A Place I Call "Om"

I'd chosen Orchha as a place I could escape all the tourism and get my last fix of local Indian life before heading off back to the homeland. When I got there, it looked like a polar-fleece convention, with bus after bus of camera-faced foreigners following their tour guides like lambs to the slaughter. After a well deserved lunch and some broken Hindi, I found a nice room at very little price. It confused me that it was so easy, I couldn't imagine where all these tourists were staying, until I looked from my rooftop and saw them quickly buying postcards and shaking children off their legs before jumping back onto their buses. "How long will you be staying, sir?" asked Mukesh, "one night, two night?" I looked around me, and replied "better make it six."


Orchha is set around a cross-road, making it very easy to find your way around. North is the Rama temple, east is the river, south is the fort, and west is to go back the way you came. I headed for the river, imagining it to be a polluted puddle forcing it's way past the town, and was pleasantly surprised to find water, calm and clear, reflecting the sky and the tops of the temples in the background. After finding a nice rock to sit on, I found myself sitting there for hours, letting the sounds surround me and wash away all the stresses and bad thoughts (hence why it took a few hours). On my way back I met a very friendly man who'd just caught some fish. "Pish?!" he said, pointing at me and then at the chunks of whatever fish it was. "Yes, I like fish" I replied, assuming this is what he meant. "You, pish, my howse, aath." This took a little longer to understand, but after showing me his house, I gathered he wanted me to come to dinner at 8, and in the words of my camel driver many weeks ago, "why not?"

I returned at 8 after buying an assortment of home made sweets, which all basically consist of sugar and milk and some variety of rice. I sat by an open fire stove, and was quickly served a bowl of fish curry and a couple of chapati. Whilst eating I was interrogated by the daughter, Manu, who went to school and was obviously wanting to impress her parents with how much English she knew, their eyes lighting up every time I replied to something she said. They had no idea what I was saying, but with every answer I gave Manu, they were seeing money well spent, and a future for their daughter. I'd wondered why they weren't eating as well, thinking they must have already helped themselves. Then after the 10th serving (I insisted I was full after 3) They started dishing up for themselves. I was embarrassed at first, but was later told by a girl from London that this is the way guests are treated for dinner, as a sign of respect. I felt a bit strange sitting there watching them eat, and I had a feeling Manu was clutching at any last phrase she knew, so I bid them goodnight, and dragged my stomach back to my room.

I woke up early on the morning of the 26th January, wrapped a thin blanket around me, made my way to the river to watch the sun rise. I then headed to what became my breakfast place, a rooftop restaurant overlooking the cross-road. I'd just finished my poori and then I heard it, in the distance it's insistant wail slowly tearing it's way through the town to drown us in it's high-pitched echos. Yes, it was the Republic Day Children's Parade. There's nothing quite like watching kids being forced to entertain adults, their outfits their parents made suggesting such professionalism, until it's wiped on by a young man picking his nose, blocking the path of the other children. I couldn't watch the whole thing, as I was meeting up with some local guys I'd met the night before who insisted they show me around Orchha since they didn't have jobs and therefor had lots of free time. Republic Day wasn't over, however, and I was taken to see some dancing, which was also performed by the children, music blasting us so loudly I was waiting for someone's head to explode, or at least to see some bleeding ears. I'd seen enough dancing for a while, and after discovering that my friends were only there because they thought I wanted to see it, I insisted we find something else to do.

I eventually did some sight seeing, paying far too much to see inside yet another fort, you could see where they'd recently painted a number 2 in front of the previous 50 rupee entry fee. I usually don't mind paying, however there was no sign of that money going to any use in terms of conservation or customer assistance. By the end I walked up to the locked doors of the "museum", pushing and banging on them until someone came over and told me it was closed. I'd waited until there were plenty of other tourists around before insisting that I'd paid too much money and demanded they open it immediately, which they did hoping I'd have a quick look and they could lock it again. The ideal situation for a paid guide is that you get your customers in and out as quickly as possible, suggesting that part of the palace is boring, or not to walk that way because it's dangerous. Once the museum was open, every other tourist wanted to see it, their guides glaring at me while they were forced to answer questions about the different artefacts. I later discovered it much more fulfilling to just take myself stumbling around the ruins scattered across the landscape, finding several different places all with spectacular sunset views.

My friend Sunil took me to some of his favourite places, one of which was the top of the dome above the biggest temple in Orchha, where people aren't meant to go but we snuck up quite easily. I was suffering intense vertigo until I looked out at the view, feeling like I could see the whole world, and I was it's king. It's amazing how Indian people will treat a dangerous situation with such calm and ease, which is why when Sunil shouted, dropped to the ground and covered his face, my vertigo returned and I knew it wasn't going to be good. A swarm of wasps quickly surrounded us, and I followed in Sunil's survival technique, not knowing what the likelihood of being attacked was, but knowing that if we were, there really was no where to run. The buzzing surrounded us, drowning out every other sound and emphasized by my eyes being closed, my face wet with sweat, from my head or my hands I'm not sure. Holding my breath, every part of my skin preparing for the worst, wanting to ask Sunil what to do if we got stung but not being able to see him or call out to him. After what felt like half an hour, the buzzing subsided and Sunil slowly got up and looked around, the expression on his face telling me that I should be very happy to be alive. We took no time to get down, rushing through the labyrinth of dark stairways, not saying a word until we reached solid ground, we just looked at each other and started laughing.

I knew my trip was coming to an end, but part of me had to drag myself away, kicking and screaming, trying to get a grip on the nearest... cow. I usually time it so that I'm only in Delhi for one night, to avoid the chaos and pollution I've always associated with it. I've found the more I go there, the more I seem to like it, and I wanted to give Delhi a second chance (or fifth). I'd already done all the sightseeing I possibly could there, so I took to walking around everywhere, navigating shopping areas and underground markets. Watching the silent film of traffic and lights through the window of the metro railway. The pollution wasn't as bad as I remembered it, a combination of emission reduction efforts, and the winter cold pushing the rest up above us. Over beer and bhurji, I reflected on the time I'd had, going back to the first weeks with Alana, making it feel like I'd been there a whole year. It's interesting to see your subconcious at work, in the week leading up to coming to India, my mind was flooded with mini-memories I'd thought forgotten. And in the week leading up to my plane home I began thinking of Melbourne, of Jeremy and my friends. I thought of the people I'd met on my travels, those moments of absolute joy when all else seems hopeless, those big smiles and small gestures of welcome, the whole confusing contradiction of a country I'd wanted to walk away from, I think of these things and I know I'll be back. As the plane takes off, I shed a tear for India, my heart already home, and I can't wait to meet it there.