continuing the Rajasthani trail southwards…….

In the early morning of day 3 in Kota, we took the train to Chittaurgarh (or otherwise known as Chittor). We had a real nice ride as the sun was shining and we rolled into different landscapes. Dry riverbanks, cutting ravines, small flows, green rice fields and yellow lands. As with every Indian train, the doors could be opened at will and some people sat down there to enjoy the view and fresh air better instead of looking through the bars of the window seats. We did the same, squatting down and looking out past all the horizons and take in new views. We did come through Bundi again, as well as the waterfall, so that was not new. If only we had known the route….

Chittor has the largest fort of Rajasthan (perhaps of Asia?) with its 28 square kilometer size on a mountain plateau with walls going all way around. Founded around 800 AD, the medieval history of the place and its Rajput inhabitants is quite grim. In the space 200 years the fort was 3 times surrounded and won over by greater armies. First the Pathans (the old Afghan rulers), then the Shah sultan of Gujarat and lastly the mughal emperor Akbar. It’s believed that at least 50.000 Rajputs got killed in the combined attacks, if not more. Not just by the invaders, but more so by suicide which is called ‘jauhir’. This Rajput style of suicide involved the last thousands of men riding out to an impossible battle and fight till death, while thousands of women and children would throw themselves alive into a huge funeral fire, not to fall into the hands of the enemy. How’s that for hardcore sacrificial dedication.

We rented bicycles and it felt great to drive around, peddling our lazy asses for the first time since we had left Holland. Also we were freed from taking taxi rickshaw’s, so that we now could explore a town quicker and with more fun added to it. The bikes were heavy though, made of iron and old fashioned parts. In a hilly town, where the fort lies 2 km’s up a steep climb, it surely makes you work to get moving. On the first day we only reached the 3rd of the 7 gates while everyone passed us with vehicles that left nice thick fumes. If you’re gasping for air, clinging to the steer of a heavy bike, you don’t really want to inhale polluted air. Yuck. It literally made us nauseous. 2 Indian teenager girls on foot gave us a strange look, these tourists trying to go up by heavy bike. Perhaps it had impressed them as when they caught up while we were catching our breath, they openly started flirting with us in a way that the normally prudent Indian girls don’t do. We got there a bit too late as it was past 17ish and the fort would close soon, so we had to come back. When we were cycling the next day, we passed the bridge over a dammed lake and saw a body floating. At first we thought it was a puppet, cos it looked like one. Puppets though, are not wrapped in shrouds or have fish around them, eating little bits of it/him/her. Just a minute after that we saw a funeral crowd with several men carrying a straw bed with laying on it an elderly man. Such is life, or the end of it.

We started climbing the steep road again up to the fort and this time I managed to get to the 5th gate out of 7. Again with the same result of nausea by fumes and trembling muscles. Maarten was more wise to step off before me. Once inside the fort, we cycled around, getting jeers from many Indian tourists who laughed at the cycling foreigners. We saw some palaces and many temples inside out, but not even all as the compound was 28 square km’s and we didn’t have enough time for it as we had to catch a train to Udaipur in the early afternoon. At a nice carved tower and surrounding temple gardens, local people were selling fried corn that could be fed to cheeky monkeys that were waiting for you to give it. The Indians were doing it, so why not and so I fed some monkey and made them grasp it from my palm. I even shaked a monkeys hand to tease him, but not for long as it got angry at me and instead stole a whole packet. haha monkey 1, seb 0.
Chittor was a nice place to stroll around, a bit like Bundi but more impressive with the impressive fort. Those who love forts and bloodshed history should never miss it.

In the evening we took the train to Udaipur -the lake and palace city-. In the dark, a train ride quickly becomes boring as the diverse landscapes flash by and are unseen and hidden away by black skies except for some moonshine and clear stars. At a certain station the train stopped for a while and I went out to get us some chai. As soon as I had purchased 2 steaming hot cups, while the heat was burning my fingers through the thin plastic, the train whistled that it would leave and no sooner than that it started to roll. 200 meters away from my compartment, I started running towards the moving train while chai poured over my hands like livid lava. *ah forget it*, so I threw the chai down on the platform and other folks were running with me with their smarter and colder wares. I followed Maarten’s shouts in the near distance and managed to jump into the open doorway of the train easily enough. Pure boyish excitement at 30 kmph!
Upon arrival in Udaipur station, everyone was crossing the platforms by jumping on the tracks en masse. Who cares to follow annyoing staircases anyway, with luggage to pull up with you? A big group of 20-something gyspy women and children were pulling themselves up to the platform with overloaded bags, cloths and whatnot. I helped pulling a little kid up and when he saw it was a white gora that was elevating him, he got kinda scared. The mother other females were laughing their heads off, baring their golden teeth in grins of unbelief and cheekiness. Ofcourse they took the chance to ask me for money, cookies and so on. It never hurts to ask, is the every day motto here that you encounter. At least it’s earnest.

Video’s and sounds shall be uploaded soon enough. -Right now we’re in Jodhpur and we might be quite busy recording sessions the next few days-
A more detailed account on our 5 days in Udaipur will follow, as this time we DID manage to record some genuine folk sounds and dance scenes!

Ok, some photo’s of Kota and train to Chittor

Kota life…..









Indians just love photoshop. In Kota, the electricity plant chimneys of the are somewhat of an attraction.

breakfast in Kota, newpaper style

from the train to Chittor

Nearly a week later. Our state of wandering is going on, moving from place to place (see the newly added map).

On our last day in Bundi we rented a geared motorbike and went around the lake area, which revealed great views on hills and exotic vegetation. We went past a palace where Rudyard Kipling had written part of his ‘Kim’ book. Not that the lakeside palace was so special, but the lake filled with lotus flowers was. On the way out of town a crowd was passing the road and had to slow down. Only then we saw that the men were carrying a small body wrapped in a blanket. A childlike arm stuck out of it, lifeless and pale. That piece of fray skin revealed more than anything else on that moment, while people silently followed the line.
We drove through various small towns, with kids running out and waving to us and some local people looking flabbergasted at you. We stopped for chai and some fried sweet things and straight away we were surrounded by local boys and guys who were asking our names, our country, profession, age and so on, all with kind and sincere intentions of knowing who you are. The usual, if you ever get used to that (depending of the situation). We were sitting there at ease, enjoying the chatter and activity. I caught the sight of Lohar gypsies on the side of the road (Lohars are a poor caste who are semi-nomadic metalworkers), where the female was slammering down a heavy hammer on a metal piece while her husband held it straight. The kids were half-naked playing around this scene, as one will see with many gypsy families. They posed for us -see photo’s below- and as they asked for money we gave them some notes and change. In another small muddy town we had some warm food and sweet coconut ginger mash, which costed us 15 rupees together (just 30 eurocent). Prices are always swinging back and forth, from city to town to village.

Oh yeah, in the early evening we record a session with a local wedding band, especially for the fact that they had a violin player who also was the leader of the band. Mumad kept the band tradition of his family alive that his grandfather started in the 1940′s. Islamic by its roots, the band therefore since adapted the use of other instruments such as the violin, which you otherwise don’t encounter much. Rajasthani folk and wedding songs while the violin adds a different dimension to it. However he didn’t play the violin acoustically, but electrical. Hooked through tangled wires onto a car battery and connected onto a rattling PA system. The levels were way over their limit on the highs and mids, since they just loved to set the echo full on. The recordings sound exactly as ear blistering as we experienced it live, so at least we can share that experience with you all. Whenever we edit them and put em here in a while. In the end, more and more people kept joining in to play. First it was just violin and tabla, then another drum, then some clanging shrutis, then a singer came along with a full echoed voice and soon the keyboard was dusted off to complete the sound overload. What should have been *just a few songs on violin* became a spontaneous session for more than an hour. The guys were all eager to put on their best showcase and giving us more than we bargained for. We had problems getting away from them, rather because they wanted to listen the recordings over and over, see the photo’s over and over -even when badly taken- and so on.
We did escape as we had our bus to catch.

After this relaxing small town atmosphere of Bundi we went down to Kota., a big city where no tourists go. Simply because there isn’t much to do that would interest the average tourist. Off we went in one of those squared loudly humming buses that you see/hear driving everywhere, filled with Indians and hardly any tourists. The driver and his ticket controlling buddy had taken a fancy to us and we could sit upfront with them (every bus has a vertical positioned 3-seater, facing the driver on the side). Sitting upfront is a good thing, as we heard from other tourists who regularly avoided the luxury tourist buses. Not really for the view -actually, seeing too much of an Indian driver might not be good for your nerves-, but more for the relative comfort that you find in not feeling the bumps anymore on the hard wooden seats elsewhere in the bus. Trust us, if you have to travel for a few hours, you’ll be happy to step out unshaken.
For that, you do have to witness all the maneuvers that your designated driver makes or see what’s coming at you in a similar fashion. I made a game out of it.

For the sake of fun, let’s call it ‘Ghostrider’, the rules being these: to award points for the driver for every risk succesfully takes in overtaking someone while the nearing verhicle (be it truck, bus, motorbike) has to slow down or back off and therefore bows down to his road rage. Score! But the drivers in the other lane (ie. the opponents) can also score back by intimidating him in the same way and having their risk pay off for them as a team. So, is your driver right up his skill or does he constantly get the bad karma lid on the nose? If you have the willpower for this waste of time, I reckon it can be an interesting match. Especially during a looooong drive over bad roads in the dark. Do get the front seat at least, to become a bemused spectator in this wacky race of life. How’s that for anticipating an otherwise ramshackle bus ride?

Kota, unfamiliar and unhyped, our trip being justified because we somewhat had daydreamed to get some recordings of Kanjar city gypsies. A plan made out of notions from a book and nothing else to back it up with. We asked around but in the 2 days we were there, we had no luck in finding the dancing Kanjar. Nor did anyone know about them, or wanted to. We could have asked gypsies and at roadside tentcamps, but it didn’t happen. Except for some tapes/vcd’s of local Hadoti electrified folk music and some filming Maarten did, we didn’t do much. We did feel that the people of Kota were not used of seeing whites, especially the kids. We got stared at all the time, more from a silent distance than in the jeery way that we otherwise encounter in any big city or tourist hub. That felt strange, but nice too as we had less hassle. At some point after we had walked along the dammed river and over an open sewer cascade, we came into a local area where kids where playing some rough form of street cricket. When they saw us, they were allover us and looked at awe at these bizarre white folks. They probably had never seen a white person in the flesh and some were afraid of us, hitting us playfully with cricket bats. haha. The cluster of 20 kids followed us for quite some time, causing a little parade on our heels with other adults joining in while we walked through the islamic area. Bizarre fun, not a feeling of hostility in the air, just plain curiousity.
In Kota our room had a tv for the first time since Ajmer. It’s awfull that when we don’t miss such a thing at all during our travel, we watched it like dummies because we could. So we saw reruns of Seinfeld and some crazy Japanese game show. It could be worse. Like reruns of Friends that it showed -shudder-.

Perhaps we lost time in Kota for nothing, but we could relax a bit and feel as if we were in a real Indian city that did not fuel itself with tourism. That way we got no bother at all from touts, commission sharks or other folks that just wanted your money, but we were among normal people like as in a small town. A busy small town with too much traffic and pollution that is.

Below pics of Bundi and some last Pushkar pics.

Bhopal looking sharp

Walk with Rampal and Sita to their tent and their family.

Bundi views

Waterfall scenes

the little villages and lands around Bundi

the Lohar gypsy family, some portraits

the Paras New Band, tuning up the violin.

Bundi.
I took a bus to here by myself, as Maarten had to edit some more in Pushkar. 4,5 ride over bumpy roads. I had a seat way in the back on the furthest 5 seater. I sat in the middle, so I lost count of times that I got elevated and airborn by an unexpected pothole. I had a gentle travel companion next to me, Kishu, who studied mobile engineering and was on his was to Kota. He wanted to hear the music on my korg recorder, so I let him hear the Rajasthani folk songs I recorded live and asked him for translations which he quickly decoded for me. Quick, because he rather wanted to hear music from my cultural surroundings. While driving through the deep dark on shrubby roads and forestlike vegatation we listened to Tom Waits, John Fahey, James Blackshaw, Six Organs of Admittance, Sandro Perri, Dirty Three and the birdsong voice of my girl.

When I arrived in Bundi, it was already past 23.00 and most hostels could be closed. Taxi rishka’s were asking me exhuberant fares reserved for tourists, so I prefered to walk the 1km to the old town gates, heavily packed as I was. The town was completely deserted and I found an older man with his younger relative pushing a food cart up to the old town. Chickpeas in tomato onion gravy, battura bread, cumin and potato filled samosa’s..all cooled down, but as I hadn’t eaten I was happy to get it half priced. Some yonug folks wanted to get me into a hotel. Ofcourse at commission prices. A young streetwise boy ran from hotel to hotel, banging on their doors to get me a room. No matter what I said of him being quiet and stopping the banging on dark and shut hotel fronts, it didn’t stop him either way. Someone from a rooftop restaurant called and invited me to come up. I could sleep in the entrance on matrasses at a cheap price so I happily accepted. Plus I got some nice cinnamon-ginger kir (rice pudding). Deepak, the smiley 10 year old servant boy slept on one side while Ringo, the kind reggae and dub loving owner, slept on the other matrass.

In the morning, a girl came a-knocking to eat in the restaurant above and I recognized her from Pushkar the day before as we had had breakfast in the same place. After breakfast I got a cheap room at the same hotel as her. Cassienne from New Zealand has been teaching around in Asia and travelling it inbetween for the past 3 years. As we were both on our own in Bundi we spent the day together, walking up to the huge maharadja forts of Bundi. It gave spectacular views of the whole valley and on one side you could see the Jait lake inbetween the gap of 2 green mountain peaks. It closely resembled the famous views of the Rhine Lorelei Valley. Going up to the highest point in the fort proved to be a test with monkeys, as they were everywhere around us. There even was a huge fight between 2 large monkey families on the hill, which was moving closer and closer to us. The screeching was terrible, so we made our way up inbetween monkey families who were also trying to get safely away from the big fight. Up in the largest compound of the fort, we found that all was overgrown with trees, shrubs and any plant possible and nobody seemed to maintain this. Jhan, a 16 year old boy in trendy western clothes, guided us around as he knew the fort by heart. He took us to the swimming pools of the maharadja and those of his wives. Which were now the private baths of the monkeys, who also controlled this whole fort. Jhan had a very good way of walking right through big groups of monkeys without using stones or a stick. After all, we were intruding their territory so he told us to be at ease and don’t show the monkeys any weapons, because that would only agitate them. The monkeys left us alone and just looked at us, we only had to beware the few scruffy ones who were more aggressed by our presence. We got to see wall art, some in better state, some in vandalised state. Jhan told us that in certain overgrown area’s, snakes lived aplenty. We didn’t even see one, pity. All rooms were neglected and Jhan explained us the use for them. It felt like having a whole maharadja house to ourselves. wow.

Yesterday we rented motorbikes and drove to the waterfalls 35 kms south of Bundi, through flat yellowish farmers lands, ricefields, little villages and lava formed mountains. Later in the evening we sat in a shop of a wedding band, who were off duty. They played some Rajasthani and local Hadoti tunes on the glamorous keyboard.
(Hadoti is the name of the Bundi-Kota region, with it’s own dialect)

Tonight we’ll *try* to take a bus to Kota, 35 km’s more southwards. We first would like to record a violin player from a Bundi wedding band,if all goes well.

In Kota we hope to find the Kanjar people and record their dance and music. Among the Indians, Kanjars are regarded with a criminal reputation which more has to do with their low caste position that makes them the gypsies of Kota. The Kanjars perform a certain dance in the streets of Kota, with a Kanjar female being the key figure, dancing on hollow sounds of metal drums while she moves around in near erotic moves.
From the top of my head I qoute Kothal Komari, research figure on Rajasthani
culture, out of the elaborate Rajasthani folk culture book: ‘Kanjar women are notorious and dance seductively. To ever touch a Kanjar woman while she’s performing her dance, will make one very sorry for ever doing so. They are very foul mouthed and one has to be very cautious in their company.’
Let’s see if we can find them and see with our own eyes.

At a vcd and cassette music stand (or rather cart) last night, searching for local tunes, I asked the guys if he had Kanjar music on tape. At first they didn’t understand, but when they did they just laughed. ‘Why you want that? We don’t have it, nobody does’. Bollywood, Rajasthani disco never misses though. I did find some Hadoti music on cassette, yay.

Photo’s of Bundi coming up later this week in this post.
Cassienne, have fun in Korea! -even when it’s freezing…….

When waking up this morning we only found a faint sun up in the sky, hidden between a flock of grey clouds. grey? clouds? We were joking that it might rain and we should do a dance for the rain gods. Not that we did the dance, but a few hours ago it did start raining! The first drops since we’ve been here in the Indian heat, wow. It were just some slight drizzle drops, even barely enough to make you wet. It probably doesn’t sound exciting to most of you up there in northern hemispheres, but after 6 weeks of dry heat your longing for some natural moisture grows by the day. water…water…! We haven’t even reached the Thar desert -the real desert- yet. Normally when someone writes about rain, it’s put in a tone of complaint. Now we find ourselves cheering the rain on. Who says you can’t switch sides in a game of weather….

It’s wedding season here and you can’t get around it. Since last week the streets are filled with music and parades, following one wedding party to the next. Ofcourse the fireworks are back too, every occasion seems to suit them.
Marching bands lead a musical parade for the bride and groom’s family and they follow the band while they walk to one of the many courtyards for party purposes. The music is loud, chaotic and joyous. It fits really well within the Indian spirit. At the head of every parade, there is the cart with amplified speakers to which the keyboard is attached. The keyboard leads the melody in finger-twisting ways while drums keep the rhythm going. Trumpets, clarinets, trombones and tuba’s are added for the extra brass dimension in this walking fanfare experience. The style has lot in common with the eastern European gyspy brass bands, but the Indian sound is much faster on the melody that is driven by the keyboard, to match the Rajasthani folk style as all songs played are the famous Rajasthani folk songs. Funny thing is that at a certain moment males and females of the wedding party do a certain folk dance in the middle of the street. They dance with the hips, do turn-arounds and small stepovers. The brass section surrounds them and plays on while the drums start playing harder and faster so that the dancing quickens too. At this point relatives or friends dance themselves into the circle and throw money notes at the persons doing this special dance and blend into the family crowd again. It’s bizarre, but this custom is also done in eastern Europe when marching bands play at weddings, or likewise for themselves when performing at a concert.

Yesterday after we left the internet cafe, we didn’t know where we wanted to eat so we followed some noise that sounded like a wedding. We found ourselves walking -crashing- a wedding party in one of those open courtyards and on the stage -every party must have a stage- there was a whole show going on with dancing and lip-syncing family members. One after the other teenager or adult danced in a specific song for the bride and groom. The dancing is a form of honoring and entertaining the bride and groom and the Indian people are all too happy to get footloose. So yeah there we stood gazing at the entertainment and soon enough we got invited by relatives to eat. ‘Yes, go ahead eat, you must, please take’, like being ordered to do so. While we were eating various high class catered food, 2 Indian persons desperately wanted to take us to the wedding of their brother across the street. Yup, weddings everywhere! So we followed them and there we got more superb food served. We were stuffed! The guys were constantly asking us to go up on the stage and dance for the bride and groom, oh dear. We luckily managed to avoid it by changing the subject or sneakily diverting attention to each other ‘oh not me, maarten is a real good dancer, see him!’, or ‘but really, seb is much better than me’ and that sort of talk, haha
We think that those 2 guys brought us into the wedding as hopeful comic relief, to entertain them or something like that. Tourists do get set up for that -hmmm, remember my lonely adventure in Ajmer?- It might be a way of paying for yourself at a wedding, who knows? What karaoke is to Japanese, dancing is to the Indians, surely!

here an excerpt of the wedding band marching the streets! The recording cracks a lot because those speakers have their levels turned way over the limit. Those things are evil to your ears I tell you.

Pushkar wedding band – march (short)

here a recording of the money throwing dance!

Pushkar wedding band – special money dance (short)

here some wedding and wedding band pics, yeah!

with the band

trumpeteer

the parade lights carried by boys, powered by a generator on wheels


the parade and glimmering music cart!

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Some Travel Viddies thrown in for fun:

Wobly waking up by our tourist friends (remeber them from way back?) in the train entering Rajasthan

Boy relieving himself next to a stylish designer bag:

next post will come from southern Rajasthan. -hmmm but the dail-up speed in Bundi doesn’t go well with your patience grrrrr-