Oasis

Bikaner, Tuesday 19 February 2013

Arriving in India and leaving the somewhat international sanctuary of the airport is a bit like jumping into the middle of a passing whirlwind. In a flash, off you go, carried along at a frantic pace, jostled around somewhat helplessly with people, cattle, dogs, camels, tuk-tuks, cars, trucks, rubbish, pollution and dust. In this amazing and wondrous swirl of humanity and inhumanity, you visit India. And, it's not easy to escape the funnel, to find a moment of peace and quiet to recharge your batteries. Those who know me will be well aware that I'm a solitary type, even by reserved English standards. I happily pass days in the Lakes without speaking to another person. So, to preserve my sanity, I've had to find ways to sneak out of the funnel once in a while. 

In England, it's not hard. You can sit down on a bench in a park, and read for a while or write a letter. No one will bother you. You're free to watch the world go by. In India, you can't stop. You have to keep moving. If you stand still in the street for a minute, or even walk slowly, someone will approach you. Do you want a tuk-tuk? Where are you going? Where are you from? What's your name? Are you married? Do you want a hotel? 

The answer (apart from retiring to your hotel room, but who wants to waste a trip to India in their hotel room?) was given to me before I left by my partner, who spent four years working here in the whirlwind. You go to a good hotel and have tea. The last thing I want is a sanitised version of India. I want to see it and understand it as it is. But, just once in a while, being an anti-social oddball generally, I need to withdraw, and so it's a piece of advice that has kept me sane these past five weeks. 

Today's fancy hotel was the Lalgarh Palace in Bikaner. It was built by a majaraja in the early 1900s, and has   a museum attached. I made my way inside and took a seat in the open-roofed courtyard. Bliss. A smartly-dressed waiter appeared to take my order. Just a pot of masala chai. 75 rupees plus taxes. As I pulled out my book to read for a while, I wondered what the waiter must think. Why would these foreigners come there to have tea, which would only cost maybe 10 or 20 rupees on any street-side cafe? How to explain to him that I wasn't buying tea; I was buying time and peace. Here, no one would bother me. No one would ask any questions that always lead on to something else. I could sit and just be. I'm buying my sanity. Well worth another 50 rupees!