INDIA

New Delhi • Gwalior • Orccha • Khajuraho • Varanasi • Lucknow

If I could only ever go on one more trip anywhere, then I would definitely go back to India. It wasn’t a long visit, and I only saw one tiny part of this enormous country, but I saw enough magic to inspire me forever. Unlike Bhutan, nothing feels hidden, everything is out there to see, good and bad, rich and poor, sacred and very prosaic.

I went as Beast from the East was moving across England so it was wonderful to step off the plane at Indira Gandhi Airport and feel that blast of warm air. We didn’t have long in the capital, but we managed a fantastic meal at Veda restaurant in Connaught Place where I had two very good cocktails (one with litchi/lychee, and a Malabar Mojito), and an introduction to Kulfi – this one was pistachio flavour. Then off to bed to catch up on sleep before our very early start.

They say in India that you can see all life at a railway station and that was certainly true while I waited for the train from Hazrat Nizamuddin station to Gwalior. Even early in the morning the station was heaving with people of every kind. The trains in India are good, but are frequently late, sometimes by hours. When the train finally arrived, I managed to get a window seat and spent five hours staring out at the wonders of Indian life. I saw a temple that looked abandoned, but there was a washing line put up between pillars with sheets flapping in the wind. There were lush green fields with busy workers in them, but in the corner of one there was someone going to the toilet with their bottom on show to a train full of people. There seemed to be stray dogs everywhere, and of course there were lots and lots of children smiling and waving. The train went through Agra but sadly we didn’t see the Taj – it would have been a great way to admire its beauty without having to face the crowds.

We spent a couple of days at Gwalior, a city that sits right in the middle of northern India. It’s famous for its fabulous fort which occupies an imposing site overlooking the city. It is believed to over 1000 years old, occupied and fought over by everyone including the Mughals, the Marathas, and the East India Company who then finally, after a few tussles, handed it over to the Scindias who held it until the Indian independence in 1947.

The architectural style is mix of Rajput, Mughal and Hindu but what I loved the most was the yellow and blue (and occasionally green) decorative tiling. An interesting fact about Gwalior Fort: it has the second oldest instance of zero written as a digit. It was found inscribed on stone in a temple and is thought to be about 1500 years old.

One of the two Sasbahu temples near the fort dedicated to Vishnu. Looking at the shape of this one from the side, I was reminded of an elephant. I asked if this had been deliberate and it doesn’t seem likely. In fact nobody else could see it. The heat was obviously getting to me.

The Siddhachal Caves near the fort are Jainist in origin. The statues date from the 7th century to the 15th century and the naked form is typical of their art. The Moghul emperor Babur ordered them to be destroyed but they have since been restored.

Spectacular bees nest by the statues.

At Gwalior, we stayed at the Deo Bagh hotel. It’s one of the many heritage hotels they have across India, and it was my favourite ever. It was formerly a Maratha summer house for ladies, and consists of a series of rooms around a central garden. Each room was decorated with antique furniture and Indian art. My room was Ranjit Raje Mahal.

It was at this hotel that I discovered the sublime Masala omelette, which I had for breakfast every day afterwards, and the lime soda, which is the most refreshing thing to drink when it’s hot. I have made it at home since although without the truck-load of sugar they usually add.

The hotel comes complete with its own temple and peacocks parading around the gardens. After Gwalior, all the accommodation was pretty ordinary so I was glad I got a chance to spend a night here.

I loved our walk through Gwalior town in the evening. The knack to crossing busy Indian streets is to walk confidently out into the mayhem, and hope the traffic weaves around you. It’s either that, or stay on the same side of the street for the rest of your life.

The people in Gwalior were so friendly and happy to have their photo taken. Street barbers like this lovely man exist all over the country. And there were some interesting-looking shops on the main street – this one below is apparently a dentist.

Above, weighing loose tobacco. Below, these guys were heating milk on the street but I couldn’t figure out what it is for – possibly because it’s raw milk rather than pasteurised.

After Gwalior, we drove to Orccha (pronounced Or-char) whose name means ‘hidden place’ in reference to its position nestled on the banks for the River Betwa. The town itself is quite small, but it’s famous for the still-dominating temples and palaces that were built here by Rudra Pratap Singh in the 16th century, later captured by the Mughal emperor Aurengzeb. The Hindu god Rama is still considered the King of Orccha and is given a guard of honour in the Ram Raja Temple.

The River Betwa has this very simple bridge over it. It’s just wide enough for one vehicle although the roads approaching are two-way. Obviously this means that traffic has to wait for the bridge to be clear before crossing with the added challenge that lots of trucks use the bridge. There is also about a foot of ‘spare’ width for pedestrians who, if a truck is crossing at the same time, are advised to turn sideways and keep very still. No railings. The fall into the river below isn’t a massive drop, but it’s still a drop and the river has a rapid current. I tried crossing and turning sideways as a bus was approaching, but I freaked out. I had to go back and wait until there was no apparent traffic and then make a mad dash for it.

We spent a few hours looking around the Jahangir Mahal part of the temple complex built by the Mughals to honour the emperor Jahangir who stayed here for one night only. It is huge, three storeys high, with eight domes on top. The main entrance is through hugh wooden doors, guarded by two wooden elephants and big enough to ride in on your own elephant if you wanted. It leads to the main courtyard where there were once fountains in the well in the middle. It’s surrounded by doors and arches, many of which are beautifully carved.

The labyrinthine interior is full of little staircases and windows and I would turn a corner and find a new aspect of the building. It’s so pleasing when so much thought has gone into the design of the interior of a building.

This v-shaped balcony below is unusual and typically indicates the apartments of the empress or maharani.

From the roof you can see a lot of smaller temples dotted around. It reminded me of the scattered temples of Angkor in Cambodia.

We went for a cookery demonstration by Vandana and her sister at their family home. She showed us how to make lots of different dishes including puri and poppadoms. It was alchemy how a small amount of batter suddenly expands into these huge poppadoms.

I love these thali trays and I resolved to eat food like this when I got home – they even gave us recipes and spices to take away. Of course when I tried them myself later they weren’t nearly as good. I suppose it would have been very disappointing if it had been that easy.

Before I left her house, Vandana gave me an orange bindi mark on my forehead and a garland of marigolds. Orange is such a happy colour and that was how I felt after a wonderful day of history and food, two of my favourite things.

Along the banks of the Betwa are about fourteen chhatris in honour of previous rulers of Orccha. They look beautiful as the sun sets. The whole town does.

We drove on to Khajuraho. Famous for its erotic carvings around some its temples, it comes as a massive surpise to find the setting of the Khajuraho Group of Monuments to be neat and very well ordered, with manicured flower beds and mowed lawns. I was expecting to machete my way through wild vegetation to get a peek at the titilating stonework.

The word ‘erotic’ doesn’t begin to cover it, the carvings are brazenly explicit. If you have a few hours spare, and I’m sure plenty of visitors do, you are guaranteed to see pretty much everything with regard to positions, couplings (groupings in some cases), and even the participation of animals.  

Inevitably these particular sculptures have become the main attraction here, perhaps unfairly as the temples have carvings that represent all stages of life, and the erotic ones are only a small part. Most of the buildings are over a 1000 years old and it’s surprising how beautifully preserved they are. We went as the sun was going down and the intricate stonework was brought to life by warm shadows. This one below was my favourite.

We went on to Varanasi. I had been reading Eric Newby’s ‘Slowly down the Ganges’ and this was the place I was most looking forward to. Usually, I don’t like crowded cities but I loved it here – it’s lively rather than oppressing, and spiritual rather than superficial. If you want to enjoy Varanasi, you have to just go along with it. Resistance is futile.

One of the most striking things about the city is the empty, east-facing, opposite shore which is in contrast to the chaotic interior. Across the water the land is too marshy to develop apparently. Every time you walk to the river you turn your back on the noise, and look across to this peaceful view, made even more picturesque by the early morning sunrise.

Every morning and evening, Ganga Aarti is performed. The word ‘aarti’ comes from Sanskrit meaning ‘the thing that removes darkness’. This photo is from the early (about 5.00am) morning aarti on Assi Ghat, where brass oil lamps are lit that smoke, then gradually become flame. Backed by the sound of vedic chanting by a group of girls, and sung mantras, the priests, each holding a bell, performed a synchronised movement holding the lamps aloft to spread the light from the now pyramidical flame. It was quite moving – no matter how dark it is, the light will always return.

In the evening we went to the Dashaschwamedh Ghat to see the evening ceremony. Hundreds of people attend this and we could only see it at a distance from a boat. Afterwards we sat and watched as the huge crowds left. There were pilgrims, families, backpackers, holy men, even the odd cow (sacred in India and you get used to seeing them walking down the street) all moving joyfully away.

Varanasi is known as the city of death. Hindus bring their dying here to spend their final days by the sacred Mother Ganga. Once they have died, they are dipped for a final time in the river, then cremated on the stepped ghats on the banks before ashes are scattered in the water. This should make Varanasi feel sombre and depressing, but it was one of the most alive places I have ever been to.

The cremation itself is in some ways a joyful thing, a way of celebrating someone’s life and hope for salvation. The Hindus believe that this cremation process liberates the souls of the dead and they achieve moksha. As we sailed along the river, a smoky haze sits over the ghats and we silently observed the ritual.

Varanasi, also known as Kashi and Benares, is the city of Lord Shiva and there is a striking mural of him, blue-faced and dancing, on the side of the river. He is the destroyer, but from his destruction comes new life. Death is important in order to live again in heaven, and this is why the cremation process and the release of the ashes into the river is so significant. And why Varanasi has become such a sacred place.

My favourite building, the Ratneshwar Mahadev temple or the Leaning Tower of Varanasi, still standing nearly 200 years after it was built. The inner part of this temple is often under water and it is claimed that the original creators knew this and built it anyway. At certain times of the year, the priests used to dive into the river to access it. It leans more than the tower in Pisa and there are differing stories about what’s caused it. Building on watery silt seems the most likely but it is also said to be cursed. Curse or not, it’s remarkably well preserved.

Aside from these ceremonies, many Hindus visit Varanasi to wash and pray in the sacred waters. You see people of all ages standing waist-deep in the river, gently lifting the water in cupped hands, murmuring, then pouring it over themselves. They believe it has healing properties and will purify the soul. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, the purity of the water has been massively compromised in recent years by pollution, particularly industrial, and the bacteria-eating bacteria, the ‘bacteriophage’, that once cleaned the water and kept it in balance, are in massive decline.

A rare sighting of wildlife in this mad city – an Indian pond heron.

As if the city wasn’t spirited enough, I had also come here at the time of the Holi. I had wanted to be in India for this happy festival for many years. One night we took a tuk-tuk back to the hotel and wondered why our driver was going insanely fast. Then we crossed roads where young boys had built big fires in the street and they threw coloured water at us as we sped through. That’s why! It’s all very good natured though, and the best thing to do is to put on an old t-shirt and just enjoy it.

Our last night in Varanasi was spent floating on the river. We had some musicians on board the boat, the sun was setting and I was very happy. Everyone was given a candle offering to place into the water and watch float away. Nobody else wanted to put their hand in the river apart from me so I ended up letting all of them go. Pure magic.

We took the sleeper from Varanasi to Lucknow. The last time I had been on a night train was in Morocco, which had been fun but uncomfortable. The Indians take it to a whole new level with regards comfort and efficiency. As I got on I was given a sealed pack with a clean pillow and a sheet and a blanket inside. I had a bunk bed in a long carriage that was sectioned into groups of two-tiered bunks. I was sharing with strangers but there was no self conscious behaviour at all – these people are used to travelling like this, and they quietly make their beds and go straight to sleep. I did the same and got a few hours kip before waking, and did some more staring out of the window as we pulled into Lucknow.

We arrived a few hours late and it meant our short stay in this city was limited. It was a shame as there is lots to see here, and I would have liked to have tried some of the street food. We did go to what is called The Residency, site of the siege of the British by the Indian mutineers. There’s too much to say here about the Siege of Lucknow, and how inevitable it was, but it’s worth reading about before a visit. There are still cannon ball and bullet holes in the remaining walls and a great little museum.

Wajid Ali Shah, the last Nawab of Awadh, and an extravagant remnant of the late Mughal empire. He came to power when the East India Company already controlled his kingdom and struggled to make any impact as a ruler. He was eventually exiled from Lucknow by the British in 1856 and this partly led to the mutiny a year later. He was known for his decadence, wealth and contribution to the arts, and I love this portrait of him having what we would call a ‘wardrobe malfunction’.

Border control India-style. We crossed the border on foot over a bridge into Nepal. The ‘check out’ post as we left was this shed with a man inside who kept a handwritten ledger of those leaving the country. He took some time copying our details into it, after which we signed our names. It made a nice change from the soulless biometric and microprocessor chips nonsense.

In hindsight I wish I had stayed in India for a few more days. It would have made sense, after Varanasi, to move slowly down the Ganges, Newby-style, and finished in Kolkata, a city I very much want to see. I will just have to go back again at some point.

NEPAL

I only spent a few days in Nepal, most of which was in Kathmandu, but I did go to Pokhara first and watch the sun rise over the Annapurna mountain range.

I arrived in Kathmandu three years after the devastating earthquake and the country still seemed to be in dusty shock. Everywhere there were buildings falling down, or recently knocked down, or new buildings going up. The city is one of the most polluted in the world anyway, but now there was dust thrown into the mix. Despite feeling like a hazy dream, it was one of the most fascinating and lively cities I have been to, and I would have loved to have spent more time here.

Perhaps my most bizarre travel experience was the visit to see Kumari, the living goddess. Every few years a young girl is selected from the Newari Buddhist people and becomes Kumari until she reaches puberty. She is installed in a house in the centre of the city where crowds of people wait patiently hoping to catch a rare glimpse, so it was lucky (or maybe not as she apparently comes out every day) that our short visit coincided with one of these sightings.

While we were waiting in the courtyard, we could hear her crying upstairs and being told off like any normal small child. So it was quite heartbreaking to see this very young girl, heavily made up and in a stiff, elaborate costume, finally come out to wave and try to look happy about it. One woman nearby said ‘We are all complicit in the abuse of a child’. I didn’t know what to think – this tradition is very important to the Nepalese and outside judgement, especially from those who only pass through, is unimportant. I don’t believe, however, that allowing tourists to be part of this is helpful.

Swayambhunath, ‘sublime trees’ as its name means, is a welcome, peaceful escape in Kathmandu. It’s a large Buddhist temple complex perched on top of a nearby hill overlooking the city and consists of a series of stupas with faces painted on. Everywhere you go, Buddha’s eyes seem to watch you. I felt the eyes looked a bit angry and wondered if that was just for me, and perhaps they softened when for others. The question mark nose is actually the number one in Nepal script, representing unity and the one path to enlightenment.

As well as the temples and stupas, there is a monastery, a library and a museum. These women have sindoor marks on their foreheads to show they are married.

Momos are unique to the Himalayan region particularly Tibet and Nepal, but also part of the whole dumpling story that stretches across Asia and the Middle East. Here they are served with achar sauce.

I have always enjoyed seeing evidence of syncretism when I have travelled – where religions and beliefs overlap in art and imagery. Nepal is predominantly a Hindu country, but there are also Buddhist temples and iconography and the two religions co-exist, sometimes merging into each other. Bhaivara is a god in Hinduism who manifests judgement and punishment, a fierce representation of Shiva. But he has also been adopted by Tibetan Buddhism, and the statue of Kaal Bhaivara in Durbar Square, reminded me of the masks of Bhutan.