I turned on the TV when I woke up this morning. Most of the channels are in Hindi with the exception of two or three. As I was flipping the channels I noticed there was one story that dominated the news. There were old images of dead bodies, thousands of them and of women screaming in agony. I finally caught the story on an English language channel. It was about a massive gas leak in 1984. The “Bhopal gas tragedy” caused the sudden death of some 15,000 people, I think as they were sleeping. Sounds like a nightmare. The company responsible was American. Apparently no one has been convicted in this incident until today. Something like twenty five years later a conviction was finally issued to those responsible for the death of 15,000 people. The sentences were passed to 5 or 6 men who each got a maximum of two years in prison. 15,000 people’s lives gone, and the punishment to all those convicted barely adds up to 10 years.
Restlessness didn’t allow me to just bum around my room for too long. I spent most of the day in bed, online, watching TV but by 2pm I was ready to head out and do something despite how badly yesterday went. I had read about a “monkey temple” and I also wanted to get a massage so those were my two tasks for the afternoon, tough life, I know. The hill where the monkey temple is, as its name suggests, has hundreds of monkeys. There were also pigs, cows, goats, mule, dogs and people, all shitting. I had bought a bag of peanuts at the bottom of the hill to feed the monkeys but didn’t just yet, I didn’t want them to follow me all the way to the top then I would be stuck there surrounded by hundreds of hungry monkeys. The steep path zigzagging the hill was full of all kinds of animals and their excrement. I finally made it to the tiny temple. There is a good view of Jaipur which is not really impressive since it all looks the same anyway (concrete 2-3 level buildings completely undistinguishable one from another). I did like Jaipur as a city a bit more than other places I’ve been because it actually felt like there was a plan at some point in history. It had straight streets and a kind of grid. It also in parts had 4-5 level buildings that look like someone with some training actually designed them. Anyway, a family was living at the temple. The man approached me and “gave me a tour” including my very own bindi and a yellow and red string around my right wrist. He then demanded a donation but wasn’t too pushy. After I took in the view from the top of the hill I put my donation in the proper place. As I was leaving the wife yells “20 rupee!”, I said I already put some. “20 more!” in a demanding voice. I just kept walking. Monkeys waiting. As soon as I took out the bag of peanuts they ran towards me and called their aunts and uncles. I dumped the bag and ran off.
The massage place was recommended by lonely planet and was referred to as “swanky.” it sounded very promising but when I showed up I wondered if this was really the requested “swanky” spa. It was in a house with a couple of massage rooms. The rooms weren’t so bad, after all I didn’t really expect more but I definitely would not call it swanky. Lonely planet India, at least this edition, has been horrendous. I think it has something to do with its non-resident-Indian editor. She seems to have required all the writers to embellish everything and add words like “exquisite,” “swanky,” and “charming.” I would not use any of these words to describe anything a budget or midrange backpacker will have access to while traveling in India. As a British traveler I met would say “lonely liar is bollix.”
The massage itself was more of an oil rub. But regardless it was a soothing experience. First of all I demanded a male masseuse. I was hoping of course for a muscular handsome 20 something but it was actually a short sweet faced very dark south Indian man in his 30s. I didn’t expect this but I was asked to strip completely. “ok, this more exciting that I thought it would be.” he then put on my this useless thing that barely covers my groin, is tied around my waste with a thin strap. Incense burning, meditation music playing, “this is not so bad for 10 bucks.” I was hoping for a more aggressive massage, something along the line of what I could get in Chinatown. The massage was oddly sensual and kept asking myself if this was intention or if it was just in my head. It was just in my head. In any case the hour was up, I was massaged and stretched and half asleep.
At an internet place an American woman was skyping. She was talking about Varanasi and how she took a boat ride and saw people prepare the bodies for burning and how she watched a funeral procession. Her screechy voice didn’t bother me because I was interested to hear about Varanasi since I wanted to go but couldn’t. She then said “pray for those spreading the light of the gospel in Varanasi.” for god’s sake do people ever stop. I mean this woman is here in India, she sees the poverty, the lack of facilities, the lack of education, the shit, the cows, the sewer, the child labor, the malnutrition and all she has to offer to these people is the light of the fucking gospel? What difference does it make? Is replacing these people’s traditions and customs and changing their pantheon of Hindu gods with the pantheon of Caucasian looking Christian saints and the ubiquitous image of a blond Jesus staring back at them and saying “I am not here to colonize your heart and minds, I’m just here to save you” will make their lives any better. They will still kneel in front of a picture on the wall and pray for more money or better health or a baby boy. Instead of asking Shiva she thinks they should ask Jesus. How about building some hospitals and schools and teaching people how to not shit in the streets without expecting them to embrace your gods instead of theirs? Anyway, she clearly annoyed me.
I went back to my hotel and ordered some dinner. While waiting with my book a woman with a child and an Indian man walked in. she was a heavy set red-haired woman and the man was a bearded Indian man who seemed to be the father of the child. The little girl was making those noises toddlers make but that was fine. The mother on the other hand was extremely annoying. Making noises back to the toddler as if communicating. This is fine but the annoying part is that she keeps looking at me as if I am supposed to say “how cute!” I wasn’t entertained as I really wanted to focus on reading. Monsieur Marsault is on the beach after a fight with some Arabs who had beef with Raymond. It was in intense scene and I wanted to know what was going to happen next, not look at the fat woman act like a child. I asked for the food to be delivered to my room as I was unable to just sit there and listen to the soundtrack that was forced on me. She seemed annoyed by my nonparticipation. The book did get very interesting and dinner was good, eaten in my room as I was ready to call it a night. Despite loving the comfort of this room I had decided this is the last night in Jaipur. The woman with the child of course happen to be next door and I could hear her all night, the baby cries, the mom yells, the child bangs and throws objects against the wall. This is definitely the last night here, I am ready to move on.
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