Bussing It Outta Jodphur

We are definitely not in Kansas anymore! Indians in the North are very different from those in the south.

Snake Charmer in Rajisthan

This morning as I sit with my morning chai (quite delicious actually with lots of ginger) I notice that the people around are morose and serious. My own smile, previously a means of communicating, is ineffective here. Maybe the desert influence affects the moods of the population. My struggle to defer judgement and forgo opinions reappears. This is Rajasthan, the epitome of intensity and heat and I won’t be here long enough to even begin to understand. Hindi and Rajasthani are the two languages spoken here. Unlike Kerala, Tamil Nadu and Karnataka in Southern India, not many people speak English. All perception then, relies on the visual. And we definitely look different from each other! I can’t even begin to imagine what others are thinking about us. And yet, when it comes right down to basics, we are really all the same.

We board our (7:30 am) bus in Jodphur to Pushkar after a few surprises. First, after paying a rickshaw to deliver us to the bus stop, we discover that the bus is being prevented from entering the town and we have to take another rickshaw to get there. We watch all the people with their families and their belongings pack into rickshaws eagerly. We are told it will cost another 80 rupees. “No way” I say. “We’ve already paid to get here.” I am convinced that the other people are not putting up any more money. The travel company should be paying for this mishap! My negotiation pays off and we are given the same treatment as others. I feel a bit triumphant! I am no longer the ‘fresh monkey’ I used to be during my first visit to India.

Finally we get on our bus and settle in. We wait without the engine starting for what seems like a long time. I decide to take advantage of the wait and find a toilet. My search for one is unsuccessful. It’s okay, I figure. My many years of teaching and my numerous bus rides in India and South America have conditioned my bladder well. I can wait. “Let’s just leave already!” It is now 10:40.

Waiting Place

The bus never leaves. Instead we hear shouting in Hindi from the front of the bus. In response, everyone around us gets up and, gathering all their belongings, they begin to get off the bus. We wait until the end. We are travelling heavy and we’re not sure what’s happening. Finally we follow the crowd. Outside we are left on the side of a road, in, what seems like, the middle of nowhere. All of us… waiting. We discover that the bus we were on has been ‘seized’ by police because of failed inspection and lack of appropriate papers. We are instructed to wait (about 20 minutes) for the next bus.

Though there are not many places around, I decide to find a toilet. I leave the group in search of some place where I can go. I return within minutes. No luck! Now I’m getting nervous. If the bus does come soon, I will be stuck without access to toilet…and I already have to go badly. Paul offers to help. Maybe he can hold up a towel, but I’m reluctant. There is no place to hide in India!

Finally I make eye contact with a Rajasthani woman who is holding one child with two others at her side. Our simultaneous smile to one another confirms for me that I have found a comrade. I approach her slowly. “Toilet” I ask quietly. She responds in Hindi. Of course, I don’t understand. She puts the child from her arms on the ground and leans over to grab my hand. Together we walk to the side of the building. There is a broken down wall surrounding a small square of land. Garbage is piled in various corners and scattered all over. The smell of rotting discarded waste is overwhelming. I know I have no choice, and, as my new friend stands guard, I squat right there to pee. I feel so relieved and so grateful for her help. Women… anywhere and everywhere… so much the same… same and different.

The 'Ladies' Room

Finally our new bus comes and we board. It’s comfortable with plenty of space in our sleeper cabin. Within 200 metres, however, our bus stops again. We’ve been pulled over by Rajasthani police. Everyone on the bus seems to be calm. I am definitely feeling okay. It’s a Rajasthani experience, no doubt. As we wait and watch the commotion outside our window, between the bus driver and the officers, I wonder what will be. I think this is normal. No one seems to flinch. Paul is starting to lose it. So is the baby sitting in the front of the bus.

There are no explanations. No apologies. No one tries to communicate with the passengers.

Finally the driver returns. I can’t read his face. It is only the sound of the ignition turning and the shift into gear that affirms that we are, once again, on our way…for now. It is 12:14!

New Friends!