Happy Holi from Mathura

HOLI is one of the biggest Hindu festivals of the year and is celebrated all over India. Our original plan was to dash from the cricket to Varanasi in order to celebrate in perhaps the holiest city, BUT on a random whim from a piece of advice and short of time we went to Mathura instead – as it turned out, one of the best decisions that will be made on this trip!

Mathura is also one of the most sacred cities, especially to followers of Vishnu, as Krishna (Vishnu’s 7th incarnation and of Hari or "Lord" Krishna fame) was born here, but comparably off the tourist map. Since Holi is a festival about Krishna, you can imagine this would be the place to be. After our first day wandering around the city and learning about Hinduism in a major temple, on the main day of Holi we jumped in a rickshaw and ended up in Vrindavan, the most sacred site around Mathura.

The core part of the festival, “to play Holi”, involves everyone brave enough to be on the street plastering everyone who is stupid enough to be on the street with colour. This is usually in the form of powder paint of every colour imaginable but predominantly pink for medium term skin discolouration. Unfortunately that is not all you get plastered with. From oil paints to puddle water, silly-string to excrement – anything throws!

Despite the peculiarities of certain missiles I had an amazing time. Often it is just a case of a man coming up to you, blessing you with paint on your forehead or rubbing it on your face followed by three hugs and a ‘Happy Holi’. Other times it is more of a running battle. Packs of men occupy stretches of the road waiting to smother you. Nothing, or nowhere is off limits for the throwing. As the only westerners noticeably present we were prime targets. This generally made it even more fun as I enjoy a bit of a rumble, but at times it was understandably too much for Martina - as a blond female, this meant wondering hands were by no means off the agenda. It is very difficult because here the women are not involved in such celebrations, so if you choose to join as a western woman you should expect some inevitable actions from many a desperate man who sees foreigners as little more then sex-symbols. This is by no means an excuse for some of their disgraceful actions which did on at least one occasion lead her to tears. There was often one really low and pathetic guy who really needed to grow up. If there families knew they would be in disgrace.

The highlight for me was entering a temple at the heart of all the fun on my loansome, as one of us had to look after Martina, and entering one of the craziest environments of my short life. Thousands of people crammed into a temple dancing, singing, holi’ing. The atmosphere was so thick with powder paint that it was hard to breathe. I had no option but to join the crazy dancing and have a great time until I received a particularly vicious projectile of yellow paint into my eyes. I was temporarily blinded in the middle of a huge crowd and had to rely on kind strangers to take me to the nearest water supply in order to at least partially recover my sight before rejoining the fun.

All in all so much fun and an incredible experience. The photos give an idea of just how battered we got. Further, this stuff does not just wash off. All the clothes were forever altered along with Martina’s hair (now pinky-purple) and Thilo has rather effeminate painted toe-nails.To cap the whole experience off, a ride back to Mathura in a rickshaw full of no less then 20 brightly coloured individuals (squeezed on every seat and lap, hanging off the sides and on the roof – my seat was largely a rather pointy gear-stick) on a very bumpy road was something else.

Happy Holi to all!!!

A bit of Barmy Army in Mohali

By pure coincidence England are touring India at the same time as I am travelling here. So what can one do except convince a German to spend 5 days of his 5 week holiday in Chandigar at the Second Test. All credit to the boy for giving it a go and we witnessed the most exciting and record-breaking game of cricket in history..... between South Africa and Australia.... on TV..... and we all went mad... I even danced a bit in the street and hugged quite a few Indians.

Back to the 5 day game...... I am not going to go into any detail about the cricket itself – for this see www.bbc.co.uk/cricket – beyond saying that there were good 50’s from Flintoff (2), Dravid, KP, Bell and Sehwag, and a total of some 31 wickets including Kumble’s 500th (an amazing achievement that the England fans seemed to recognise more than the Indians) – oh and the fact that England lost by 9 wickets – grrrgh!

Despite the minor annoyance of the negative result I have to say that it was a great 5 days. It was a true touring experience, for 2 of the days in a near empty stadium. While the English undertook the only true antidote to the rain (unbelievably similar to weather back home – cold, wet drizzle all day) and drank the night and day away. Many interesting conversations ensued especially at a place called Blue Ice with Mark and Mike. A Brummie and a Burnley boy (Blackburn) who were bloody good company with some cracking stories.

A little bit like the Chinese, in this case, when the Indians tried to do western style entertainment they somehow got it very wrong. The worst example was a bar called Down Under which can be summed up as a whole lot of slaughtered men (women are socially not allowed it seems) dancing at the table with their arms round each other to very bad 80’s heavy metal. I hold back before criticising elements of another culture that are alien to my own, but when they are attempting to duplicate mine I feel more comfortable in holding judgement – it was generally just wrong.

On the very Indian note of hugging, holding hands, and general touching between men, despite at times feeling slightly uncomfortable, I have no issue. On the contrary, I think the fact that we are so easily shocked by it shows up problems in our own culture. From my experience here, the one major exception was when a well-dressed guy went TOO far -following us on his bike insistent on showing us to his home and when I politely refused for the umpteenth time began to say things such as “come on baby”, “I worship you” and various other equivalents. After even stronger refusal he eventually grabbed my leg very forcefully at which I even more forcefully removed it, told him he was incredibly rude and moved on. I think he was bloody lucky I did not hit him, though here it seems to effect people more if you tell them they insult their family and their country. Even more reason to keep such comments as last reserves.

Oh yes, the cricket. When the match did get going we were witnesses and participants in an amazing contrast of support. The English on one hand, increasingly pissed, chanting in unison – occasionally a bit rudely but nearly always in amenable jest and normally with wit – and the Indians who acted a lot more like a rabble. It seemed pure noise was the order of the day, with “INDIA, INDIA” being about the most sophisticated of the chants. A man behind me made such a sqwaw that I could not help giving him several looks conveying – “I advise you see a doctor”. The Tendulkar touching his hat received a bigger cheer then Kumble’s 500th wicket (only the 4th man in history) just about says it all. Despite all this, when their fans got going they were great and produced a great atmosphere. To many of them cricket is everything and the passion they showed was quite phenomenal.

The Barmy Army can not go without a mention. Despite the usual couple of people who were slightly clichy about such things I thought they were great. I sung until my voice gave up and Jimmy is as cool as he looks on TV (first picture). Even as India scored the winning runs, you could hear the proud voices of the minority English through the madness.

God bless cricket – despite almost unfathomable differences between the two sets of people they share a love and passion for the game that brings us together.

P.s. for the syncs out there - the German loved it!

Headscrew

A quick update from Varanasi, perhaps the most sacred city in India.

Nothing I have seen has prepared me for seeing flesh dripping off a burning corpse beside the Ganges. Sometimes you wonder how specific experiences of travel will affect you and this one is still swimming around my head like a cement-mixer.

India is one heck of an extreme country and so far this city and what occurs within it have pushed the very limits of my experience!

War and Peace: Wagah and Amritsar

After 3 days in bed and a day down the pub recovering from the famed Delhi Belly (not a laugh I promise you) I was literally bursting to move on from Delhi. A place with many great sites and some lovely people but in many other ways one of the biggest shit-holes I have ever been to in my life. I do apologise if this offends anyone, but when you can tell the vicinity of the uncountable shanty villages with your eyes shut you get an idea of the true depths of poverty. Serious and severe poverty of the likes I have barely witnessed before.

PEACE

So we jumped on a series of cramped buses filled with friendly people insistent on conversation and headed to Amritsar. This is in the Punjab, the home of the Sikhs, and the Golden Temple within Amritsar is the most holy site of the religion. Hence a high proportion of wonderfully coloured turbans - quite a site from the back of a bumpy bus.

The temple is an utter shock after roaming through small dirty streets of the city, full of movement and congestion. After removing your shoes and donning a scarf to cover the head you enter a place of peace. In the centre of a large rectangular compound splashed in white and beautifully decorated is a large smooth pool with the most intrinsically decorated golden temple at its centre. On entering through a high arch my heart skipped a beat as I witnessed the beauty of the temple glittering across the water.

I had heard stories of this magnificent temple before but did not expect to be taken aback as much as I was. What I found was a place of greater peace (not to be used lightly), tranquility, and generosity then I have ever had the honour to witness.

Thilo and I spent two days walking around the pool (5 times is part of ritual), speaking with the charming people, taking the food on offer, and meditating. In the heart of the sanctum of the golden temple you can feel the spirituality of the place emanating out as the verses of the holy book are sung across the water inhabited my meandering coy. Whether in the inner temple itself, or sitting on the outside looking across the water, I found my mind wonder near and far with ease and clarity. I learned much. This is a very very special place!!

More has to be mentioned of the people. The colours on the dresses and turbans are astounding, but what struck me more was their acceptance, generosity and friendliness. From numerous people wishing to explain the beauty of their religion and wanting to learn about us, to the serving of free meals for all in some of the largest kitchens in the world serving thousands of pilgrims a day - it is more than a bit of fun to help wash up!

As an outsider I did not expect people to take me with open arms into their most holy of places, but here all are accepted. There are purposely four gates to symbolise that it is a temple open to all castes of Hindu (Sikhs did away with the caste system) and Muslims are similarly welcome. This is even more remarkable when you learn of the history of persecution and warfare that surround the Sikh.

From the mesmerising chanting, to the touching little details such as the trees of prayers and the mystifying sight of pilgrims dousing themselves in the water before a sight of such beauty and serenity. I shall not forget this place. Further, I intend to revisit it for longer and to visit a Sikh temple back home. A religion with such acceptance and beauty takes to your heart. I have much to learn!


WAR

Within just a few kms of the temple is a place of such utter contrast that it is, like the ceremony I am about to explain, darkly hilarious.

At the close of day at the currently only open border between the not so friendly neighbours of Pakistan and India, a quite ridiculous theatre unfolds. Thousands gather on each side of the border in stands to witness daily ritual insult. I simply can not explain the absurdity of the whole situation as soldiers from each side in matching silly chicken hats, frog-march towards each other at the gate and then stamp and wave strange hand gestures at each other while the people chant "Hindustan" and far more insulting things.

Here we have one of the biggest political flash points in the world reduced to a comedy show. Isn't humanity strange but wonderful.

Unfortunately for Pakistan, I have to say they come off a bit worse with smaller segregated stands and a uniform that is very noticeably darker, with black capes and chicken hats, in stark contrast to the bright colours of the Indian forces. You can not help but think a little of the Evil Empire vs the Rebel Alliance, not that I have any political opinions on this subject.

So as the flags come down and they insult each other a few more times to the delight of the incredibly nationalistic crowds, days of mind-shocking contrast come to a close. Despite the dark comedy in the WAR, my heart is well and truly with the PEACE.