We wanted to relax a bit more in Pushkar (away from all of the rickshaws and traffic mostly) so we stayed one more day. I simply had to eat another ‘Green Goddess Salad’ from Honey & Spice (new favorite meal on the road – I cannot tell you how much I miss salads and milk. Just know that I do. a lot.) and we hadn’t stopped into the Brahma Temple yet… one of THE things to do in Pushkar. So, those two things became our primary things to do.
We hung out on our rooftop for awhile before making our way to the Brahma Temple. We arrived to utter chaos. A huge mass of pilgrims were waiting outside of the gates to get in. Not necessarily in line (has there ever been a real line in India?) and most holding flowers or coconuts or other offerings of sorts. We weren’t sure why the gate was closed, nor were we sure why there was such a crowd… But we waited, and like everyone else, we were pushed forward by the masses onto the steps leading up to the Brahma Temple, past the lockers where we were forced to part with our cameras and shoes, and then through the metal detector before going up the steps and into the Brahma temple itself.
Chaos ensued. Everyone was rushing towards the temple shrine atop a few more steps. Women were shoved forward (by other women and men alike), children were hoisted onto shoulders so they could see, and if you didn’t know you were in a holy place, you would have speculated that a Bollywood actor had just arrived to Pushkar or a cricket tournament match was giving away free tickets or… whatever else would make the people of India go INSANE!
Andrew and I sat down off to the side watching people slip off the edges (literally) of the shrine platform. Some passersby requested camera phone pictures with us before going up to the shrine. (Seriously, I still don’t get all of the attention!) And then when the masses dispersed- a little- we decided to see what the fuss was about, and went up to the shrine ourselves. When we turned in our shoes and cameras, we were handed a folded up piece of newspaper holding some flowers, but no direction as to what to do with the flowers…
We were pushed into the crowd yet again, and an older man, nearly cheek to cheek with me, asked where I was from. I responded, and then he told me he was in Pushkar with his students from out of town (I don’t remember the town they were from specifically). I waved hello to the group of girls in front of him, said hello, and that it was nice to meet all of them. They all smiled and wagged their heads back at me. The teacher thanked me. I responded that it was no problem, surprised that he thought he had to thank me at all! For what? Being nice? Carrying on a conversation in the middle of a holy site in Hinduism? We were pushed forward and I dropped my flowers into different caged areas of the temple. I think I went the wrong way because a whistle was blowing, and I was being immediately ushered towards one of the designated areas of exit. I have no idea what the shrine even looks like because I was concentrating so hard on where to put my flowers and not stepping on any toes…
The friendly teacher ushered us through some other areas, and we climbed up to see the temple from the front gate wall, surprising all of the school children when they looked up to see me above them. We went out, gathered our belongings and walked back through the town we’d been going back and forth through the past three days…
And then we got ripped off by a seamstress. seamster?
What’s interesting about living or traveling abroad for an extended period of time are the menial tasks you find yourself needing to do. Errands at home can often turn into adventures abroad. Today’s errand/adventure came in the form of getting Andrew’s shorts mended. Without thinking he dropped them off to this guy, (we’d been walking past him for three days, saying hello, making small talk, being friendly) not bothering to ask how much the stitching would cost him. Big mistake. When we returned to pick up the shorts, Andrew asked how much it would be- thinking 100 Rs maaaybe 200 Rs max. Homeboy asked for $10.00. Without batting an eye. I narrowed my eyes, Andrew laughed and told him he was in India and didn’t have any American dollars. Then the stitcher was quiet for awhile, not giving Andrew any clues on how much he should pay. Keep in mind I can buy a pair of pants for 100-150 Rs. A whole pair of pants.
Finally, he told Andrew it would be 350 Rs. I balked. Andrew sighed, I think a little bit annoyed for not having asked up front how much it would cost, but didn’t dispute his price. He asked if we were happy. I shrugged and said it was up to Andrew, although my eyes did not say “happy.” The stitcher knew what he did. He gave Andrew a scrap of fabric “for his head” to try to make up for it…
We walked away with another lesson learned. No matter how nice someone seems in India, always (ALWAYS) agree on a price before you leave them with your shorts.
