Ripples Following Ripples ~ LUCKNOW
AND BACK
It
was December 18th. My rickshaw driver came, and off
we went, with me riding behind him. It took almost
an hour, and I had to wait at both sides of the border
for the officials to sort themselves out, but by 8
o’clock I was boarding a bus to Lucknow with
the help of the rickshaw-driver, who was happy with
what I gave him. Strangely, the bus wasn’t crowded,
and I had a reasonably-comfortable seat at the front
near my bags. When we got to Lucknow, a young guy
named Santosh ~ another Santosh, this one
a journalist ~ helped me to find the hotel I was looking
for ~ Choudury Lodge ~ and even invited me
to stay at his home, but although I appreciated his
kindness, I declined, needing my own space.
Lucknow is huge and congested, but with my bike I
was able to find my way around. My new pedals, however
~ as I should have known, being so cheap ~ soon began
to give me trouble, and I hadn’t gone far when
the left one fell off, having stripped the thread
inside the crank. This required major ‘surgery,’
and after much searching, I finally find a machine-shop
where the man agreed to ‘operate’. His
first attempt was not a success, and I had to go back
the next day, with a new idea how to fix it. It was
rather difficult explaining to him as he knew no English,
and my Hindi is almost non-existent, but somehow,
he understood what I was trying to say, and turned
up a new pedal-spindle on his lathe. It took several
hours, but eventually, it did the trick; my bike was
ready to ride again, the man was edified, and I was
pleased.
All this time, and during most of the time I was in
Lucknow, a thick fog covered all Northern India, and
the sun seldom broke through. The poor visibility
caused cancellations and long delays in bus, train
and plane services, and also affected the internet;
it was very difficult to get connected, and some days
not possible at all. It quite spoiled my stay there,
but I went to most of the places I wanted to, including
the ruined Residency, the entrance-fee for which had
increased to Rs100. I met an Aussie girl named Jill,
and showed her around, and she appreciated my narrative.
The ruins are extensive, and it must have been an
amazing com-plex before the siege! I was disappointed
that the stairway to the tower had been bricked up.
At other places, the entrance-fees were so high that
I didn’t go in. There was no fee to visit the
La Martiniere Public School, and I was even shown
around part of it.
In one cyber-place, I got talking with the young guys
in charge and one of them asked if I liked cricket;
I said, no, of course. “Do you like football?”
Also, no. “Do you like f-----g?” At this,
I repri-manded him, and he was quite contrite, giving
me an opportunity to lead him to other things, which
he seemed to understand. I terminated my session to
speak more with them. They didn’t charge me
for the ½ hour I was online, and they promised
to email me (they didn’t keep their promise).
In spite of the problems encountered in Lucknow, I
quite enjoyed it, as I met a number of friendly and
kind people, and felt I would have to revise my opinion
about Indians. I was surprised ~ or was I? ~ when
Nettin ~ the young guy I’d reprimanded
about his lan-guage ~ expressed his poor opinion of
Nepalese people (the feel-ing of dislike between Indians
and Nepalese is mutual).
Born and raised in a welfare-society, I’d forgotten
my immense good fortune and taken it all for granted.
Desperately poor, many Indians ~ and indeed, countless
people around the world ~ seek some kind of security
in the future through children; these are their insurance,
but very tenuous. They struggle to raise in a week
what I spend in a day. Taking this into consideration,
I should be more understanding and tolerant; life
for them is much harder than anything I have known,
and they would ~ I’m sure ~ willingly change
places with me if they could.
Some slick kid passed me on a motor-bike and said,
“Hey, baby!” ~ American influence via
movies and TV! And another guy ~ maybe 35 or 40 ~
riding a scooter, came from behind and said, “Hey,
buddy.” When I didn’t respond, he said,
“Hey, uncle,” and then something I didn’t
catch. I think he must have been gay, be-cause as
he drew alongside, he reached out and said, “Hold
my hand,” before speeding off! I had to laugh!
At the train-station, I made a reservation for Jhansi
for two days hence, then stopped to visit the machine-shop-man,
who was pleased to see me and never stopped telling
his friends and neighbors about me and his successful
job.
My train to Jhansi was delayed by several hours because
of the fog, and took about 10 hours to get there,
arriving late at night; I waited quite a while in
the station to get up and over the stairs, as people
were swarming on them like ants, and in crowds like
that, you must be careful about pick-pockets (I’d
already had my pocket picked in Lucknow, but only
some medication was lifted). It was hard to find a
hotel at that time, but I succeeded. The room was
full of mozzies.
The next day was to be decisive because of the frustration.
I had come to Jhansi to visit Khajuraho, which can
be reached only by bus, but when I made it to the
distant bus-station through the fog, I could find
no-one there to give me information, so I returned
to the train-station, thinking to get a train to the
south. Here again, I was frustrated; all trains were
running late, and I couldn’t get a booking to
places I wished to go ~ like Hyderabad or Bangalore
~ and, unwilling to travel without a reservation,
I decided to abort my trip in India and return to
Nepal and see what I could do there, so got a ticket
back to Lucknow for later in the day. This, too, was
late, and we started off just before midnight, arriving
around 6 am. There was a sharp wind blowing and it
was very cold as I fol-lowed a rickshaw on my bike
to a hotel I directed him to.
After shaving and washing in warm-water, I went to
the bus-station to inquire about buses to the border,
and decided upon one the following morning. It was
then that I came to know about the tsunami that had
devastated coasts in the Indian Ocean. I thought of
the Sakais, who were to have been on one of the worst-hit
islands in Thailand; I feared for their safety, and
sent them an email.
That day, a strong wind from the north-west blew away
the fog, and the sky became clear, but I kept to my
decision to leave, and got the bus. It was dark when
we reached the border, and of course, it took quite
a while to get across; a new 60-day visa for Nepal
cost $30. It was late when I reached the hotel I’d
stayed in 10 days before. It always felt good to return
to Nepal from India, and this time was no exception.
Early next day, I got a bus to Butwal, but 2 hours
on, we ran into backed-up traffic; there was a bomb-rigged
bridge ahead, and we had to detour on a track through
the forest, but apart from this and some burned-out
vehicles, there was no other sign of Mao-ists. I stayed
in the same hotel in Butwal, and went to a cyber-café,
hoping to find word from the Sakais, but there was
none.
After a noisy night in that hotel ~ I really don’t
know why Indians and Nepalese seem unable to consider
others ~ I got a bus to Tansen, high in the mountains,
having missed going there on my way down. I checked
into the same hotel as in 2003, and went out for lunch
and a walk around. I decided to go to a place called
Rani Ghat the next day, and this I did. It
involved a hike of sev-eral hours over steep and winding
tracks, mostly downhill. There were few signs, and
I took a wrong turn, but kept going, and it eventually
led me there. Built beside the Kali Gandaki almost
100 years ago by some eccentric and corrupt politician,
Rani Ghat was an old mansion, with no access-road
to it, and was lapsing into ruin; it must have been
a tremendous feat to transport the materials over
the trails I had just traversed. I had a look around
the desolate place ~ a nice spot for nature-lovers
~ and crossed the suspension-bridge over the river
~ one of the longest bridges in Nepal ~ then had dahl-baht
before heading back up to Tansen. I’d wanted
to do this the previous year, and now I’d done
it.
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