In years past we have travelled miles through various states in India, some with only a backpack. We learned how to pack the minimum of clothing and personal items forcing this method to work for us. Who wants to lug a suitcase while running for a train, boarding a packed bus or walking to a hotel on a rain soaked evening when the entire rickshaw population had decided to disappear? So we became travelling minimalists.

Using local transport we found afforded unforgettable glimpses of rural life raising the level of understanding of our people. On one such journey we were privy to a lively conversation between two farmers, topic being pros and cons of stocks and bonds, which ones to go for and what to avoid. Hugely intrigued I ventured a peek over my shoulder and was confronted by a pair of wise eyes behind thick glasses, a mammoth turban twisted round his head. Clutching a blanket around stooped shoulders, (Madhya Pradesh is cold in December), he was smoking a bidi and expounding on his financial theories. His buddy dressed in a similar fashion appeared equally wise.

I am a history buff soaking up anything that is remotely connected to history so was excited to plan a trip to Mandu (Mandavgad). This was a long time back but the memory remains fresh. This ancient city now in ruins is in Dhar district located to the west of Madhya Pradesh. We hired a taxi from an agency. As arranged the taxi arrived early at our hotel, we were waiting in the foyer, the driver came up to greet us. He had a chest-length beard, flashing dark eyes, tall frame garbed in saffron kurta and white pajamas. He looked stern so we didn’t know what to expect. You know the saying – judging a book by its cover? Well, it’s been noted and remembered for posterity. He was gentle, always courteous and eager to see to our comfort throughout the eight-hour drive to Mandu. When we stopped for lunch at a roadside dhaba we invited him to share the food but he politely refused. It was only later we discovered that he never ate outside the home. So how do you go on, we asked, for now we were concerned, there were yet many more miles to cover. His answer just blew us away. He only chewed tobacco!

At one point we were driving along a high ridge that dipped into a valley, I don’t know the name because it simply did not have one. Our driver offered to stop thus giving us a chance to get out and take in the scene, perhaps even get some video shots. Any words I put down to describe the majesty of this place won’t do justice but I will try. We were standing on a bed of rock made into a natural platform over the centuries, looking down into a verdant valley a range of hills spread across like a fan protecting this land. Far away to the right was a school. How did we know? Under the open sky sat rows of children their teacher standing before a blackboard. The childish voices memorizing their alphabets rose in gentle waves from the snug valley, wafted through the wind, to finally rest on the ears of two weary travellers – panacea to our soul.

Exactly what we had been looking for, and thanks to our kind driver received the gift of wonder in the middle of nowhere.

I decided not to take pictures. I did not want to ruin the purity of the scene with the aid of an artificial object like a camera or video. It was meant for the eyes to behold and the mind to absorb.

This was a God given moment.

Another time, we decided, instead of the train, to hire a taxi to journey from Khajuraho to Kanpur where we were going to attend a wedding.

In Khajuraho we had the experience of Indian hospitality at its best when the rickshaw driver we had hired to take us around invited us to his home to meet his family. We consented. The winter sun had set bringing on an early twilight and we travelled on this rickshaw under a carpet of stars so close it seemed we could touch them.

Reaching for the stars, indeed!!

Soon the rickshaw stopped at a building, we were ushered in by our driver. His wife was cooking chappatis on an open fire in a small room off the terrace. They asked us to stay for the evening meal. We had to decline for we had other plans. The generosity of these simple folks will always be remembered by us.

Wanting an early start to Kanpur we asked the hotel reception to be woken at four in the morning. The manager tried to dissuade us saying it was unsafe to be out at that hour, we should leave later when the sun rose. But we insisted, we had to reach Kanpur before noon. Our friends would be waiting.

Next morning we were woken to the sound of loud knocking on our door, it was five – we had not been woken at the specified time. The taxi had shown up at four thirty but the driver was kept waiting until the hotel manager deemed it safe for us to leave.

Here was another wonder – this time it came in the form of a deep sense of responsibility and care from the manager of a hotel.

 

Purabi Das is an emerging writer and poet living in Pickering who finds inspiration for her stories and poems from life in general. To find out more visit Purabi on www.facebook.com/purabisinhadas

Keep Well…..Keep Smiling

Purabi Das