Off The Beaten Path

Where Do They Bathe?

  The second last post from  Chandni Chowk is now at hand!

I still marvel at the amount of stuff that I have been able to put up just on account of one morning's walk in that area.

So, the question really is, 'where do the poor people bathe?'.

On the street, since the places, or hovels, where they live definitely do not have any place where they can bathe. So, they live, eat and die in crowded places.

Bathing in the public eye is something that they can afford. It costs, theoretically, nothing.

Economically, the only cost that they have, is that of the soap that they use. And the towels.

The only cost that they have, is the loss of their sense of privacy, and possibly dignity. For the poor are often without the commonly heald notions of privacy and dignity. They simply cannot afford these luxuries.

So, the old man, and the young boys share the same public tap of water to have a bath, wash their clothes, and their utensils; while amateur photographers like myself stand by the roadside, take their photographs and write blogs about them as thought this is some new and marvellous discovery.

A Friendly Cup Of Tea

I really must move beyond that morning walk in Chandni Chowk, and I will. I really will. Just two more posts,after this one and, I will then be done. I promise myself this.

Since I am blogging with a little more frequency these days, possibly this should be done by Tuesday.

I like these two gentlemen. They exemplify the social, gossipy nature of us Indians. Most people are social and gossipy in their own way. I would assume that the social ceremonies around gossip vary between people from different cultures, and ours is unique to us.

Gossiping around a friendly cup of tea is endemic to us Indians.  I don't drink much of the Indian stuff nowadays. I have gone off the taste of it. But, I still enjoy the gossip.

Tea, as is commonly drunk in India, is brewed with water, milk and sugar. It is cooked and cooked and cooked until it becomes a thick,  light brown brew. Typically, you order tea from the nearby tea stall. The owner sends you the tea in an aluminium tea pot and the young fellow who brings the tea to you, also brings along the cracked, china cups, or glasses to pour the tea.

In other parts of India, the rural parts, you get it in an earthen container called a "Kullar". Sorry, the English spelling does not give you a good guide to the pronunciation. After drinking the tean, you simply throw the vessel away, to allow it to become one with the earth again. And, yet again, in places like Bombay, the cup is often shared. One half is poured into a saucer, and you can choose to drink from the cup or the saucer!!

In office, it comes around at tea time. The tea fellow brings it around in a big container, with the cups of tea in the trolley and, the trundling sound of the tea trolley signals that glorious time of the day - "Gossip Time"!!! Who is having an affair with whom, which fellow is brown nosing the boss, is our company about to be sold etc etc etc. Anything is fair game.

When I was in college, we'd sit around a pot of tea, under the glorious starlit night, and talk. We'd start by bitching about class, and the topic would veer to the state of the economy, Carlos Castaneda, on whether God does exist, and why God has an influnce on our lives.

Those glorious days around that humble cup of tea.  And, approaching middle age, we simply take a break during the day, to talk about days gone by, over a friendly cup of tea.

Boredom

  I definitely do not want to live on the roadside in India. I am far too spoiled for that! However, the street in India provides enough fodder for any budding street photographer, and for any one who wants to blog on street life in India.

This last series of blogs have all been based on one morning's walk in Chandni Chowk in New Delhi. Absolutely brilliant, I think.

Boredom. It's something that afflicts us all.

I got these three gentlemen pretty early in my shoot. I would have taken this picture at around 11 am or so. The markets open at around that time anyway, so it was a bit early in the morning. Well, too early to look and feel so bored anyway.

I am not too sure why the fellow on the scooter was so bored. And, I cannot figure out why the guy in the middle was so bored.  The rickshaw fellow was probably waiting for a passenger and got bored by waiting. The guy in the middle probably had nothing to do, so he probably stopped by for a chat. Conversation must have run out, leading to boredom!

The gent on the scooter remains a mystery. But, what does it matter. Evidently, they had enough time on their hands, and without any other intellectual pursuit worth the name, they would simply have let their minds run blank. And, that would then lead to a glazed look, somewhat akin to that of a lizard that is basking in the afternoon sun. There would be the occassional pause, when they would stretch, and look around lazily, scratch an unmentionable part of their body and, return to their original position of absolute boredom. Occassionally, they would clear their throat, gather the spit in their mouths and, with a whoosh, send it out onto the street. More food for the flies!!

I once heard a cassette by Osho Rajneesh on Boredom. He opined that the real role of, mechanism, of a Mantra in helping a person reach enlightenment, was by creating a sense of utter boredom. You keep repeating the mantra again and again and again until your mind is so thoroughly bored and fed up, that it finally breaks through and you gain enlightenment. Never tried it, so I cannot really comment on whether it works or it.

So, these guys would be close to enlightenment.  On the stairway to heaven.

Holy Crap! Would I Eat From Here?

This, and the last few photos, were taken at Chandni Chowk in New Delhi. More on Chandni Chowk in the next post. And then, I shall move on to something else.

However,  these last few street shots could have be taken anywhere in India. So, the does not really matter in a certain sense.

I used to be young. And even though I have greyed, I still like to believe that I am young. Certainly, since I started yoga a year ago ( and, I am not regular due to my lousy travel schedule ), my body seems to have become younger. Somewhat li Dorian Gray. Except that I don't have a picture that ages, and shows the effects of a sinful life!!

But yes, I was young and carefree. While I still eat on the roadside in India, I have become a lot more cautious of late, and I think that I am a little more picky about my choice of road side eatery.

However, to be honest, it does not really matter, I think. Most restaurants in India ( the small ones), are not known for their hygiene.

They used to be known for the flavour of their food. A sales rep worth his salt had to know the best road side joints, else he was considered low.

I used to love eating at these places. The places were known by the names of the owners.  And boy, were some of 'em famous. A lot of them survived because of the reputation of the older days, and even though the quality had, by the  time I ate in many of them, suffered, we always forgave them. "On off day", we would say, and then rave on and on about how great the food was on "X" day or "Y" day.  Much of the taste was something we imagined.

Some of the places, however, stayed with their reputation. Karim's, for instance is still fantastic. I am talking about Karim's behind Jama Masjid. The sense of hygiene? Non existent. The sense of decor? Non existent. Service quality? What service?!

But, who went for hygiene, ambience, decor or service? What we went for was simple, wholesome food that tasted like a little bit of heaven.

Karim's, however, is a little restaurant, where you get to sit.

Many of the places do not offer this luxury. The owner comes with food that is pre-cooked. Or, cooked on the spot. You eat out of plates made of leaf, with a wooden/ply spoon. Or, you use your unwashed hands. You eat; throw the plate on the ground, for the flies to alight on;wash your hands in the little pump on the street; dry your hands on your trouser or your greasy hankie. And, move on.

Cheap, tasty, quick food on the run. The food has to be tasty. Cheap. Not healthy, necessarily. And, quick. The only difference between this business model and McDonald's is the hygiene.

At McDonald's they will not wash the vessels in the dirty water by the roadside.

Would I eat there again? Hmmm. Unlikely.

My kids? Never!! Times change. Some things do change with time.

Oh God, Help Me Sell!!

 This is a shopkeeper, who evidently does not have the best time of his life, when it comes to selling his goods.

Which is why the poor bloke seems to be sitting down at the entrance to his shop, wondering what the hell he is to do with his time.

Ennui, boredom.

I also don't suppose he does too much by way of calculating his working capital costs. Like most shopkeepers, he will look at his profit and loss, and not so much as how many times he rolls over his money.

I've had this debate with myself many times, about whether or not I should stay a good career person all my life, or whether or not I should start something of my own!

Being in a job used to give a person a lot of security. The regular monthly paycheck, with the promise of a steady, if unexciting, life. It also gave the promise of a life of boredom after retirement. And, a down grading of lifestyle, ego etc.

One day you are important. The next day, not.

And, as we all know, times have changed. Corporate life does not offer security anymore. More money, perks. More pressure. Less security and peace of mind.

Pretty much the same as business. Except, business does give you the promise of non-retirement, if you are successful.

The question is, can God help you sell? I doubt it.

Pissing...

 

This is a public urinal in Delhi. Pissing in India can be an art, depending on where you are.

In my younger days, when I was very young and not so innocent, I had too much to drink, one evening.Way to much beer in the system. And, as does happen in these  things, something had to give. My bladder. So, I stood on the road side and pissed away to "hell and glory", yelling to everyone that they were welcome to come and see the special public fountain show!

Another time, I had to do a little more than pee. Well, I popped into the public loo, crapped. And, surprise, surprise, there was nothing with which I could clean my bum. So, I took out all the money I had ( almost all, anyway), and cleaned up. The toilet was stinking.

Generally, when you have to go to a public loo in India, one of the first things you have to do, is to hold your nose, to avoid being blown away by the stench. Then, you have to perform the delicate task of balancing/standing in the one or two relatively clean spots on the ground. And then, you have to perform.

If the job requires more than pissing, the delicate art of balancing becomes more intricate. You have to squat, hold your trousers up, hold the shirt tails up with one hand. With the other hand, you have to hold the door, to prevent it from swinging open. And then, you have to perform.

Now all of this is, is what a man has to do in order to relieve himself in a public toilet in India.

Women have it easier, in a sense!! The toilets are generally too dirty for them to use, else they will end up with gynecological problems, and only make pharmaceutical companies and doctors rich. So, they simply have to control themselves, and pray they their bladders don't burst on the way home. But, no delicate balancing acts are to be performed, mind you!

The question then arises, is why on earth we cannot build a culture of public hygiene in the country. We do have a lot of problems, and this is definitely one of them. Apart from being an eyesore, and creating an unpleasant experience, these places are also the hot beds of disease and filth.

Our country is developing inmany spheres. This is not one of them. However, with the economic development of the country, there will bean increasing number of foreigners coming into the country. These places do nothing for our image as a country.

As our country develops, hopefully we Indians will become more aware of the perils of these unsightly public toilets, which are a health hazard, as well as being a blight aesthetically.

Till then, the art of pissing in public will continue. An art that deserves to die a quick death. 

Selling Fashion

We all love fashion, and wearing fashionable clothes. Of course, buying fashionable clothes makes us feel as good as wearing fashionable clothes.

Buying from the right shop is important. We're confident of the quality, even if the store may over charge us sometimes.

It also adds to our "face value". Buying from a high end store adds so much to our prestige. Sometimes more than the brand itself.

And, who does not love a great mannequin? They are all great! I remember watching a movie many years ago, about a manneqyin that came to life.

And, sometimes, like these young ladies on the left, they stare at us from a height!

The question that I have in my mind, however, is how many people would like to buy clothes from this shop? Okay, it looks pretty run down, and has probably even closed business for quite some time. But, I am not sure if I would like to have been seen dead in the shop at any point of it's career!

The shopkeeper defintely needed his lessons on how to sell fashion. He was probably better at selling his business!

Waiting For The King!

I don't recall how many small kingdoms India had in 1947, the year that we became an independent nation. However, I believe that the figure was much over 250.

I think that the first real consolidation started with the Mughals, and continued with the British reign. However, I do not believe that either really did much to consolidate us into one country.

This happened after 1947, when we had the services of the great Sardar Vallabh Bhai Patel. Without the great task of abolishing the princely states, and consolidating us into one nation (even though we were a "nation" before then), we would have probably broken or splintered back into many warring factions.

Yet, old loyalties and habits die hard. The Royal families, some of them, have  gone on to become political leaders, with their suave charm. Some have stayed out of politics, but have stayed on as the adored rulers in their old principalities. Some have simply faded away. Small eras ended.

So, what does this picture have to do with royalty? Well, this is a shot I took in Mysore many years ago. Mysore, incidentally, is the home of Pattabhi Jois, the most famous teacher of Ashtanga Yoga. It was also the hometown of two great kinds of yore - Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan.

On this day, around Dussehra, people had gathered on their rooftops, on the streets, to catch a glimpse of the President of India (or, the Prime Minister), who was passing by that day. On Dussehra day, the old Palace of Tipu Sultan used to be lit up to celebrate the festival. Not on that day, though. I remember that the Raja was protesting the Income Tax enquires that had been placed against his door!

Yet, the president was passing by. The new Royalty. Without much of the pomp and finery of the old Rajas, but with a much larger power base. And, if you consider our tendency towards political dynasties, like the Gandhi family, it makes me wonder if people need kings. Else, why would a country of over 1 billion people stay obsessed with one family when we have the option, theoretically, to choose more able leaders.

The people waited on the rooftop, on the streets, to catch a glimpse of the new King, and to be blessed by his aura. Like they have always done through the ages gone by.

Desecration

In India, they say, public property is everyone's property, and that we don't have any respect for public property. I tend to believe this to be true, as the statue in this entry reveals.

We absolutely love sticking posters, labels, writing crap on any sort of public property, and making a general mess of what we have. A few years ago, there was a bit of public outrage because Coke and Pepsi were alleged to have commissioned wall paintings in the Gangotri area of the Himalayan range, thereby upsetting the delicate eco-balance of the region, and possibly killing many micro organisms. Like any public outrage, this died down quickly, and soon life was back to normal. There were no lessons to be drawn, no strictures put up on how to behave in public places, and it would appear as if the incident had never happened.

This incident came to the public eye, because the acts were perpetrated by multi national companies, those awful, awful icons of greedy capitalism. The fact that we all seem to have conveniently forgotten, is that all of us, in our daily lives, throw garbage on the street, thereby spreading disease. Garbage on the street looks ugly as well. Yet, we are proud of our freedom to throw garbage on the street, and I have been guilty of this myself.

We Indians are really very bad with public property. My Chinese brethren are not too great either. Yet, when I travelled to Jiu Zhai Gou in China, there were public signs everywhere exhorting people not to touch the calcite deposits, or to walk in the forest. The authorities had made paths for people to walk on. Transport in the area was via electrically powered buses. All this was done, is being done, to preserve the environment of the area. I think that this is a superb initiative. What I found even more impressive (and, I travelled there during the crowded holiday season), was that all my Chinese friends respected the strictures, and not one person was found littering, walking in the forests, touching the calcite deposits, or sticking posters on the rocks. There was respect for the instructions, and for the environment.

I don't believe that this is something that is at all difficult. But, we need to start somewhere. The lead does need to come to the top.

Memorial To A God

Many years ago, God died. Well, he was God to a few million people in India anyway, and his name was MG Ramachandran. Called MGR.

Honestly, I don't remember much of him, except that he was always wearing some kind of a cap, and dark glasses. I was never too sure of whether the glasses were a medical requirement or, an affectation because of fashion.

MGR was a flim star who was popular sometime in the 70's I think, and then became a politician. He was GOD to his fans, some of whom could not bear the news of his death and immolated themselves, rather than be faced with a life without God.

I don't think that this tendency to deify filmstars and heros is unique to India, even though India has it's own unique way of expressing this.And, in India, the way of expression differs between the North and South Indians.

Yet, God dies. When do you truly die? Some believe that you die when you die in the memory of people. And so, surely but slowly this God is dying. His memorial in Madras (Chennai), seen above, silhoutteted against the early morning sun is slowly becoming irrelevant. It's a nice enough memorial, but will disappear one day.

And, till he dies, God will be remembereed differently by different people. A form of death, perhaps?