The Running of the Cows

Our first stop in the Indian state of Rajasthan was the city of Jaisalmer. Saumil was anxious to show us the Jaisalmer Fort, also known as the Golden Fort (or Sonar Quila). The fort was built in 1156 as a city within a fort. It's still a living fort today, although the population has outgrown the fort and spread outside the walls. If I remember correctly, I think our guide told us there were 3,000 people that lived and worked or had businesses inside of the fort.

There are many narrow alley-like streets inside the fort where there are merchants with small shops in front of their living quarters. At one point, the seven of us were following our guide (who also lived in the fort) through one of those narrow streets. By narrow streets, I mean maybe barely larger than a nice sidewalk. And the walls of the inner structures are built right up to the streets. The street we were on was about as wide as the one shown, but much more bare, with a few residences.

If you'll notice to your left of the moped, there's one of the millions of India's sacred cows. The open gate of the fort allows cows, goats, or dogs to just stroll through the fort. I don't know why a cow would care to stay at a place that has no grass, but there were lots of cows. (For the sake of my sanity, by "cows" I mean "cows" and "bulls".)

Anyway, back to the story. We were walking through a street as narrow as the one shown--the seven of us and our guide. The guide was leading the way, and I was second in line. I noticed a cow nursing her calf smack dab in the middle of the street. Oh, and I don't know a lot about the bovines of this world, but Indian cows (and bulls) both have some mighty fierce horns. This ol' girl was no exception. Besides that, she ended up being very protective of her calf.

Back to the guide--he walked to the left of the cow and I was just a few feet behind him. As he walked by, the cow gave him a small "gore" to his rump...and by rump, I mean his arse. I stopped dead in my tracks. The guide turned around and said, "C'mon, it's ok". (Yes, his English was very good.) Not that I didn't trust the guide, but I didn't trust the cow! I was scared to talk, but very emphatically shook my head "NO!". He tried to coerce me once more, and I shook my head even harder.

Then the guide said, "Saumil, come and show her it's ok". Saumil bravely ventured in front of me, and walked to the left of the cow. He got an even harder gore to his arse. Then she turned her head, looked right into my eyes, and I could swear she said, "You're next, bitch!". Not caring that her calf was still locked onto her udder, she charged me. The six of us (minus Saumil and the guide, who were safely on the other side of the cow) took off running as fast as we could on those slick stone pavers.

I have this little problem when I get scared. My eyesight just doesn't function very well when I need it the most. I don't know if I get tunnel vision, or if things just don't register. And again, my vision failed me due to fear. I jumped onto the first landing I saw in hopes of escaping the charging cow. Then I noticed I had only jumped onto a very small six-inch step! The thing that saved me was that the cow followed the remaining five of our troupe after I veered off to the other side. Right across the narrow street from me were all five, including my son. They had jumped onto a porch which was about three feet high. I was so scared, I didn't see them or the porch. I only saw that measly little step. And it was my savior, or so I thought.

I'm sure the cow could've jumped onto the porch with them, but the lovely old Indian woman that lived there saw what was happening. She had gone inside her little residence and gotten a large bowl of something--I assumed it to be grain. The cow stopped dead in her tracks and ate out of the bowl, forgetting about the goring she was wanting to do to us. I must've looked pretty funny to the group, standing on that stupid little step. We all had a good laugh, although it was a very nervous laugh coming from all of us.

That's a lesson to always pay attention to your instincts. If that little warning goes off inside of your head, listen and react to it. My little warning voice told me I was going to get an even harder gore to my arse if I'd walked by her. And another thing...when something like this happens to a group of people--you know, like a charging cow, lion, tiger--you don't have to be the fastest. You just have to NOT be the slowest! Since I was old enough to be the mother of everyone in my group and way too much overweight, I'm sure I was the slowest. Why she didn't end up following me is something I'll never understand.

The next day we were in the fort again, in a narrow alleyway--but this time it was on a slope. We were heading up the slope. And there was another one of those durned cows ahead of us. I didn't see a nursing calf, but by then I trusted no cow. One of my fellow travelers was right in front of me, but when that little voice went off, I moved to the left closer to the wall.

Just then the cow decided to turn around and go down the slope. She lost her footing on the slick stone pavers and all I could see was cow moving down that street very fast, with hooves and legs flying all over the place. As she went by my traveling companion, she scraped against Vaidehi's arm and left quite a mark on it. Now, if that had happened to me, I would've imagined picking up rabies or mad cow disease. Vai didn't flinch--just rubbed her arm and kept going.

You would think the cow goring was the most exciting thing I saw in India. Not quite. On the way to the main wedding ceremony, we were riding in the back seat of someone's car. Behind us, in a city the size of Indianapolis with five times the population, was a huge elephant with his driver (mahout) perched on top--right behind our car! All of that traffic, and here's this elephant transportation!

Just thank God that elephant wasn't nursing her calf!

My Camel Trek in the Thar Desert

Four years ago last Thanksgiving, I woke up at my brother's house in Camby, Indiana. The smell of turkey baking was already in the air. I forced myself not to think of the dressing, cranberry relish, and pumpkin pie that would be served to my family around noon. I wasn't going to be there. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and to actually miss this day with my family was very hard. But my son and I had big plans that day. We were flying to India.

After 24 hours of flight time and many hours waiting in airports in Indy, Chicago, Zurich, and Mumbai, we hopped on the plane to our final destination...Ahmedabad--about an hour's flight north of Mumbai. Around 3 in the morning, India time, we arrived. As we left the airport, the first thing I saw was Saumil perched above the crowd, smiling and waving at us. We made it! All I could think of was how amazing it was to be able to actually find someone a half-world away.

The reason for the trip was to attend Saumil's wedding. Saumil is my "adopted" Indian son, meaning adopted in the heart--not on paper. During the next week, there were all sorts of parties, celebrations, dinners, receptions, and eventually a ceremony at the estate of a very rich Indian friend. I didn't understand the reasons for all of the receptions and get-togethers, but I never saw so much food in my life.

My favorite Indian "shindig" was the mehndi party. (Forgive me that I don't know the Indian name for this.) They have one for the groom's family and friends and another for the bride's family and friends. This is where the women have their hands "tatooed" with henna. Although there were a few men there, the party was mostly women. One woman came with a small drum, and soon began beating the drum softly. All the women joined in, singing one song after another. I remember wishing I knew the translations to the songs. Even though I didn't have a clue what they were singing about, I felt a sisterhood with these women.

With singing in the background, several mehndi (henna) artists were applying the henna paste onto the palms of the women. They asked if you wanted one hand or two hands done. I asked for two. The henna paste was in small conical plastic bags which reminded me of little icing bags.

My artist deftly applied the henna in intricate patterns covering both hands. The henna had to dry for quite a while. Then it's scraped and washed off, and to keep the henna from turning orange, lemon juice is applied. I think it must've been my white skin, but my mehndi looked pretty orange from the start. No matter...I thought it was very cool. I hoped it would last until I got back home so I could show everyone. Good thing I took photos.

The bride has henna applied to her hands and arms below the elbow and her feet, going up a few inches onto her ankles. She has the more elaborate mehndi to show she has patience. And the best part is, she is to be pampered (and not allowed to work) until the mehndi is completely faded.

After all the wedding ceremonies, it was time to start our trip to the state of Rajasthan. We climbed into a jeep with the bride and groom, the cousin of the groom, a couple from Germany, and the hired driver. With eight of us, there was not even enough room on top of the jeep for everything--even after packing very lightly for the trip. I sat with my backpack on my lap the entire time. But what a trip! Once we hit the desert area, we began seeing wild camels. At one point, a couple of mongoose ran across the road in front of our vehicle. After a very long, but interesting drive, we arrived at our first destination, Jaisalmer. Outside of Jaisalmer is where we took our camel ride, in the Sam Dunes of the Thar Desert.

I never realized how huge a camel is until I was next to one. These were "one-humpers", or "dromedary" camels. The desert people that owned the camels had a sort of saddle on their camels, covered with blankets. The camel my son and I were going to ride had a double saddle with a crudely-fashioned pommel and one pair of stirrups. Our camel guide was a little boy named "Malook". He spoke very little English, but I understood him when he showed us how they control the camels by pulling on reins that looked like homemade twine. They were attached to little metal posts that pieced the camel's snout. When Malook pulled the rein, the camel bellowed in pain. I begged him not to do that. (Shown to the left is Vaidehi, Saumil's cousin and my son and me--both taking photos of Vaidehi.)

I climbed onto the front of the camel, and my son perched in the second seat on back. Remember the pommel and stirrups? Thank God they were there. Immediately and without warning, Malook ordered the camel to stand up. Rocket, the camel, stood up butt-first, which threw us into a 45- degree downward angle facing the desert sand. The only thing that kept me from rolling off of the camel's neck was that pommel and the stirrups. The only thing that kept Brian from rolling off was me!

When a camel walks, it's a lurching-type of movement. I could hear the vertebrae in my back crackling with every step of the camel. (I later told my chiropractor if I rode a camel every day, I wouldn't need him!) I didn't find out until later that camel rides are extremely uncomfortable for the male gender, and not because of the backbone gyrations.

As we rode, desert people walked alongside us, begging us to buy sodas, chips, or throw a few rupees to them. I noticed that the desert people dress much differently than the city people. And I remember thinking that the desert people were luckier than city people. The air was pure and not polluted by kerosene-burning auto rickshaws. There wasn't the constant horn-honking or crowds of people.

Within a few minutes, our camel was lagging behind the rest. Malook wanted me to take the reins, but I refused. There is no way I want to try to steer a camel using the torture method. And I've seen footage of camels biting people and spitting on them. I don't think I wanted to take a chance at getting "bit or spit". Malook wanted to go faster to catch up with the rest of the group--I told him we were going fast enough. He insisted, and once I realized the ride was a lot smoother at a faster gait, I was ok with it.

After a 30-minute ride, we arrived at the halfway point. Malook ordered the camel to lie down and we dismounted. It appeared the stopping point was merely to give the locals another chance to sell us their wares. We took a few posed photos with the camels and then it was time to head to the camp.

The guys decided they were not getting back on the camels, due to the pain. They would walk to the camp, but all I could think of was scorpions and camel poop--I was eager to "saddle up" for the last half of the trip. At the camp, we were offered tea while we watched a dancer balancing clay jars on her head to the tune of a little desert band. It was a hoot, to say the least...and yes, we were pretty sore for a few days. The back of a camel is much wide than a horse.

I can never repay Saumil and his family for the opportunity to see India more as natives and not as tourists. I had a bit of culture shock, mostly due to seeing so many homeless people and begging children. But I came back home with a new appreciation for what we have. This trip changed my life in many ways. And I'll never forget Malook and his camel "Rocket".

~Namaste