Ça sufi

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Udaipur is strictly second division as a fly zone when compared with Pushkar, and the breakfast calories from my toast (no eggs here either) were burned off with the constant flicking that I found myself doing. There's also a litter of puppies in this area that likes to beg from any available humans, and one of them took a liking to my bag and kept plonking himself down on it. If fleas are in my immediate future, then so be it.

After speaking with the hotel travel agent (who was also the Internet guy I'd berated yesterday evening for having such a treaclelike connection), I booked a sleeper berth on tomorrow's night bus to Agra. Having seen sleeper berths on previous buses in Rajasthan, and noted that they resembled stuffy glass coffins, I was keen to avoid them, however the travel agent told me that the bus only had sleeper berths, i.e. no seats. This sounded unlikely, but not for the first time I was in the position of having to take things on trust. He also said that this was a good bus because it went straight through from Pushkar, rather than requiring changes along the way, which I took as some sort of silver lining.

In my original itinerary (i.e. before my flight from Teesside to London was cancelled), I was supposed to be meeting Amanda (a friend of a friend from New York) in Pushkar for the start of the famous camel fair. 4 months on from that date, with Amanda not being met and the camel fair not being seen, the place seems rather empty and it's difficult to imagine it packed out with villagers, tourists, and camels. A brief wander around revealed that the town consists of just the lake and a few surrounding streets. However it has big city levels of hassle and I had to decline offers of further breakfasts, hotel rooms, and even a lift on a hand cart.

I caught a bus to Ajmer for Rs 6 and made my way to the railway station in order to book ahead my train from Agra to Delhi (this route is busy and getting a decent train at short notice is difficult). I was interested to see that "Cancer patients" was a new addition to the usual list of randoms allowed to purchase tickets at the same counter as foreigners, freedom fighters, press, etc.

Post admin, I went into a Jain temple called Soniji-ki-Nashiya, part of which is a bizarre 3-storey hall, enclosed by glass, that contains a representation of the life of the first Jain guru, who lived many moons ago. It contains ornate golden buildings, flying ships, and multitudes of soldiers, musicians, and courtiers that look almost like a sci-fi vision of the future. Apparently 1,000 kg of gold were used in its construction, along with many mirrors, glass tiles, and baubles. It's certainly a unique achievement, similar to the scale models of cities that you find in some museums but in this case representing a location not of this world.

I then tried to track down Ajmer's major attraction - the tomb of the Sufi saint Khwaja Muin-ud-din Chishti. This proved harder than expected, as it's located in the maze of alleys in the old city, with bazaars filled with shops selling diverse merchandise stretching in all directions. However I guessed correctly that I'd found it when I encountered a gateway towering above the surrounding buildings, with crowds of people swirling in and out.

I was immediately approached by an unsmiling man wearing a skull cap, who gestured towards a shoe rack where I gave up my boots. I had to buy a headscarf to cover my hair, and he then led me wordlessly through the gate and took me to a pavilion outside of which were sitting several elders. With a sinking feeling, I saw one of them open a ledger and already knew what would be inside it before he had offered it to me. Sure enough, it contained a list of names of previous foreign visitors, together with their nationalities and the amount of their donation. I produced a token amount, which he immediately argued with by pointing out a much larger figure that some (possibly fictitious) visitor had given in the past. I countered by pointing out an entry that another (presumably not fictitious) visitor had given that matched my own. He jabbed at the larger number again, and I asked him whether this was an entrance fee or a voluntary donation, which was the end of the conversation.

At the entrance to the pavilion, I was asked for another donation in order to be brushed with some peacock feathers. I demurred, saying I'd only just given some money, which didn't seem to go down too well, but the attendant belatedly whacked me over the head as I was stepping through the doorway. Inside was a heaving mass of people surrounding the saint's tomb, the air thick with the sweet smell of rose petals. My guide motioned me forward, where another attendant rubbed my hand with the cloth covering the saint's tomb and requested a donation. Strangely, this religious experience was beginning to feel more like a money-grubbing exercise. I handed over the first low denomination note that came out of my pocket then fought my way out of the scrum and back to the courtyard.

My guide perfunctorily indicated the mosque, uttering "Masjid" (the only word he would say the whole time), then tried to lead me back out of the gate onto the street. I stayed back to take a few more photos, which made his unhappy face look even more unhappy, before exiting. Reclaiming my shoes resulted in a demand for baksheesh, and the shoe tender then ordered me to tip my guide. Having been less than impressed by the whole experience, and figuring that 1 rupee per word of commentary seemed like a good rate, I handed over the shiniest Rs 1 coin I had with the least sincere smile I could muster.

The RG says that there is an "unforgettable atmosphere" at this shrine - I would agree, but for diametrically opposite reasons.

On returning to Pushkar, and still filled with righteous indignation at the way I'd been treated at Khwaja's tomb, I proceeded to (inadvertently) offend the entire population of the town by stomping all over the ghats in my boots, clicking away merrily on my camera. This was an unfortunate combination of events. Firstly, as I left the hotel I was distracted by several gypsy girls who tried to persuade me to cough up some money in order to take photos of them. I then managed to approach the ghats via a route that almost exactly bisected the 2 signs 100 yards apart that requested people to remove their footwear. Thirdly, the cry of "Shoes, shoes!" that I heard while I was rambling over the ghats was exactly the sort of thing I would expect to hear from a zealous cobbler espying a possible customer for his wares. Of course, Mr I've-been-in-India-for-4-months knows better than to acknowledge such a shout, so I continued on my way, taking a few photos as I went.

I started to think that something was wrong when another voice joined the "Shoes, shoes!" chant, and when I turned round and saw a local man gesturing at me to remove my boots, I cursed the circumstances that had led me to be selectively deaf. And I felt even worse later when I noticed that the RG mentions a ban on both shoes AND photography. I guess it takes very little effort to be insensitive. And an unimaginable amount of effort to persuade people that really you aren't as bad as all that.

With intermittent rain showers in the late afternoon and evening, a leisurely dinner and a couple of hours on the web were my sole accomplishments for the rest of the day.

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