Today's Thoughts...
I wish I could say that the rest of our time in Jaipur was notedly humdrum and unworthy of mention. But that wouldn’t make for a good tale to tell ;P Sure, we did all the glorious sites like the sparkling City Palace and the famed Observatory.
We ate more unspeakably delicious food at the Peacock Hotel and lining the winding streets of the pink city. Sure I bought more Ali-Baba pants than I will ever know what to do with. But what stands out in my mind are two markedly divergent and singularly memorable experiences. Following our stalking interlude, that very same night we witnessed some of the heights and the depths of our random encounters with a similarly unsettling experience involving a young rickshaw driver.
Our feet were killing us. We couldn’t find the restaurant on the Lonely Planet map. (Really, LP? How you gonna do us like that though?) And so we decided to give up and try our luck back at the Peacock for dinner once more. But not before we had wandered through the market sampling spicy chili roti cakes with sambal and beans, jelabi swirls of sticky syrupy deliciousness (something like funnel cake soaked in heavy syrup), and anything else we could get our hands on for so long that we’d simply forgotten the whole laborious process of pausing our adventure for the tedious task of dining.
Oh, and there was the brilliant evening’s entertainment with the gang of monkeys that took to the streets (or buildings there surrounding), swiping bananas and fruits from unsuspecting vendors and then tossing the carcasses with squealing primate glee onto the heads of the cuckolded merchants. If I had a rupee for every time on my trip a monkey tried to…well, I’d have a whole lotta rupees in my pocket that’s for sure.
The sky had fallen dark long ago during our meandering and it was only then that we finally thought to go back to our comfy cozy abode. The guy walked up out of nowhere, I remember. He was at Allison’s elbow asking where she was from. (At this point, I was used to often being overlooked as the short dark minion next to my gorgeously tall and blonde compatriot. I wonder if perhaps I didn’t call to mind images of those very creatures swinging so joyously above our heads? ;P). She shook her head no. After the fifteen millionth time, you just do have the patience anymore. He prodded further, repeating his question and following up with a “Why are you so mean? It’s just a question.” She was cracking. I could see it on her face. Hold tight! I willed her. Her face remained impervious. Good. We walked on.
Growing frustrated, he jogged to stand in front of her, blocking her path ahead. “Why are all you foreigners the same? Think you’re so much better. So much better than us Indian people. Isn’t that it? I have a rickshaw. I was going to ask where you need to go. But you so stuck-up. So stuck-up.” At that, we stopped. Allison whirled on him, “I don’t want your tuktuk or rickshaw or whatever it is and I don’t want to talk to you because I don’t want to.” “Why so stuck up? So stuck up she is.” I could tell her defenses were crumbling. He muttered on further until she finally burst out asking where this mysterious rickshaw was in the first place. He immediately produced it and for roughly twenty minutes we drove on listening to his rant against all white people, all foreigners who come to his country, think they are so much better than his people, what do you know, you give no one a chance. Not everyone is bad. Not everyone is out to get you. You think bad thoughts and bad things happen to you. Bad things happen to you when you think they will.
With that he turned down a deserted street alley and for the second time in two days, I hurled my person from a moving vehicle and onto the dusty path beside us. The tires screeched to a halt and Allison lept out as well. I don’t know about you, but as my great-grandma used to say—if it stinks, it ain’t gotta be you what sticks around to smell it (…or something like that). Then the obscenities came flying. I don’t think I could quite count the insults and slurs that flew from that tongue at such an alarming pace. All I knew was that I suddenly felt my skin prickle and my heart thud in my ears. And then she came. She must not have been more than five feet tall, but a wee auntie the size of a prepubescent child sidled up from out of the shadows and planted herself, unflinchingly, unspeakingly, and firmly between us and the raving madman before us. With an icy glare even I could feel cut through the nighttime air, she quite literally bore him down. His rage bottled, though still brimming, he grabbed the fistful of cash Allison had at some time produced and raced off, screeching down the block. I turned to the little old woman who was already hobbling away. I shouted thank you and she turned, unsmilingly, and shaking her head clucked, “Beta.” (“Sweetheart”) With a bobble and a nod, she was gone.
Mama India, you baffle me still.
