Thursday, 17. march 2011 4 17 /03 /März /2011 06:45

I have never visited a country which has more interest in music and dance than India. Finally a place where norbody is going to watch you strangely if you are dancing in a park or suddenly singing in the train.

 

On television, there are several dance competition programs running on all channels.

 

For every opening, event of some kind, a dance show is planned, wether it be classical Indian dance or some free style Indian/Hip Hop/Bollywood mix.

 

Each college organises a dance competition which is extremely popular. Each college has one or even several teams and allows them sometimes a budget for costumes or extra dance classes. The team puts up a little 4 minute programme which is a meldely of plenty of popular songs to which they perform, often with props I noticed. Famous dancers are engaged to judge the competition (with criteria of costume, choice of music, synchronicity etc) and the winners will get a (small) amount of money.

 

The Indian public is very demonstrative and will scream and encourage loudly with whistles and claps during the whole performance and of course after.

 

It is now two weeks I am working with Meher and the Banjara School of dance and I could get an insight at how much their performances are awaited and appreciated. Meher is India's first bellydancer. After spending 17 years in the Gulf, she is the first woman to teach bellydance and India rushed into the trend after she participated to India's got talent a couple of years ago and her team got till the final last year.

And truly, Meher and her Banjara dancers have talent. They created  an own distinctive style, mixing elements of bellydance, fusion to their Indian roots

Watch the girls in their TV performance: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBpcBaa2z4s

 

With only 22, Meher is working in 12 studios in Delhi, teaching herself and having 9 other teachers helping at the Banjara school of dance.

 

http://www.bellydancingindia.com/

von Marie-Aude
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Wednesday, 16. march 2011 3 16 /03 /März /2011 05:34

-Here we are, I am ill again. After a bronchitis which I quickly mastered thanks to the antibiotics I had brought from Tunisia, the cough now has taken a more allergic colour. So I decided to take the chance to test Indian medication. First, father Vinesh wanted to take me to a doctor, who is actually the guru of their religious (Swami) community. This man he explained, is a homeopath and is giving the consultations and diagnosis for free, to help his community. Unfortunately I didn’t come to meet him as he was out of town. So we went to the chemist, one small little shop, which apart from medicines, also sells snickers, mars and other sweets and diverse Dove or Garnier shampoos…

 

-Yesterday I also visited a Hindu temple close to the house. The temple is located in a very normal looking building on the street. Since Tuesday is an auspicious day for Hindus, there were many people coming in and out. Inside, many statues representing the main gods of the religion, all behind glass and all adorned with silk fabric. Only one of these statues was celebrated yesterday, the one of hanuman, the monkey god. A priest was squatting next to the statue. Going over the little step in front of the statue, you touch the floor with your left hand and reach to the priest the pocket of sweets you bought at the shop just opposite the temple. They are little very sweet orange balls which are baked and prepared only on Tuesdays. The priest takes your pocket, puts it in front of the statue, closes a curtain in front of it for a few seconds, opens the curtain again, takes back the pocket and takes a few balls from it for the god. Then you get your pocket back and you can eat the rest of the sweets.

 

-It sounds like a cliché to speak about this again, but the discrepancy between rich and poor is enormous. While in the car, anytime you stop (and this is often!), a woman or a child will come to knock at the window, with the hand going to their mouth, or the woman will be exposing her half-naked, dirty child in front of your window. When on the street, they will even hand themselves to your arm and follow you on several meters repeating the same words. I still don’t know how to react to these situations. You can give something to them, but this won’t encourage them to stop begging. And every time you ignore them you just feel like a monster. The cast system is well and alive… In many families, the servants will only get to eat the cheapest brand of rice, have a cup and a plate on their own so that they don’t touch the cutlery of the family. They also won’t use the same toilets. Cross-cast weddings are still a problem and every second day, a woman and/or her husband are murdered for honour reasons.

 

-Intimacy and privacy are not very high values like in Europe. Many times here I opened the door of my room and found someone sleeping in my bed :) You are never alone. When I visited the Red Fort with Meher’s mother and a group of people, each of them came to me and asked for my “good name”, my age, my profession, my country, everything. But it was not only for me. People socialized immediately, going to each other, introducing themselves and chatting.This is actually relaxing because relationships are somehow less formal than in Europe

 

-Indian flirt technique: "hello my name is XXX which means Love and Devotion" .....................

 

-Guest is God: I feel I didn't speak enough about the endless Indian hospitality. From poor to rich. Everyone will welcome you the same, as if you were part of the family. I feel so well cared about !!

 

-Many people, on the streets or on TV shows speak a mixture of Hindi and English, which makes it possible for me to follow most of the conversations :)

 

von Marie-Aude
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Thursday, 10. march 2011 4 10 /03 /März /2011 04:39

Back from Ladakh, back into the loudness of Delhi.

 

For the next three weeks I will be staying in a family living in South Delhi and teach private and group classes for the girls of the Banjara School of Dance in Delhi, India’s largest bellydance school. My family is Meher’s family, owner of the Banjara school. Meher lives with her father Vinesh, mother Sondia, brother Nihal and dog Pasha in a very nice house in the south of Delhi, a bit aside from the loudness of the street which is more than appreciable ! The mother is an English teacher, the father works at Nokia and the 18 year-old brother studies law. Together with them lives a young boy called Bagwat.

 

Bagwat’s role is to care about the house: he is cooking, serving the meals to the family, cares about the dog, the bedrooms, makes the shopping. When he has served everyone, he eats alone in the kitchen. This is really an unusual situation for me as a European girl. I come from a pretty normal family which never had any financial problem but however, I have always seen my mother cook, clean the house and this was normal. My grandmothers have a cleaning woman coming a few times a week to help them but that’s it.

Here in my Delhi house, there is nothing you have to do. Bagwat is cooking and cleaning. What quickly looks like a kind of slavery to European eyes (Bagwat will not eat together with the family but after) is far more complicated. Bagwat is coming from a village in which he would have had no perspective whatsoever. Here in the family, he is cared about, when he is ill it is payed for, when he gets married this will be cared for etc etc…

 

During the day, a woman is also coming to clean the floors. Only the floors and some washing of delicate clothes I was told …

 

There is also a driver, for the car, during the day…

 

And also about 8 people currently renovating the whole house. One of them a 11/12 year-old boy...

 

As I don’t speak hindi and I am not familiar with the Indian way of life, I just go from surprise to surprise and keep wondering how to act and what to say in most situations. Two days ago, as I was alone (which means with Bagwat and 8 workers) at home, two children entered, carrying a big tissue bag. They put it on the bed of the room I was in and told me things in hindi… big moment of silence and loneliness… :D I turned out later that there were clean clothes in the bag. Actually also my clothes. Aha. So there is also an extra team for washing and ironing… For the time being, the whole house crew is watching me with big eyes as soon as I go pass them, as if they had never seen a white girl in their life… But no reason to worry.

Indians spend half of their day staring at stuff. If you want to visit India, you’re better not be offended by looks.

 

Since 2 days I have been teaching Meher in a small room close to her house but also accompanying her to her regular evening classes. From South Delhi to North Delhi, it is a 1,5 hour ride. First with the rickshaw to the metro station, then 1 hour of metro and again rickshaw to the big modern shopping mall in which the studio is located.

 

The metro of Delhi is a real pleasure: it is modern and especially, clean! It is forbidden to spit, eat make photos and there is security everywhere. Before entering, you go under a metal detector gate, there is one for men and one for women. The officer will then search you (very quickly ! :D) and then you put your bag under the X-ray, like at the airport, where the officer in charge will maybe raise the eyes from his magazine to watch the content of your bag. Then you can go! Arriving on the quay, as a woman, you should move the front of the train as it is reserved for women. Some pink signs painted on the floor are announcing “Women only” and the area is separed by a small fence from the rest of the waiting zone where all the men are gathering. Even if it is not compulsory, all women use this possibility, which makes the front of the train very colourful. Police officers on the quay control that men don’t try to enter at the front of the train.

 

The bellydance classes are the same as everywhere in the world. He students are maybe more shy…and dedicated: There are some workshops running from 6 to 9 AM (yes, AM !!), which are fully booked…

 

von Marie-Aude
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Monday, 7. march 2011 1 07 /03 /März /2011 09:57

Feb  26th

My day in Dehli was actually a training day for Ladakh. In the morning, Sonam, my contact person in Dehli fetched me at the hotel. He had warm clothes to give me, as I couldn’t really bring much with me to India.

Since I didn’t have any booking for the Raunak hotel in New Dehli (I did ask them ! but they were obviously not in a hurry to take my reservation), Sonam took me to the Ladakhi/Tibetan quarter in the north of Dehli, in search of a cheaper guesthouse. The quarter looked like a training area for the coming week: people dressed in Tibetan clothes, different tea sold, Tibetan/Ladakhi  jewellery for sale… but with over 25°C J 

After quite some time, a room was found for me and we drove there with a rickshaw. The small room was indeed much nicer than the touristic environment of the previous hotel… Sonam introduced me to momos, some kind of Tibetan raviolis which can be filled with meat or vegetable. This meal was definitely the best since a long time !!!! Even topping the pizzas of Pushkar…

In the afternoon, after a small rest, I joined Sonam in a Buddhist temple in Dehli. Again a small preview of my week in Ladakh. Then, we went together to buy vegetables: in the winter, Ladakh is so dry that nearly nothing grows. Vegetables are a very valuable present ! I was also warned that the water is scarce in winter, as most of the tubes are frozen. Washing will not be a great part of my stay… In the evening at the hotel, I wanted to take a real big long shower to feel at least clean. Well too bad  no hot water in the hotel in Dehli… J 

Sonam cared about me really well during the whole day, even organizing me a taxi for the next morning and promising to be in touch (ah yes: my phone would not work over there…).


Feb 27th

Short night, useless to say… The flight was at 8:40. The connection in Jammu was no problem and we started again on time to Leh, main city of Ladakh.  Flying over the Himalaya is an experience… So nice I had to do it twice J When arriving over Ladakh, the clouds were so thick that the captain turned back to Jammu. After one hour of waiting there, we gave our journey another try. The clouds had disappeared and we landed safely in the small airport of Leh.

The first impression was stunning: all around these immense old mountains, partially covered in snow… I was very far, very far away from what I knew…

Small old buses fetched the passengers (ah yes, there was only one other European guy…) and we were brought in a little hall where the people really fought to fetch their suitcase. I had to see mine go 5 times around before I just pushed the people away and grabbed it. As I wanted to go, an officer caught me and made me fill a form for foreigners. And finally, before exiting the hall, a hostess checked my luggage and luggage tag to be sure it was mine (??? Never seen that before…)

One of my biggest fears in Ladakh was altitude sickness. Due to the high altitude (3500m), oxygen is rarer, and for bodies like mine, that’s to say foreign to this environment, this doesn’t go without problems. The heart has to keep up with the blood so that the lungs and the brain are still sufficiently irrigated. So first no, I didn’t suffocate as soon as the plane had opened. But I had a headache, an felt rather tired when I arrived in the small guesthouse in Leh. I was brought there by Tupstan, who would be not only my driver in the next days but also the father of my guest family.

Quickly after I arrived in the guesthouse (which means after two cups o tea), I wanted, and needed to rest. This was my first encounter with the coldness of the winter, as the room was not heated… I managed to relax a bit under two blankets and fully dressed and finally went down to the kitchen. Two women were sitting with children, watching cricket on an old TV. Dressed in warm clothes and their head covered by scarves, they were the first picture of the many Ladakhi women I would meet in the week. The smaller daughter (1,5 year old), after the usual childish shyness (which I had actually forgotten, since the Rajasthani children were completely lacking it), became really interested in me, and especially in my (different) hair and (different) skin colour… Her little hands caressed long my face…

The first day was also of course the encounter with the “local toilets” as they call it. The guesthouse had two European style toilets, which were of course out of order since there is no water. So the ladakhi toilets are usually located on the upper floor (or on the roof) and consist in a whole. Everything which falls through this whole is used to make compost. Actually very ecological.

The two women prepared a dinner with the vegetables I had brought for them: rice, vegetable sauce and dal (lentil soup). I was pretty tired and the symptoms of altitude sickness didn’t give me a great appetite. I was given a gas heater, with which I tried to warm the room. Before going to bed however, I had to turn it off and so I got under the blankets with all my clothes, including gloves and cap.


Feb 28th

In the morning, after a short sleep and a delicious breakfast made out of Ladakhi bread and apricot jam (apricots are growing in the summer), Tuspstan fetched me to take me on a tour to two main  monasteries of the region.  We also packed my luggage, since I was to sleep at his place the next night. So this was my first real encounter with Ladakhi streets and landscapes. Like in Rajasthan, animals are running free along the streets. Cows of course but also donkeys and dzos, some cross of yak and cow. Cows and dogs however were much more furry than in Rajasthan J People also are less colourful but not less beautiful with their Asian faces, tick coats and veiled faced.

Our first stop was Shey, the old capital of Ladakh, before it became Leh. The former palace is now a Gompa, a monastery. First contact with lamaist Buddhism for me. In the middle of the white brown and blue landscape, the paintings and the flags of the monasteries are the only touch of colour. The walls of the yard are adorned with paintings of the different deities, forming a really exotic and foreign image for me. I had really no idea who the characters were, what the symbols were to represent. I could only observe what Tupstan did. And as he is very pious, I had enough to watch.

He whispers very often the famous sentence “Om mani padme hum” and says it also while counting the pearls of Buddhist “necklace”. Every time there is a stupa (a kind of hat-shaped monument), you have to go around it clockwise. The roads even make a special curve to allow you this in your car, as there are stupas everywhere. In the monasteries and also on the road sides, you find these little spinning drums which contain mantras. You should also spin them clockwise so that the mantras are spread in the wind. The coloured flags have the same role. When arriving close to a monastery, Tupstan will join the hands and bring them in front of his face, whispering something. In the monasteries, in front of the statues, Buddhists lie down on the floor several times after each other and then offer something to the statue. Most of the time money, but also food or bangles.

As we entered Shey monastery, a puja, or prayer, was running. Monks sat on the floor in front of small tables with music instruments. In the center front, the rimpoche, or head of the monastery, was reading mantras. And all around, people sitting on the floor, listening. For someone with a Christian education like me, the following was interesting and unexpected: although it is a prayer, a mass, you can enter when you want. There is nothing you have or say or repeat. Some people just listened, some moved their lips chanting Om mani padme hum, some chatted with their neighbours. Some younger girls went through the people serving tea to anyone who had brought a cup. At one point, a monk also went through the people to give a spoonful of rice with butter, coconut and almonds. This had to be taken in bare hands and also I as a foreigner received my spoonful.  I felt very lucky to be part of such a puja, even if the meaning of everything is still unknown to me, I enjoyed the “unserious” and yet pious atmosphere.

After the visit, Tupstan took me to a house of his neighborhood where I met his 14-year old daughter, his wife and other relatives. Of course I was offered tea and even a lunch. At that point I must speak about eating in Ladakh. Most of the day in winter is spent drinking tea. It can be sweet milk tea, but also the famous salted butter tea. By chance I like it. I imagine life in Ladakh very difficult if you don’t. You never have to ask for tea, you are given some, period. And even if you have not drunk any sip of it, you are asked if you want more J . As soon as your cup is empty, it is refilled. Sometimes you are even served two cups at the same time. This over-hospitality culminates in the fact that you are served twice as much as the rest of the family and as a guest, you have to eat first, with everyone watching you. The situation becomes particularly funny when you are served something you don’t know how to eat. And if you hesitate and don’t start to eat immediately, you are asked if you want more…

After lunch, Tupstan drove me to Hemis monastery, one of the oldest and most famous one in Ladakh. In the summer, this monastery is crowded with tourists. But now in winter, Tupstan and I were the only visitors and could enjoy a really peaceful atmosphere.

Back in Thiksay, I was finally brought to Tupstan’s house where his daughter Angmo and 18-year old cousin Palkit were waiting. The ice of shyness was broken by a little bottle of nail polish J The two girls applied me the blueish colour carefully, and it finally came out that they were speaking a bit of English, unlike mother Palkit unfortunately . After dinner, I was brought into a room with a gas heater and got myself ready to go to bed. Bed, this means a carpet on the floor and 4 blankets, as well as Angmo and cousin to sleep next to me.

 

March 1st

And on the 3rd day She washed… Finally got some hot water in a bucket to wash my face, teeth and hands… outside…

In the previous evening, it had been decided by the children that I would not go back to the guesthouse in Leh like planned, but remain for the rest of my stay in Tupstan’s house. Since he was on military duty the next morning (there are loads of Indian officers in Ladakh, due to its limits with Pakistan and China/Tibet), Angmo, Palkit and their friend Spalzes took me to Thiksay monastery, half an hour by foot from home. At that point I noticed that  was really half as fit as I thought. The headache has disappeared but going up a few steps was like running half a marathon. Same with dancing. Of course I could not escape a little show for the girls, which was incredibly tiring and brought back the altitude headache everytime.

In the afternoon, the girls took me to the nearby Indus river. And in the evening I was relieved to eat at the same time as everybody else. Angmo’s mother Palkit and all the family prepared momos and I tried to help. However, the folding of the momos is harder than you think…


…Food interlude…

Ladakhi food is based on vegetables (which were rare this week) and meat (especially goat, yak and mutton) and of course rice and noodles. Some famous (tested) meals include:

-chowmen: noodles with vegetables

-momos: raviolis filled with meat or vegetables

- fried rice: rice with vegetable

- soup: served in restaurants with any dish you order, they are spicy and fat. Minute-maid noodle soups are also very popular and sold everywhere

- tea: especially with milk or salted butter (I have probably eaten half a ton of butter in one week)

- chapati: bread for breakfast, cooked on the oven or over the fire. Eaten with jam or with an omelette

 

March 2nd

On that day, Leh was celebrating its religious festival called Dosmochey. The whole family and friends took the car to spend the day in the city, beginning by a pilgrimage in the monastery, going down an enormous slope into Leh palace. You’d better like dust and stairs if you intend to come to Ladakh. The city was very lively, full of traders offering mostly pullovers and shoes. After a brief lunch in an overcrowded restaurant, the girls accompanied me on my search for gifts and helped me bargain the best prices. Being in Leh was also the first occasion to go in an internet café and give a sign of life  


…Family interlude…

Tupstan’s house is a one floor house, with toilets and straw storage on the roof. They have one cow (which is milked twice a day by Palkit) with baby and several rooms. However, unlike European (or at least French) houses, there is not a room allowed to each person in the house. Angmo doesn’t have an own bedroom like European teenagers. The family lived together and also sleeps together, especially in the cold months. Also, relatives come and go in the never closed house, eat here, sleep here without it being a big matter of fact. The house has no running water and electricity is only available from 6:10PM to 11 PM. You need to learn to fall asleep with the lights on, until they are switched off by the Ladakhi government J The center of life is the oven, which is used to cook but also to warm the one room. It is heated with cow dung, which you can see drying on every wall in Ladakh, as there is few vegetation. The meals are prepared on the carpeted floor and the washing up also, with water heated on the oven. Although, due to the lack of water (which is by the way coming from a tap outside the house and has to be fetched every morning) the houses and clothes are not really celan, the families show great care for sweeping the floors every morning even before breakfast, with self-made brooms. Last consideration: the family I stayed with is not poor. I would even rank it as average+. This life is normal in Ladakh, not considered as poor.

 

March 3rd

This day was to be the beginning of serious matters as I was driven to Likir (about 3300m altitude) to start the 3-day trek tour. The morning had a little surprise: some snow laid on the ground, making the driving down to Likir a bit harder than planned. On the way, we picked Norbu, my trekking guide in Leh. A young good-looking man, scarce in words but looking friendly and competent. In Likir, the famous monastery was celebrating its festival, where I got a chance to see the Buddhist monks dance. After that Tupstan left and I was alone with Norbu. We started by a short (half an hour) walk to the guesthouse where we were to sleep the first night. First moments of big solitude when you are fighting to walk decently in the snow and are overtaken by cows and a group of children running… and I remind you of altitude problems…

The guesthouse was empty except for an old grandmother, sitting on the floor and pushing endlessly her drum, whispering Om mani padme hum… The rest of the family was still enjoying the festivities at the monastery. Since the weather was good and rather warm, I suggested Norbu to go for another walk in order to have some training for the 2 next days. Our route was the following: go over the first pass in Likir, then another one, walk 5 hours till Yangthang, stay overnight , go over the third pass and walk 3 hours to Hemishupachen for a next night. Altogether about 36km to walk.

So for a “try” Norbu took me over the first pass in Likir. Not an easy walk !! But there was such a view, and such a loud silence to enjoy at the top of the mountain in the end !!

The family in Likir was young and nice but unfortunately wasn’t speaking any English which of course limited the conversation. And moreover, I was exhausted by the walk through the snow and thus I confess, I was a very bad guest, I withdrew in my room and listened to my iPod until I fall asleep, mentally preparing for the next day.

…Trekking interlude…

-There is always a going up after the going down

-The pass is much further than you think

-Rocks are sneaky when they hide under the snow

-Your guide is treacherous and will always tell you “we go ONLY until that point”

-Your guide is walking with the hands in his pockets in front of you while you are using your last strength to keep up the pace with him

 

March 4th

As I opened the eyes in the morning and raised a corner of the curtain, the next surprise: snow. And not only a few flocks. It was snowing strongly and continuously, the landscape was already covered with the white coat. It looked bad for the trekking confirmed Norbu. It was too dangerous to go out, our next station Yangthang was too far to take the risk.

And on that morning, maybe due to the stress, the tiredness, I began to lose my breath, my nose was bleeding and I was coughing a bit. Even though there was actually and objectively no evidence for it, on that morning, I panicked and believed I was suffering of the lethal acute altitude sickness. I was anytime expecting to spit out the pink phlegma which was the sign of my condemned lungs. And I was stuck in Likir, far away from any help, hospital, doctor, family or anything. It took me long hours of music and French radio to calm down a little and convince myself that I would not die in the Himalayan snow.

In the end of the afternoon, the snow finally stopped and Norbu took me for a “little” (how come  believed him it could be little ?) walk outside where I made up with the snow. However we decided to cancel the whole trek, as we couldn’t predict the weather and take the risk to be blocked on the way and eventually miss the plane back to Dehli. Since Tupstan was also blocked by the snow, we spent one more night in Likir…


March 5th

In the morning, some friends of Tupstan fetched us in Likir. As a compensation for the missed trek, Norbu brought me to Alchi monastery, which turned out to be the most beautiful of all, with its old paintings. Unfortunately no photos allowed…

Back in Leh, I had some mutton momos with Norbu and was then brought back to my family where I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening.


March 6th

Tupstan fortunately had some ideas to care about me on that spare day. Together with friend Palkit and Spalzes, we went to Stok palace, again a former residence of Ladakhi kings. It was closed however.

After that, we went to a small place where a man keeps Bactrian camels. This very hairy species came to Ladakh thanks to the silk road from Afghanistan.

After that, we were back in Leh for more shopping and more momos.

Calm evening... saying goodbye and watching one last time from the roof the millions of stars of the Himalayan sky...

 

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von Marie-Aude
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Saturday, 26. february 2011 6 26 /02 /Feb. /2011 02:45

Leaving from Jodhpur, the bus took us to Pushkar in 4 hours instead of the 7 planned :)

There are good suprises sometimes...

 

Built in the hills around the sacred lake of Brahma, Pushkar is a holy city to the Hindus, who come from all over India for pilhrimages to the the Lake or one of the hundred temples of the city.

 

Now from my perspective, Pushkar is a really strange mixture between hindu faith and sea side resort atmosphere. Although alcohol and meat are prohibited in the city, everything elese is made for the occidental tourists who are the majority of the population on the streets.

 

It is rather hard to find anything really authentic, the shops offer mostly hippie clothes and various souvenirs. Fortunately I had got my rajasthani dresses made in Jodhpur, there aren't any fabric shops in Pushkar...

 

Pushkar doesn't only have disadvantages though: there is an Italian restaurant (finally no curry !!), some Nutella in the morning and since rickshaws are forbidden, the air is a bit purer.

 

First day, first experience of the contrast of this holy touristic city: I was caught by a brahman priest and brought to the lake. Sitting next to the water, the priest gave me a plate containing different powders, a bracelet and a coconut: all you need for a "Puja", a hindu prayer.

The priest had me tell the names of my loved ones, especially family, had me repeat the names of the hindu gods and different mantras. The ceremony had to end with a donation for charity

And while I was strangely moved by the whole ritual, I just couldn't help thinking if all this wasn't just a big tourist joke...

 

The day after thus, I decided to find about some real ushkar life and my friend H. and I tried to find some kalbeliya women in the city. The tourist agencies weren't too keen on helping us, so we just went to the market and had the chance to be met by Gita. "Namaste! I Gypsy girl from Jaisalmer !"

Like all Kalbeliyas, Gita is trying to earn a bit of money by painting with henna on the hands of the tourists. Which she actually doesn't have the right to. As we would lear later, the kalbeliyas are chased by the police and unwanted by the Pushkar population.

So we followed Gita and her child discretely, according to her wish, to a restaurant where she painted our hands.She was very friendly and speakful, so we soon got the invitation to her home. We also decided to pay for the henna by buying chapati flour, sugar and oil.

 

Again we followed her dicretely until we were out of Pushkar. We walked still 2 or 3 km in the heat to reach the dunes where the Gypsy camp had been installed, in the middle of litter.

 

Gita brought us to her house: a hut made of wood in which there is nothing but a kind of gittered bed and some old clothes. Giving the chapati flour to her daughter, Gita started to prepapre some vegetables she had bought on the way (after many discussions with the seller) and I helped her. One by one, women of the camp joined us in the small hut, all smiling and watching us with both curiosity and hope for something. These Kalbeliyas are really poor, especially the women, and actually beg for bras, little pouches or food...

 

When the curry was cooked, we were offered it, as well as chapati (the best from my whole India trip till now !!!!) and then she called some people to dance. Some men arrived to play music and a dancer named Gangha appeared. after a short performance in front of the hut, she invited me to join her and so we danced together several pieces, accompanied by the songs of the women nd the music of the men.

 

Since we had bought jewellery from them, Gita and her friend Sandra followed us to our hotel to get their money, bringing us by the furthest way to avoid the police, walking a few meters behind us.

 

The day after, it was actually Gangha and her sister Sardha who were to give us the 3-hour dance workshop and Gangha was al happy to meet me again, making me promise at the end of the afternoon that I would come back and not forget her.

Her attitude was really different from her sister's and all kalbeliya's actually, as she was the only one not to beg for anything.

 

On Feb 25th, we left Pushkar (after I sent a 6kg parcel with all my bought stuff to France) with the bus to the city of Ajmer, where we took the train to Dehli (a looooooooong way to go...).

The day trains are rather comfortable, you are also served loads of food (oh  first piece of meat since 10 days !!!!) but everything is sooooo slooooow...

In the end it was half pas midnight when we finally arrived in Dehli.

The dance group is now splitting, most of the girls return to their homes, some other remain in India for a few days still. H. has left this morning early.

 

Now preparing for Ladakh...

 

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Temple in Pushkar

 

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View over Pushkar, with the lake in the middle

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Gita, children and friend in her house

 

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Gangha performs in the Kalbeliya camp

 

 

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Dance workshop at the hotel in Pushkar

 

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Pushkar monkeys

 

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Women on the street

 

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Temple

 

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Well......

 

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Access to the lake

von Marie-Aude
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