Last Friday after class 25 of us set off for Kalimpong. We started off in luxury, taking five large taxis from the door of the Institute to Delhi Station. We were going to celebrate Losar, Tibetan New Year, with Karmapa and his monks, and the mood was buoyant. Here is a picture of the humble beginnings of our journey.
As you remember, when I first arrived in India even the street outside the Institute seemed a strange and threatening place. Gradually it has come to feel pretty much normal. Delhi Station was a step up -- crowded and chaotic. A gaggle of Westerners with an enormous amount of luggage, which we refused to let the kulis carry, was something to be stared at, and I felt a little nervous and uncomfortable.
We found the first class sleeper carriage and settled into our places on the train without major incident. This is the most comfortable way to travel on Indian trains. Each section has triple-decker bunks. Several times on different parts of the journey the Indians sullenly refused any offers to change seats so that friends could sit by each other. This happy chappy picture below soon thought better of it and moved, however. While it's never wise to generalise, Indian people with a bit of money (the journey of over 1000 miles one way, first class, cost less than 20 quid) seem possessed of a pride which it's more constructive to find amusingly irrelevant than annoyingly unbecoming.
You could use of the carriage that rare adjective: clean; it also boasted uncommunicative waiters who periodically brought food and tea. The sandwiches, biscuits, and later curry remarkably resembled 1980's British Railways fare, packaged and lifeless, and for that reason were judged safe to eat by everyone. Boiling water was rendered unto us in miniature Thermos flasks along with two teabags, two packets of sugar, and enough water for one cup of tea.
We all really enjoyed the journey, and whiled away the 20 hours here by playing cards, meditating..
.. or just hanging out.
I took a lot of pictures. Here are some tents-cum-houses on the outskirts of Delhi. This would be perhaps a medium-class slum.
Here is a typical house. Note the way the builders seem unfamiliar with the concept of finishing the upward progress of buildings with a roof, preferring simply to stop when they run out of inspiration or bricks.
In England, whole lines can be shut down if a cow wanders onto the tracks. Here is a whole bovine clan living it large in the spacious environs of the railway lines. Note in the foreground the neatly shaped and stacked dung cakes, of which more later.
I like this guy. The scene reminds me a bit of Constable's The Haywain.
And speaking of which, blow me down and call me a gypsy if this panorama of deepest India doesn't look just like dear old Blighty. Along with the cricket played everywhere from sunup to sundown by barefoot kids, it fair makes you homesick.
Often you get the sense that nothing has changed for some people in the last 2000 years.
The most popular activities in rural India, from my observation, are: standing around, walking along slowly with something on your head, squatting, and idly cycling. Frenetic it ain't.
Although sometimes a real traffic jam builds up at the level crossings.
Ok well that was a long one, to make up for my extended absinthe. We'll pick up the journey from Siliguri next time.
As you remember, when I first arrived in India even the street outside the Institute seemed a strange and threatening place. Gradually it has come to feel pretty much normal. Delhi Station was a step up -- crowded and chaotic. A gaggle of Westerners with an enormous amount of luggage, which we refused to let the kulis carry, was something to be stared at, and I felt a little nervous and uncomfortable.
We found the first class sleeper carriage and settled into our places on the train without major incident. This is the most comfortable way to travel on Indian trains. Each section has triple-decker bunks. Several times on different parts of the journey the Indians sullenly refused any offers to change seats so that friends could sit by each other. This happy chappy picture below soon thought better of it and moved, however. While it's never wise to generalise, Indian people with a bit of money (the journey of over 1000 miles one way, first class, cost less than 20 quid) seem possessed of a pride which it's more constructive to find amusingly irrelevant than annoyingly unbecoming.
You could use of the carriage that rare adjective: clean; it also boasted uncommunicative waiters who periodically brought food and tea. The sandwiches, biscuits, and later curry remarkably resembled 1980's British Railways fare, packaged and lifeless, and for that reason were judged safe to eat by everyone. Boiling water was rendered unto us in miniature Thermos flasks along with two teabags, two packets of sugar, and enough water for one cup of tea.
We all really enjoyed the journey, and whiled away the 20 hours here by playing cards, meditating..
.. or just hanging out.
I took a lot of pictures. Here are some tents-cum-houses on the outskirts of Delhi. This would be perhaps a medium-class slum.
Here is a typical house. Note the way the builders seem unfamiliar with the concept of finishing the upward progress of buildings with a roof, preferring simply to stop when they run out of inspiration or bricks.
In England, whole lines can be shut down if a cow wanders onto the tracks. Here is a whole bovine clan living it large in the spacious environs of the railway lines. Note in the foreground the neatly shaped and stacked dung cakes, of which more later.
I like this guy. The scene reminds me a bit of Constable's The Haywain.
And speaking of which, blow me down and call me a gypsy if this panorama of deepest India doesn't look just like dear old Blighty. Along with the cricket played everywhere from sunup to sundown by barefoot kids, it fair makes you homesick.
Often you get the sense that nothing has changed for some people in the last 2000 years.
The most popular activities in rural India, from my observation, are: standing around, walking along slowly with something on your head, squatting, and idly cycling. Frenetic it ain't.
Although sometimes a real traffic jam builds up at the level crossings.
Ok well that was a long one, to make up for my extended absinthe. We'll pick up the journey from Siliguri next time.
1 comment:
Hell-O' i hope u are fine-your steam maschine is absolutelly ok, your staff also;)
12.700pounds!!!!!!!!yahooo!
link for my gallery-pete.
http://picasaweb.google.com/piotras108
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