Wanderlust (A traveler's memoir) Part 1

The unending undulating landscape


15th April 2010,
"It always feels good to talk to people. I like doing that," says Gopal Sharma. He is one of the shopkeepers outside the temple built in honor of 'Ramdev' (not the quasi guru, a celebrated deity). This is at Ramdeora, a tiny albeit a bustling one street hamlet surrounded amidst the sandy dunes of Rajasthan.

I am not supposed to be here i.e. 12 kms away from Pokhran. I am not even supposed to be in Pokhran which itself is 110 kms from Jaisalmer where my bags are dumped. Yet the call of a place which shot to fame as a center of India's nuclear tests and the mystic desert landscape is far too strong. Thus, here I am, after making the journey first by a bus with a rather unpleasant horn consisting of choicest Bollywood 'hits' (sample: Dhoom, Kajra re) blown rather liberally and for no apparent reason by the driver. Then by sharing the good ol' Mahindra jeep so ubiquitous in these parts meant for ferrying 11 humans at the maximum yet stuffed with 20 of us at my last count. For the past 45 minutes, I have struck up a conversation with this shopkeeper selling memorabilia to the devotees to remember their revered deity, discussing topics as varied from effects of the nuclear explosion on the village, to its exact location, to my origins and then to the the story behind this revered temple among many others.
He was kind enough to offer me tea and here I was sharing tea with a person, hundreds of kms away from Bombay, 120 kms away from the city I was supposed to be in, with a rank stranger in a nondescript town, exchanging stories. These were the kind of experiences I was seeking when I set out all alone to discover the desert landscape in the searing summer heat.

The past 2 days in Jaisalmer have been a fabulous experience. Striking up conversation with a fellow traveler, an American backpacker in the train, touring because her assignment of teaching English in Thailand was cut short due to widespread political strife there who seemed to love India but added in the same breath how 'weird' she found Indian men. Meeting this 'illiterate' person who put me to shame with his knowledge about the city, its history, geology and fossils to learning Telegu from a friendly Hydrabadi, Balu (who pronounced his name as Bauloo), have been some of the other memorable encounters. It has indeed been different from my erstwhile adventures as a 'tourist.'

Jaisalmer, standing on the fringes of the Great Indian Thar desert, rising above the landscape with its golden stoned buildings, with intricately sculpted designs and beautifully detailed and rich carvings, spectacular jharokhas and jaalis in temples like Lodurva, Amar Sagar and in its varied Havelis like the extremely gorgeous Patwon ki Haveli and the Nathumal Haveli, has been a perfect mirage. A mirage because in spite of its outstanding beauty and uniqueness in being the only city with people still settled inside the fort, the civic administration is in jeopardy.
Water is a persistent problem, civic planning resembling most Indian cities is absent and the entire economy is totally dependent on tourism. It needs diversification as it might be reaching its saturation point.
Still, nothing takes away from the rustic beauty of the city. The small cobbled paths inside the fort lined up with houses, handicrafts shops and restaurants selling genuine 'ItaliYan' cuisine. The Golden City, as it is known has a fort atop a hill, la Mehrangarh in Jodhpur albeit on a smaller scale but imposing and spectacular nonetheless. The yellow fort has ensconced within its imposing folds, a world adapted to suit the the foreigners frequenting this sleepy town. Internet cafes, restaurants with western cuisines (with an Indian twist, sample 'Chenese'), ports for digital cameras, travel offices, all point out to the pertinence of tourism to the survival of the local economy. In spite of the grandeur around me, the memorable moments have been the quieter times, spent by myself, alone. Having dinner from a jain Dhaba on a quiet deserted street at night with cows gazing, rather bored (i suspect due to the unappetizing tepid Jain food), talking to my ever smiling rest house caretaker, Ganga Ram. Struggling with a room, which does not lock nor latch properly, observing rural inhabitants in the full glory of their quaint lifestyle, dressed colorfully in turbans and ornaments, travelling in a jeep with 20 people with one leg outside the back door, observing large swathes of yellow sands with scrubs, noticing the sun set with all its bedazzling finery surrounded by the sand dunes reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun.

Experiences have been varied, numerous and profound. I am discovering my home state and probably myself as this trip continues. As of now, I need to figure out a way to get back. Time for another adventure...