On my last night in Delhi there was a wedding outside the hotel, a joyous noisy event that lasted until the wee hours rendering sleep an impossibility until gone mid-night. I rose at 7am as check out time is at the same time as check in time and made my way through the still quiet streets to the train station.
There amongst the teeming others I sat in my own little world, scanning the large ever changing arrival/departure board and waiting for my train number to appear. Despite the 16 platforms, the millions of people and packages that flow back and forth, catching a train in New Delhi Train Station is relatively simple.
Your ticket will give you your carriage and seat number, train number and time of departure. The Main Terminal Board will list your Train number, its time of departure plus its platform number.
A quick cross reference and you too can join the thousands of other people waiting on the platform as it is swept, hosed down and cleared of people and bags in a wave of movement that runs from one end to the other!! At first I could not understand the commotion nor the reason behind it but soon a team of at least ten people arrived moving people and bags aside as they poured copious amounts of water all over the place and scrubbed the platform down.
Like a flock of disturbed birds everyone settled in their wake, leaving their spoils once more upon the platform.
Indian trains have a reputation for crowds. This train did not disappoint. Already looking full with no one getting off, the thousand or so on the platform surged forward upon its arrival. Huge bundles were pushed and shoved, people called and shouted. Some pushed past in the narrow corridor climbing over the obstacles as they went. Others like me just stood looking and waiting. When I eventually reached my seat I found it occupied. Four other foreign travellers were squashed into the window seats, one of which was mine. Beside them and filling up every space between me and my seat was a family of 6, a small baby and a 5 year old along with all of their belongings. I stood wondering what to do. To ask for my seat seemed selfish , the 3ladies sitting were either older than I or had the baby to nurse, the young boy sat upon the piled up luggage in the foot-well. I would have to ask everyone to move, to relocate the baggage if I was to reach my seat. So I stood. I popped my bag to the floor and I stood. The Indian gentleman behind me asked me to sit as he and his wife moved over. He asked to see my ticket and pointed to my seat. I said it was full. He got up and asked everyone to move!
I didn't sit in my exact seat but I did sit, embarrassment overwhelming me as the older woman stood in the corridor looking for somewhere else to rest. Others soon made room for her which didn't help alleviate my shame. I felt selfish and foreign, out of place in a country of friendliness and co-operation. I looked out of the window across the carriage. I looked at the floor. I looked inside me.
Where did this feeling of inadequacy come from? All the things I have achieved in my life, all the talents I possess can be washed away in a second. Once washed clean, like the people on the platform they resettle in a slightly different order. After an hour I began to feel calm again.
Chai Wallahs, food Wallahs, people selling books, children selling key rings, a girl weighed down by jumpers slipping in the plastic covers, the train buzzed with activity. The countryside rushed past hidden from view by the people and bags that choked the train.
At Mathura I disembarked and once more stood unsure what to do. I asked directions to the exit and began to walk. A Hare Krsna devotee rushed past recognisable by his three strings of beads and shaven head. I quickened to catch up with him. “Are you are going to Vrindhavan?” I asked, “I am”, “How do I get there?” I enquired keeping up with his fast pace, “Bus”, “Can you show me?”, “OK”.
We raced down the platform his long legs making me jog to keep up, taxi drivers, rickshaw owners all crowded round offering their services trying to make us stop so they could peddle their trade. “Bus” was the only word he said as we raced through them all.
Once on the bus Sundarananok turned to talk to me. “It is always the same” he said. “The bus is 10RPS, the rickshaws 250RPS, the bus is in fact faster than the taxi and without the noise and hassle”! Sundarananok was from Russia but had been living in India for the last 5 years, he had discovered Krsna in 1994 and was now a Brahmacherry serving and giving out books. I thanked Krsna and him for the service he had given to me that day and sat back.
Mathura passed by outside the window as I once again looked at my inadequacies. I would have paid the 250RPS rather than upset the drivers with a march through. I knew nothing about how I was to reach the ISKON centre nor where the bus terminated. Until now this hadn't worried me, things always worked out but suddenly I was scared. Not for my safety but for my abilities to cope with simple confrontation. For as long as I can remember I would rather put myself out than run the risk of any confrontation with a stranger. With loved ones I was better, given time, at setting down ground rules but with strangers it was impossible.
Sundarananok turned to speak to me. I was to get off the bus not far from the ISKON Centre, a bicycle wallah could take me the rest of the way, the fare was 20RPS no more. He turned back. I sat in silence and looked out of the window.
A few minutes later he turned back, 30RPS would be a generous price he conceded. He gave me his mobile number in case I needed help, he was only here for two days but if I needed him he would help me. I beamed at him and gave him my card putting his number safely in my wallet.
At the stop indicated I got off and approached the nearest bicycle rickshaw. “30RPS” I said as firmly as I could yet still with that pleading edge to be accepted. “50RPS” he replied. “No No, they told me 30RPS on the bus” he nodded disappointedly and I climbed aboard.
It is quite a long way to the ISKON centre.
The old man stood up in his peddles as we climbed small rises. I sat in the cool of the back while he struggled in the full sun and I felt guilty all over again. At the Centre I gave him 40 RPS, his smile doing nothing to make me feel any better, now I just felt like a patronising foreigner.
The guest house I had been delivered to was the wrong one, it was indeed the ISKON Centre but the Hotel I was booked into was round the back. I picked up my bags and began to walk.
At a junction I asked directions from an old man sitting in the shade of a tree. Having confirmed that the guest house was the other side of the wall he was sitting against, I then sat with him while he spoke about astrology healing and how synchronisity had brought him to my path. He asked for my date of birth, the time and the place. He pointed out that the time was '7' minutes past 2, if you added the first 3 numbers of my Date of Birth they also came to '7'! I sat in the full heat of the day, once more afraid to walk away in case I upset the man. (it wasn't until the next day that I realised the first 3 numbers of my date of birth actually add up to 6!!)
Many years ago in Turkey I had said no to a Tout on the street who had made a huge effort to sell me tickets for his boat trip to the mud baths in Dalyan. He had persisted and persisted until I had said “We will see”, the typical English response. I later booked tickets with a calm tour operator but ended up on this very same Touts boat. He did indeed own it as he had said and as we slowly chugged along he came to sit by me. With pure hatred in his eyes he spat at me, “Why you lie to me, why you book some where else? You bad woman! I not like you on my boat!” that memory has lived with me every day since. The hatred that look burned into me has never healed.
A girl approached asking for money. I only had large bills after paying for the rickshaw. My old astrologer gave her 10RPS on my behalf and once she had gone changed my large bill into smaller denominations. He warned me about the pick pockets and to always keep my purse hidden.
He told me not to wear my glasses as the monkeys would steal them from my face. The only way to get them back was to bribe the monkey with biscuits. This of course had trained the monkeys to take things even more. Eventually I said I had to leave, he wished me well, told me that he would be under the tree all day should I need a reading and went back to his seat.
Some people really don't want anything from you save to help you. Others like the shop keeper with the milk will rob you blind. How do you tell the difference? How do you know who to upset and who to spend a few moments with.
I booked into my room, receiving the same warning that the old man had given me about monkeys and pick pockets. Here my belongings were safe, they told me, an armed guard watched the compound gates, cages covered the balconies out side the restaurant to keep out the monkeys, they couldn't take my card to pay for the room but there was an ATM outside on the main road. Fear once more engulfed me. Despite my bravado I have never been good at technology. I shop with cashiers rather than at self serves as the very thought of buttons and automation scares me. I walk into banks to see a person rather than risk their unfamiliar hole in the wall. I put my passport away and walked to my room.
My room is is fact a suite. Kitchenette, bathroom, huge spacious bedroom with two single beds, one for sleeping on, one for working on. Every window and door had mosquito mesh firmly in place and shutters to keep out the cold.
Outside a wide verandah overlooks the immaculate gardens, peace and tranquillity infuse the whole place.
In comparison with the rest of the town this is a very safe haven indeed. It is also not cheap, at £22 per night (£13 for the room and a compulsory £9 donation to ISKON per night) this is the most expensive place I have ever stayed in India, but in light of my wavering securities it is the perfect place for me right now.
The ISKON temple is a spectacular palace,
marble from the floor to the highest dome.
Intricate stairways curl around the outside walls,
beautiful paintings adorn the walls inside.
That first evening as they opened the heavy doors to reveal the three sets of Deities I began to cry.
I don't know why. I can't even say where it came from.
Deep in my stomach a knot formed, my throat constricted and tears flowed and flowed. I found myself sitting on the floor, arms locked tightly around my knees, rocking back and forth like a tiny child, just as I did the first time I was ever introduced to Krsna.
My insecurities? My tiredness? A realisation that I so desperately wanted to be looked after? So many thoughts flooded through my mind none of which had answers. I was in bed by 7.30 that night exhausted by the days events.
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Day 2 Vrindhavan
The next morning I felt stronger. I showered in piping hot water scrubbing the dust from my hair and body. I dressed in clean clothes, wrote my notes and filled with a happiness as strong as my despair from the night before I entered the ISKON Temple.
Music was coming from Prabhupada's mausoleum on the left,
a group of women sat singing with harmonium, drum and bells.
I sat with them singing the familiar words. Within seconds I was in tears again, sobbing heart wrenching sobs into my knees now drawn tight to my face. In time I calmed, dried my face and sang again. For over two hours I alternated between happiness and tearful despair, never knowing when the next wave of emotion would overwhelm me. Not even knowing why.
The ladies incorporated me into their ranks, accepting my emotions as if they were normal. No one spoke to me save to ask me to join them the next day, but they fed me Maha Prasad, passed me the flame for a blessing, the flowers for me to keep.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of tears and joy and I again found myself in bed, exhausted by 8pm.
…............................................................................
Day 3 in Vrindhavan (Sunday)
I am now getting used to the monkeys as they walk past my room on their way along the balcony. I must have taken 20 photos so far but the novelty has at last worn off. This morning I opened the kitchen window to allow the air to flow through the apartment only to come face to face with a large set of eyes and an even larger set of teeth. The thin layer of mosquito netting and decorative bars between us did little to alleviate my shock, luckily the monkey was just as surprised and after its initial teeth baring moved away along the ledge.
I have also decided a little bit of retail therapy is in order and I have bought myself a new bead bag this time with a purse incorporated. I can now keep my glasses with me hidden from the monkeys and pop them on whenever they are needed.
My money and the room key are kept in a cut proof purse that is worn under my dress and discreetly lifted through the neck line when I need anything.
Although my room has cost the equivalent of what was to be my daily allowance and even despite my retail therapy, I don't seem to be spending very much money. My activities centre around the temple and the day disappears before I realise. For the past two days food consists of a biscuit for lunch and either a roll, a slice of pizza or another of the delicacies on offer at the Prasad stall plus a nightly sweet that is taken back to my room. At a grand total of 50RPS a day my budget is looking OK.
My Prabupadha ladies greeted me again today, we sang, the tears came and went, I rested for an hour and with my renewed positivity, I decided to walk to the Yamuna River 3k away.
The route looked straight forward in the Rough Guide, one road only all the way to the river, so I left the book behind and set off. 1.5k up the road I had a choice of right or left? I chose left only to come to another choice 200m later!??
When the children were little and the weather had confined us to the house for just a little too long, I would bundle us all into the car and go driving. At each junction the children would take turns to chose left or right, never knowing where we would end up. I chose left again and kept walking.
By now the 'one straight road' was a narrow street lined with makeshift shops.
Pigs wandered around the place wallowing in 'mud' piles best they could.
At my next choice of directions I asked advice from a shop on the corner. “Yamuna River?” I enquired holding out my hands in both directions with a look that I hoped portrayed total puzzlement. It must have worked as the hand waving defiantly indicated left! Theoretically I should have now been heading back the way I had come but my maps 'one straight road' had disappeared into a jumble of twisting, turning avenues that I was seriously doubting to find again!
A few more turns and a student boy fell into step with me, “Where are you from?” he asked in very good English. “Wales” I replied doing the quick England Scotland, Wales routine. “Ah, I am from Vrindhavan,” Perfect I told myself, I could now confirm I was on the right road. “Is this the right way to the Yamuna River?”. “Oh yes I will take you!” We then proceeded to race through the streets at double the speed I had been meandering at. We swapped names as horns tooted around us. He told me about his studies in the Machinery College across the road from the ISKON Centre. He had more studies to do but he was enjoying his life. All his past generations had come from Vrindhavan, he told me. I replied it was a spiritually fortuitous place to be born and he agreed with much head nodding. He ducked down an alleyway. “Short cut” he called as I faltered in my step.
Once in the alley he slowed a touch. “There is too much noise on the main roads” he said, “This way much nicer, do not worry I will show you the right way.” We walked along the quiet alley, cattle and monkeys being the main traffic as the sounds of the road melted away. We turned left then right, cut through a doorway and turned right again. I was now totally lost!
“I live just over there.” he beamed at me. At his house he told me to turn right at the end of the alley and then to go straight, if I had a problem I was to ask anyone as they would all help me. I thanked him as he turned to go and was rewarded by another beaming smile. DaveKrishna had just totally restored my faith in the human race.
At the end of the alley I turned right and followed the only road I could find.
The road narrowed even more into tiny narrow alleyway that did indeed, once I had turned another few angles, open up at the river!
In some far off imaginary place I had visualised myself bathing in the Yamuna.
I walked to the waters edge and put that thought firmly out of my mind!
Boats offered an hour tour for 100RPS. A tour of what? “Across the river and back, one whole hour, best price!!” I declined and walked on.
Children seeing the camera wanted me to take their photo. Two sweet girls and then a cheeky boy who insisted on another and another, peering earnestly into the camera after each shot.
A Krsna Devotee walked up to me, “be careful” he whispered, “they will try to take the camera,” I thanked him for the advice and with a firm “No More”, the children stood back.
He asked if I was planning to cross the river, I had just been waved back as I had tried to cross the pontoon bridge. The ferry price was 5RPS he said and the view was very nice.
The sun was in the wrong place for photos so I replied that I had just come for a walk. We talked about where we were from, how long each of us was in Vrindhavan and most importantly how I could get back to the Temple.
“It is quite simple” he said, “just one straight road!” I smiled and headed off.
Just as I was about to climb away from the river itself I paused. To come this far and not even dip a toe seemed wrong, like going all the way to the beach but not jumping a single wave. I took off my shoes and miraculously found possibly the only patch of non muddy black silty shore for miles!!! I paddled in, the cool water refreshing around my ankles. Then happily I replaced my shoes and marched purposefully off in the direction of 'The One Straight Road'!
It was an enjoyable walk, past temples and people who called out Hare Krsna. People fell into step with me to ask the usual questions, drifting away again when their knowledge of English or my answers had run out. One Indian man asked me why I was here. I said it was a present from my husband who was unfortunately too busy to come with me. This was met by nodded approval. “A good present” was all he said as he dropped away.
I became fascinated by all the wonderful little doors that filled my path
and took much too many photos,
much to the interest of the people passing by.
The One Straight Road was indeed one straight road! Where it had been hiding on my journey to the river I do not know.
Where the turning to the ISKON Centre was located was also a mystery!
I passed a few more temples, walked another few kilometres and eventually found a turning. Here on the street corner a plump lady called me over to where she sat. 'Money', she indicated, 'to eat'. I declined and her face turned angry. Another one of the few false people in the world but this time I didn't mind. I had been greeted until now by smiling helpful people who outnumbered her 100 to 1. My faith had been restored and she wasn't about to break it.
Once in the turning I recognised it from my arrival, a fact that not only surprised me but also dismayed me, I still had at least another 2k to go. Determined not to weaken and call a rickshaw I battled on although my feet were beginning to seriously tire.
Another temple,
some artful construction,
another monkey
and there ahead of me lay the unmistakable domes of the Centre.
I stepped gently into my room and lifted my feet from the floor.
I consulted my map on the Rough Guide. My route back was plain to see. 3k on the
straight road with a back track of 2k to the centre, my route there still had me mystified.
I didn't make it to the evening Arti that night. Instead I slowly climbed the stairs
to the restaurant on the second floor. Here I paid doubled my food allowance on a bowl of rice and Panier with veg. Tomorrow we eat at the Temple again!!!
Bed 8pm!!
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