I left you somewhere on a Monday or so before we left on our 3 day venture out to Shekhawati. It was formerly a wealthy but lawless land on the trade route between the Arabian sea and the Ganges valley. The noblemen of the area- thakurs apparently fought with each other a lot and really began to flourish when the East India company came in and imposed some semblance of merchant order in the 1750s. A century later, the British used skills of the local merchants in the coastal regions who moved away from the area but they built havelis (beautifully colored and ornate mansions) for love ones back at home. Kinda nuts and I’m sure there were history facts that I didn’t pick up on, but that was the gist.
Our trip out was ridiculous. It’s only a three hour trip out and we huddled our selves into 3 taxis, each with a teacher. Cruising at about 80, “we encountered a pot hole that just kept going.”Looking out the window from our beloved red ford, we saw our front left tire fly out and the driver did a delightful job of getting us to the side of the road with no concern or hesitance. While I myself was hesitant whether or not to but it in the blog because I wondered if this would somehow give the sense that India is a place of negligence or not safe, I add it to say that with a few girls and a hoard of men who came to help right away, we were back on the road in 15 minutes.
Once settled at the hotel we were on our way after lunch. I have come to the realization that I will not be able to identify anything on an Indian menu and the only way to really eat Indian is through a buffet. I may know the legit ways to eat Indian now- like putting dals in the little metal cups- and I might even ask for chipatis or puris instead of naan GASP. I actually haven’t had naan the whole time we’ve been here. Puris are the superior bread of choice when it comes to Indian, it’s a deep fried or steamed, I have no idea but slightly crispy and airy balloon that comes puffed and piping but then turns into hot bread. Oh my gosh I’m terrible at explaining said food but trust me it’s delicious with eggs.
So after lunch we headed to an organic farm teaching facility called Muharka. We visited their research site where they harvest mini crops, have vermicomposting visible, create vats for fertilizers and pesticides and generally act as a place where farmers can come learn some once traditional now organic techniques specific to the desert region. For example, in a small hut in the center of the grounds they burn cow dung and some herbs in copper pots whose ashes are then spread onto the tops of tiny pillars surrounding the area, which act as a pesticide. They also use cow urine and some poisonous nicotine hallucinogen as another pesticide. They also showcased a solar drying machine that extracted water from vegetables and we were able to taste the dried garlic, carrots and sundried tomatoes. So it sounds terrible that what I say next is what I remember most vividly about Muharka, the raitha. After our really nice visit (and most places you go) you’ll get a cup of chai and maybe some kind of snack. Here it started with a laddu (my favorite sweet I think here, basically a ball of brown sugar but not as sweet but still like brown sugar), bhuja (which I’m kind of also obsessed with, basically chow mein but made from lentils and on toast with ketchup= fantastic, it jazzes up our pile of 8 pieces of toast in the morning) and horseradish. Then came the raitha or something or other which was the most horrific thing I was supposed to eat thus far. I don’t think it would have been too bad with a meal, served like we have our plain yogurt, but it was like warm buttermilk with seeds of somekind swimming around and red oily droplets floating on top. So that might have put me over the edge on drinking warm milk alone…ever (which Indians love to have- we have it with our cornflakes for breakfast). Only the boys finished them and all the girls passed them on to them. Anyways, long story short, it was a traumatic milky experience that I don’t wish on anyone not up to stomach it.
Afterwards we left to see one of the best kept haveli museums in the area and spent time doing what we do best, playing around, taking pictures, discovering nooks and crannies and reconvening for a lecture. After that we caught a sunset on a small family farm that grew mustard and had several goats and cattle.
The next morning we headed toward a village school that drew in students from up to 80km away (not sure of the conversion but a mile is about .6 km). It houses students from primary ages to probably about 11 and man do these kids know their stuff. We got to chat with the principle about the education system in India, how it important exams were and what the students in the school were learning. We visited some science labs- including chemistry, biology and physics and I was shocked how the displays I saw and experiments they were doing were ones I remembered from high school. It is obvious that most parts of rural India are very well educated- it is a struggle for villages to offer opportunities that its children have earned once trained at schools and universities. This brain drain has left rural India with little other than textiles and agriculture as main its main sources of income. This is true though of those who can afford to send their children on to better and better schools…And what are these kids going to school for? I do not what to stereotypify India, but so many people in the middle class seem to be doctors or have some kind of government job. When our host dad asked Amber what she was doing with her life of what she hoped to do, she responded that she hoped to work for an NGO and did not plan to make a lot of money. Chuckling he said, why do all you people want to devote your lives to not making money. I don’t know why but from him, it’s really hard to hear to that. Is it because I feel we want to make a difference in international justice work and we don’t get his blessings? But should I be expecting to get that- maybe not and maybe he doesn’t seem himself in part of a developing country, or most conservative state of Rajasthan struggles still with child marriage and rape. It’s as if we came here to learn how to fit into international development work while those living comfortably in the middle class here don’t want anything to do with us. We shall see how this pans out.
Later we visited a fort and another larger farm where I saw the largest buffalo of my life. Granted, I don’t know if I’ve ever actually seen a water buffalo, the farmer also swung a bat at a tree and we ate these berries called “per” that taste like a cross between pear and an apple. FUN! After hitting up Muharka’s Tourism Festival somewhere else in town, which involved us buying treats and having our picture taken with staff as “international guests” for their newsletter, we went to the hotel and headed back to Jaipur the next day. In the car trip back we actually planned out via cell phones, a Lonely Planet and our trusted teacher a trip to Pushkar for the weekend. After booking three rooms at the Pink Floyd Hotel and getting a free drop off at the bus station we were en route to Pushkar with barely being back in Jaipur for 20 minutes. It was incredible.
We basically showed up at the bus station minutes before the bus we need to take was leaving and jumped on and bought our tickets on board. I think you could easily survive in India as long as you know you know where you have to go and just use correct inflection. Anyways, on a comfortable air conditioned bus, we were headed to Pushkar.
“Brahma dropped a lotus flower on the earth- so say the epics- and Pushkar floated to the surface. This pond-sized Hindu pilgrimage town is a magical desert-edged place with one of the world’s few Brahma temples. Rows of sacred ghats front a majestically magnetic lake, where hundreds of milk-colored temples and weather touched domes sit beneath a shifting, pale sky.” I thought that was a pretty good description.
We landed in one piece to the most amazing hotel of all time and for some reason the feeling that we had come to the right place to get a break from the India we knew and eat some food that we had been missing. First things first, our hotel was awesome. Run by a hard-core Pink Floyd fan, its rooms were all named after albums and the place was decorated with skylines- even Chicago!, famous movie posters- Blues Brothers, and their menu had peanut butter on it. (!!!!!!!). Part Two will come soon. This is good for one sitting I think.
Your entry here is a good testimony to the breadth of your intellect and interests as it covers such a wide array of interesting topics. Your experience on the farm and the various organic and sustainable techniques will be valuable info to share when you return - you are returning aren't you? You don't want to become one of those hippies who never leaves! (I loved your description of them as walking versions of 10,000 Villages).
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