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Published: January 15th 2008
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Jan 5, Meham
Left Sirsa after friendly curiosity of small numbers op pupils from high school next door had changed into blatant harassment. Like a bunch of flies they would not go away, never satisfied with what they saw but always wanting . . . what? I don’t know. What made me and the camper such an easy target for their (not so friendly) attention?
Anyway, I had stayed there for 3 or 4 days after being refused access to the local tourist facility and after finding a Mr. Malik, a teacher with a quiet parking area in front of his academy. He has been most helpful, not only with providing hospitality as much as he could, but also with helping me later with getting a most precious piece of equipment: a wireless USB data and voice modem that would connect my computer to the internet without having to find and internet café. He was willing to give the provider of this modem his ID number and particulars which I found a brave act of trust.
On my way from Sirsa I stropped at a tractor exchange gathering and cotton market. Cotton is grown throughout the area and large quantities
were piled up at various places. Most tractors here are Eichers, with a one-cylinder engine that gives them more than imaginable power. In fact, the Indians do a lot with one cylinder engines because most of their motorized rickshaws and taxis are also powered by 450 cc engines, manufactured by Greaves Cotton and Co.
I once read an entry in a website in which a Hollander claimed that Land Rovers were not really suitable for long-journey travels like overland trips. Fact is that in all the three years we’ve on the road, we seldom saw other makes unless they were trucks. Another statement was that in India and further East there were no Land Rovers. That is true, so far, but I haven’t seen a single Toyota either. The reason is simple: they are too expensive and, since India up to now is as flat as a billiard table without deserts or marches, there is nothing you can do for fun with those 4-wheeel drive cars anyway.
Eventually I arrived in Meham. Again, no joy from the local rest house. But at the police station next door I was most welcome and stayed a day to prepare me for the
onslaught that I imagined would befall me in Delhi.
After yet another day with willy-nilly visitors I’m starting to look forward to a place where there are NO Indians. They know no remorse or shame, enter my camper without being invited as if it’s on public display. This is going to be an unpleasant experience if it doesn’t change.
Well, after Delhi it HAS changed.
I spent the night in the parking area of a genuine shopping mall, the Shipro mall just out of Delhi on the main road to Lucknow. I’d come through Delhi without a scrap, on it’s own a small wonder: 40 km of obstruction (a large ambitious project is on the way to build an overhead railway for the Delhi metro) and for the rest the normal mayhem.
And at Shipro only one guy came in, plunked himself on the seat next to me and sat there gaping.
But my feelings about India are largely back to my initial ideas about this country.
In cities everywhere a smelly mess of refuse is left for scavengers including no-milk giving cattle, dogs, donkeys and goats - and people, all in a world of unfinished or neglected buildings, make-shift
structures and roads that are sometimes good, sometimes atrocious. There are far too many rickshaws for the people that need transport, busses with dents and scars, repaired by knocking bent metal flat, sometimes pieces of metal torn off their bodies and dirty, broken seats. Ox-driven traffic (oxen being the {s}lowest denominator) that moves with the sole intention to overtake whatever is in front, regardless of oncoming traffic. And endless workshops lining the road in villages where miracles are performed in order to keep the obsolete, underpowered and overloaded vehicles from disintegrating.
Going further to the East, more evidence of reckless driving could be observed. Four wrecked trucks, two busses and three abandoned and written-off cars were lying beside the road today, and I myself had an altercation with a Suzuki that tried to squeeze in in front of me and got dented for his effort. The large crowd turned against the driver and he left. So did I.
No, this is not going to be my favorite country.
The latest info on Hindu religion is this: eating of all meat, fish and even eggs is contrary to the Hindu believes. Milk giving cows are held in pens, all other cattle
is left to fence for itself. When they die, of old age, they are transported to places where they can rot and/or burned, and can be eaten by dogs etc.
Since eggs, and often chicken and fish is in ready supply, there are few real Hindu’s, it seems. At least not according the info I have. (From a practicing doctor who’s father is 75 and active, the only one so far being older than me.)
January 11. Nepal border.
In all the time I’ve been driving in India, I have not hurt anyone. I call that a real feat. But today, on my last day in India, something hit ME: the steel overhead barrier making it impossible for trucks to cross a narrow bridge. As always there was lots of traffic, mostly slow. Concentrating on that, I did not take notice of the steel beam. It took off the superstructure with ladder and “body bag” containing our quilt, a blanket and some other spare stuff, damaging the roof and broke the solar panel. And this being India, not Pakistan, no-one ran after me “Hey, you lost something!” Twice I went back to the spot after assessing the damage in its
full horrible light, but there was nothing to be seen to show what had happened. Everything spirited away as by magic. The roof can be repaired and I’ll survive the loss of our ladder etc but I feel bad about it. Almost everyday I’ve been in India, I lost something to someone who felt free to take it.
Ek is gatvol van India!
For the first time in my life I’ll be happy to leave the car and take the bus instead.
Sunday, 14e January.
Arrived in Kathmandu, the town with the most romantic name I know. Later I’ll tell more about this pace. At the moment, being in Nepal is like being showered by a gentle summer rain after having been standing up to my nostrils in waste water. It’s great here.
Next time more about that.
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