It isn’t the most opulent, the most
tourist-friendly or the most comfortable country we’ve visited. And it
certainly isn’t always the most pleasant on the olfactory system. But India has
more culture, sincerity, tradition and frankly pizzazz than the others. New
Delhi (with a detour to Agra) was thus one of our favorite stops in the two
years we’ve done this. Casey and I were
so mesmerized by the people and places of this country that we took very few
photographs (with the exception of photos of the Taj Mahal, contained in a
separate blog entry). Instead, we experienced the country firsthand. We
devoured the people and their quirks and mannerisms. India really charmed us.
Casey gets his umpteenth
tattoo in Delhi. He’s now had almost
as many skin
procedures as Joan Rivers.
In my youth, I remember three
depictions of India: (a) “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi,” the children’s book about the
heroic mongoose that becomes the family pet to protect the humans from two
cobras that live in their garden, (b) “Jonny Quest,” the 1960s animated series
which includes the character, Hadji Singh, the Indian boy who is the adopted
brother of the title character and is always seen wearing a ruby-encrusted
turban and Nehru jackets (and sometimes
charming a cobra), and in my adult life (c) “Gandhi,” the movie about the great
champion of India’s independence that first exposed me to the sari. So, my
perceptions of India centered on snakes, jewels and colorful garments. While
these simplistic stereotypes do not come close to capturing the spirit of India,
they are all still present. While men dress in the comparatively drab attire of
the West, Indian women still wear the wrap around, brightly colored, sequined
or brocade cloth. And the love of big, bold-colored gems is ever-present throughout
the countless shopping areas. India seems infatuated with pretty things.
Those who know me well, know that I
love snakes. I don’t know why, but I have loved them since I was a child. They
don’t scare me. Even the poisonous ones really don’t bother me (though I suspect
I might feel differently if I were paralyzed from a venomous bite). While
snake-charming is officially outlawed in India, it still goes on, somewhat covertly.
In out of the way areas, for a small tip, a man will play his fife as the snake
exits a basket. Heck, this guy even allowed me to pet and play with his small
and large cobras.
Erik is pleased
to know that he can still charm someone,
even if it is a
snake.
One of our travel mates, April loves
the women’s clothing. Basically, the outfits consist of large pieces of cloth,
in bright, pastel colors, sewn and wrapped around to fit the women, with
numerous sequins or other inlaid items. While I love April, I am not so impressed
with the garments. To paraphrase Ellen DeGeneres in a different context,
frankly, I think the sarong and sari are so wrong and sorry. Indeed, the only
people I can think of in the United States who could get away with such gaudy gowns
are drag queens. And only the queens from small, southern towns. (The ones not
quite ready for Atlanta.) Granted, whether America likes a particular fashion
or trend is hardly indicative of whether it is desirable. But I think the good ole
U.S. of A. got it right on this one. April may be jaded because she spent
several years in Pensacola. A drive along the beach there reveals houses
painted in colors not otherwise seen outside of a child’s Crayola box.
But I can ignore the over-the-top
outfits (with one eye closed) and love the other wonderful parts of India. It
has a rich tradition that is still pervasive throughout its people, places and
things. India has become Westernized in many ways, just as every other
civilized part of the world has succumbed to both the good and bad of the West.
(The latter is reflected by the irritating presence of McDonald’s, Burger King and
KFC in even the most beautiful sections of communities. It chaps my hide that
many people from other countries think these places reflect America’s appetite –
that we are all a bunch of fast food aficionados who couldn’t distinguish a
good meal from a spread at Golden Corral. But I digress.)
India’s Western influences are
understandable because they began long before any surge in American visitors.
India was a longstanding British colony before it gained its independence
through the nonviolent protest of Gandhi and his followers. The English
influence is exemplified by the fabulous high tea at the old and majestic
Imperial Hotel. (And as an aside note, while I don’t care for the purportedly
Indian food served at restaurants in America, the real stuff I ate in Delhi and
Agra was delicious. Who are these people opening so-called “Indian” restaurants
in the States?)
Casey, the
quintessential Philistine, feigns appreciation for afternoon tea
at the Imperial
Hotel (much as he pretends to like all the musicals I make him see)
And this provides a nice segue into
hotels. We stayed at The Leela Palace, which is, without question, one of the
nicest hotels I have ever visited. The décor was magnificent in both the common
areas and the individual rooms. Old world meets new world opulence. Consider by
way of example only, the bathtub. A tub so deep that even I could fully fit
within it. A remote-controlled TV embedded in the mirror above the tub. And a
portable showerhead next to the faucet. The food, other than that presented by the
unfortunate offspring of Le Cirque (see earlier blog entry) was fantastic. I
could have grazed at the bread and pastry table of the breakfast buffet all
day. I do admit that it can be a little off putting to have a dozen people
stationed at spots three feet away from each other bow and wish you a good day
as you walk from the entrance to the elevator multiple times a day. But I could
get used to it.
The servers
allow Travis to put the finishing touches on his inaptly
named tiramisu
at Le Cirque, the only disappointment of The Leela Palace.
The
two years of this trip have featured many places I am truly glad I saw. This is
one of those places I hope to see again.
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