The Sounds

I think I packed pretty well for this trip. For a typical over-packer I knew the backpack would be a challenge for me, but there has really been no issue, I haven't missed an article of clothing, or wished for an overlooked toilitry. (Actually not true - last night I had a serious wanting for Fabreze or some sort of disinifectant spray. A mental note I took down for next time.)

The one item that I regret not buying before this trip is for sure a tape recorder though. The sounds of India are souvenirs I'll bring home but I'm afriad will fade after a while.

I'm in Pushkar now. A small village in the state of Rajastahn, about 3 hours from Jaiper. Pushkar is a rurul town that caters to travelers so it really doesn't feel all that rural. The village is situated around a holy lake, making it a pilgramage village, so Pushkar also caters to the pilgrams who come to bathe in the holy waters. It's all-veg and dry (that means no beer or liquor - it's detox time). And a really wonderful place to spend a couple days doing absolutely nothing but lounging on the beds and swings at the rooftop restaurants reading a good book. There's a great bazaar with lots of beautiful silver and textiles that is easy to get lost in for a few hours as well.

I woke up early this morning. The sounds of the AM are familiar to me now: random moos from strolling cows; beeps from the motorbikes - even when there's no one else on the roads, just out of habit I guess - oh and no cars in the center of Pushkar, there's no room for them with all the backpackers, pilgrims, cows, and wedding parades; high pitched Hindi chatter from uniformed children walking to school carrying silver tins filled with Thali; bicycle bells; metal grates going up as the stalls open for the day (which reminds me of New York); and the one sound that I could really do without - the spitting, some Indians have the habit of spitting all the time, and it becomes an entire production of sucking in to gather all the phlem at the back of the throat, rolling it around to get it cocked in the proper position in the mouth, and spitting it at bullet speed through pierced lips. Some, with I guess larger phlem build up that maybe rises from the lungs, sound as though they are actually vomiting. This I would maybe leave out of the fantasized tape recording.

(Side bar: I guess I shouldn't really be calling it a tape recording anymore... a little out of date ... anyway)

It's wedding season in India now, and throughout the day in Jaiper and here in Pushkar I am not reminded of it more. The brass bands squawk down the streets in dusty band uniforms, grooms ride sparkly horses, women in their separate parades wear the most beautiful saris and sing traditional wedding songs. Fireworks go off all evening, and big parties running on generators because in Pushkar the power goes out all the time. Nigel and I haven't crashed any of the wedding parties yet, but we're in talks - working out proper toasts and such.

Back in Delhi, the sounds of the bazaar surrounding my hotel were the most haunting. I'm sure if I spoke Hindi the calls of hawkers sellings tomatos, beans, carrots, bananas, oranges, and pomegranites wouldn't sound so chilling. But "apple" in a foreign language, repeated in a foreign tone is really quite creepy. Take my word for it.

As I head back to my hotel to get some breakfast (banana honey pancakes that are an "eggless wonder" - oh yeah no eggs in Pushkar either, practically vegan here - and a chai tea) I'll weave between cows and motorbikes as the men in the shops call out, "Yes, good price. Just look. It's free to look!"