Heading south

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From Udaipur we had a long journey ahead of us to get to south India, the first leg being the 6am bus to Indore. Travelling through Madhya Pradesh we couldn't help noticing a pattern in all the towns we passed through - they were all crapholes. Indore looked no different, only bigger, as we rolled in at about 6pm. We had four hours to kill before the night bus to Aurangabad. We bought our tickets, checked our luggage in the cloakroom and went out looking for something to eat. Around the bus station were a whole medley of restaurants of various styles. We picked a simple dhaba that seemed a popular choice. They served us one of the most delicious thalis we've had, and it was all you can eat too, the team of waiters constantly coming round and topping up your plate if you weren't quick enough to refuse. Feeling close to bursting, we left the restaurant and wandered around for a few hours, drinking tea and fruit juices and chatting with the various people who would approach us. In fact we've never made so many "friends" in such a short period as in Indore. Everyone we encountered from the employees at the bus station to the waiters to the people we met on the street were heartwarmingly welcoming and friendly. Our bus driver to Aurangabad was delighted to have us aboard and never missed an opportunity to emaphatically shake my hand and slap me on the shoulder.
We arrived in Aurangabad at about 8am and walked to the YHA youth hostel. It was located in a hideously ugly building, kind of a mixture of communist and 1970s modernist styles. Walking through the front door was like stepping back in time thirty years into some institution, a boarding school, summer camp or orphanage. Established in 1979, the Aurangabad YHA must have changed little since. It almost seems like a museum, a monument to what youth hostels were like in the 1970s. In the entrance hall a prominently displayed poster declares the advent of the YHA phenomenon. There are dormitories furnished only by rows of aged institutional beds, each with its own mosquito net. Then there are "gents leader" and "ladies leader" rooms, presumably for the team leaders. Whilst we were checking in, the warden, who was clearly a little batty, handed us the rulebook to familiarise ourselves with while he gleefully began guiding us through an excessively bureaucratic heap of paperwork. Flicking through the rulebook I was surprised to learn that we were required to do chores as part of our keep. We were expected to follow a strict code of conduct and if anyone were to fall ill it was to be reported immediately. The invalid would then be quarantined and fined.
It was still early in the day when we had freshened up and we still had time to visit the Ellora caves, 20km outside of the city. The "caves" at Ellora are not natural but rock cut temples dating between 600 - 1000AD. Thirty four caves from the hindu, buddhist and jain traditions are carved into a 2 km stretch of cliff. Most of the temples have an outer facade decorated with images of gods and mythical creatures. The inner part of the cave typically consists of a main chamber supported by carved pillars and with more sculptures on the walls. Usually there is an inner sanctum with a shiva lingam, a statue of buddha, mahavirha or some other deity. The most impressive temple at Ellora is the 8th century Kailasa temple. This is a massive monolith, not a cave, the surrounding rock from the cliff was removed to leave the temple standing in open space. It is estimated that several hundred thousand tonnes of rock were removed during the excavation. The temple itself is splendorous and intricately carved, amazing to think that it is a single piece of rock.
The following day we visited the buddhist Ajanta caves. These caves date from the 3rd century BC to the 7th century AD and served as temples and monasteries. The 30 caves are cut high into the cliff face of a horseshoe shaped valley and are similar in style to those at Ellora. They contain a number of well-preserved frescoes. We arrived there in the morning and by early afternoon the place was totally hoaching with Indian tourists, so much so that it became difficult to walk. With this volume of people the "hello, which country?" routine gets old quickly. We did our best to spice it up and make things more interesting. We began spouting out nonsense; "My name is Pooper, I am from Estonia." I told one person. "This is my sisters's brother's wife from Oojabayland" another was informed. Later whilst reading Paul Theroux's "The Great Railway Bazaar" I discovered that we were not the first travelers in India compelled toward such behaviour. He explains the experience better than I can:
"Rashid, the conductor on the sleeping car, helped me find my compartment, and after a moment's hesitation he asked me to have a look at his tooth. It was giving him aches, he said. The request was not impertinent. I had told him I was a dentist. I was getting tired of the Asiatic inquisition: Where do you come from? What do you do? Married or single? Any children? This nagging made me evasive, secretive, foolish, an inventor of cock-and-bull stories."
When we arrived back at the hostel the warden was sitting at his desk in the office by the main entrance. "Come in, come in, sit down" he called to us as we entered, "What can I do for you?"
"Well, we are leaving on the early train tomorrow morning. Will the door be unlocked at 5 am?" I inquired.
"Your train leaves at 5:55. You leave at 5:30." Was his response. It was a statement.
"No, we want to leave at five." I abruptly replied. His megalomaniacal tendencies were becoming familiar and I didn't have much patience for them.
"You will leave at 5:30," he said sternly, "This is for your convenience."
I noticed an anger rising in his voice and expression. I began to protest, "But it takes twenty minutes to walk to the station. Then we have to find the right platform and carriage. We'd like to have some tea or a bite of breakfast before the train leaves."
"You will have breakfast on the train" he snapped, "You are being highly inconsiderate. Our normal opening hours are 6am to 10pm. I will tell the watchman to make an exception for you and open the door at 5:30. Everything is for your convenience."
The conversation was quickly becoming a heated argument. "Look here" I retorted, "We are paying guests here. If we want to leave at 5am that is our decision not yours, that's why we are paying you. We often do this at guesthouses and it has never been a problem before."
"I am running an institution here," he was shouting now "Everything is for your convenience. What would happen if everybody wanted to leave at five, hmm? You are very inconsiderate. The watchman will have to get up earlier than usual. What if he opens the door and you don't come down?"
"Well if you tell me where the watchman sleeps I could ..."
"The watchman can go to hell!" he snarled, pounding his fist on the desk, "This is a security issue. Our India is experiencing many terrorist problems."
Emily had been silent up until this point, but on hearing this she could hold her tongue no longer, "This is entirely unacceptable" she said, "We are paying guests and will not be treated like this. Who is in charge here? What is your name?"
"I am in charge. I am warden." He sat back and folded his arms triumphantly.
"I would like to know your name sir." she replied.
"Aha but I know madam. Yes! I know your name. I can ruin your reputation." Now he was waving a finger around loftily.
"What is your good name sir?" she repeated forcefully. He yielded and divulged that his name to us. But the argument continued for a good five minutes. The warden's assistant, a meek and kindhearted woman who we'd befriended the previous day, sat quietly at the adjacent desk looking utterly dejected by the whole affair. Eventually we abandoned trying to reason with him and began telling him that his methods were unsound, that he should retire. But he soon threw up his arms and conceded, telling us that the door would be open at 5am. We shuffled out in livid shock, apologising to the assistant on our way past.
In the morning we went downstairs to find the watchman sleeping on the hard floor between the front door and gate, a space of about 6 feet by 3 feet. His entire body was covered by a blanket and his college textbooks lay on the floor beside his head. The door was bolted from the inside - he'd been locked out all night. There was an empty and comfortable-looking bed located in the hall, about 18 feet from the front door. But it seems that sleeping in that bed would have compromised the complicated task of opening the door at 5 o'clock. He didn't seem annoyed at being awoken at such an ungodly hour, and disappeared inside after locking the gate behind us.
Despite having originated its journey in Delhi some 30 hours previously, the 2078 Superfast Goa Express was on time. It did live up to its name, making far fewer stops than most trains and arriving in Goa on schedule, 24 hours later. There were two other foreigners in our compartment, a Finnish skinhead and his Italian girlfriend, both of whom were suffering from food poisoning and running a fever. One of the great joys of travelling by train in India is the food available on the platforms. Each station has its own unique style of food preparation and whenever the train stops there is a row of vendors waiting. As we moved south the change in cuisine became apparent. Gone were the samosas and bread pakoras, in their place idlis, dosas, coconut based curries and coffee, a sure sign that we were in the south, a region historically, linguistically and culturally distinct from the dominant north.

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