marriages are sometimes waged by horoscopic compatibility. By the time our readings were over the office was brimming with others like us who wanted a peak into our futures.