Monday, January 20, 2020
You fossil fuel freaks might want to know that, "In a database of more than 3,500 cities compiled by AccuWeather, about 83 percent saw average temperatures higher than normal last year." https://www.nytimes.com/
You can see how any one of these cities measured up at the link. For instance, the New York City averaged 55.7°, 0.7° above normal. Washington,D.C., the current home of science denial, averaged 60.7°, 2.4° above normal.
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We had a busy weekend. Saturday morning, we drove to Agra, approximately 220 km (136 miles) from New Delhi. We made one rest stop, which allowed me to sample local ice cream flavors. At 98 INR per small scoop, I had Fig N Honey and Litchi Caramel and can only recommend the latter, in spite of an impassioned decades-long search for fig ice cream.
Before we checked into the hotel, we visited the Tomb of I'timād-ud-Daulah a/k/a the "Little Taj," completed in 1628, by the same architect and for the same family that commissioned the Taj Mahal in 1632. The Little Taj, with inlaid marble walls, stenciled wood panels, and filigreed window and door openings, unfortunately shows little sign of restoration or even preservation. One positive was the need to only wear thin cotton booties over our shoes, which could be left on. I may start a sightseeing rating system based on the discomfort to your feet.
Our first look at the Taj Mahal itself came later in the afternoon, but, on the way, we encountered a wedding procession with the groom on horseback accompanied by a brass band, approaching the bride. Everyone seemed to be having a good time
We viewed the Taj Mahal from across the Yamuna River, seeing the great structure spread out in front of us. While I was generally familiar with its grace and beauty, its sheer size surprised me. We will get closer.
On the streets of New Delhi, we saw monkeys, camels, goats, and many stray dogs, but only in Agra did we see the presumably sacred cows in abundance, wandering freely on the roads and sidewalks, ignoring the mad swirl of traffic around them.
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Meanwhile, my attempt to remain temporarily aloof from the home front is being tested by many news stories. "Weinstein Jury Has Only 2 White Women as Prosecutors Protest" and "Pressured by Simmons Over Exposé, Oprah Winfrey Faced a Big Decision," represent low points in identity politics, a subject that increasingly haunts liberal politics.
The Weinstein jury in his New York criminal trial consists of 6 white men, 1 black man, 2 white women and 3 other women, black or Hispanic. The defense seems to have used its challenges to keep youngish white women, Weinstein's alleged typical victim, off the jury. Maybe it's a good sign that the prosecution is calling for fairness for white women, a situation that turns the usual complaints about stacking juries inside out, upside down and backwards. Or maybe we have gone too far in associating opinion inextricably with identity.
Oprah was executive producer of a documentary film dealing with allegations of sexual predation by Russell Simmons, an African American, who is one of the most powerful figures in the music industry. At the last minute, Oprah has pulled back her support of the project after Simmons and other prominent African Americans cautioned her. As the New York Times story reported, "the rapper 50 Cent accused Ms. Winfrey of 'only going after her own' — alleging that by supporting accusers of Mr. Simmons and Michael Jackson, she was turning her back on the black community."
Arguably, Oprah is the most powerful woman in the world, yet she has apparently been cowed by fear of being labelled a race traitor. Both situations easily lend themselves to caricature and I don't doubt that those desensitized to sexual predation will crow about them.
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Sunday morning, we visited the Taj Mahal, a mausoleum for Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan and Empress Mumtaz Mahal, a supposed testament to his love for her, ignoring his many other wives and concubines. It is a thrilling structure, in an case, up close or far away. As massive as it is, it is perfectly symmetrical, with one exception, the marble slab covering the emperor's grave is bigger than the empress's. The Taj Mahal gets a high mark on the foot scale, booties are distributed to cover shoes.
The focus of Agra is entirely on the Taj Mahal; almost 6.9 million people visited it in 2018-2019. Not unlike other Indian attractions, the entrance fee for foreigners is substantially higher than for locals, 1050 INR vs. 45 INR. I found it interesting that the Taj Mahal seems to have a strong hold on Indians beyond its commercial value, since it is a Muslim monument in a country where Hindu nationalism is being inflamed by the Modi government.
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We also visited the Red Fort in Agra, a massive structure that stretches almost 2.5 km and covers 94 acres. Half of it is still occupied by the Indian Army. It was built by a Mughal emperor, construction starting in 1565, incorporating his palace, harem and military guard. It hits the top of the foot scale, requiring no protective measures.
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"Taj . . . a timeless beauty," is a song and dance show crudely explaining the origin of the Tah Mahal. It was not an official part of our tour, but, unfortunately, most of us attended, paying a stiff price for ham on naan. The most interesting aspect of the over-loud, completely lip-synched, stiffly-performed show was the chorus of 8 women dancers who appeared at frequent intervals. They must have been the lightest-skinned Indian women on the entire continent.
Monday, January 20, 2020
We hit the road to Jaipur, 242 km (150 miles) from Agra, this morning. It has a population of about 3.5 million, predominantly Muslim and poor, or so it seems as we drove through it. There were clusters of crude huts, sometimes barely tents, where families lived and conducted what might pass for a simple business or trade.
Later in the day, we saw much more prosperous neighborhoods, exclusive properties, behind walls, guarded. In fact, we had dinner at the city home of descendants of a maharajah; their summer palace was at a distance. This was the third family we visited for dinner in the three cities, in ascending order: prosperous, wealthy, rich. All of our hosts were warm, generous people, who seemed amply supported by live-in and daytime help.
What made this first day in Jaipur unique was the absence on our schedule of temples, shrines, mausoleums, forts or palaces. That, of course, allowed time for another spiritual exercise, shopping. We went up and down the quarter mile of the Bapu Bazar, an unbroken line of narrow shops offering textiles, clothing, shoes, jewelry, souvenirs and terribly persistent hawkers.
I came close to making a soul-crushing error. I had seen a Gandhi T-shirt that I thought would be a nice gift for the Law Professor and the Oakland Heartthrob. So, as I walked the Bapu Bazar, I sought this design, which turned out to be somewhat uncommon. Finally, one solidly-stocked shop had the design in the right sizes and color. When the merchant asked 10,000 INR for two, I scoffed, as I would at any number he uttered initially. "Write down your price," he said. Aha, I thought; I've seized command of the situation. "9,000 INR," I wrote on his pad, imagining that I was being fair, only requesting a 10% discount. "9,400," he wrote below my number. Nope. I started to get up, a necessary move in such negotiations. "Okay mister," and I started to reach for my credit card. However, something gnawed at me. I took out my smartyphone and selected the calculator app. 9,000 ÷ 70 = 128.57, which in English is one-hundred twenty-eight dollars and fifty-seven cents for two lousy T-shirts. Are you crazy?
That extra zero threw my calculations all off. I thought that we were in the range of six dollars a T-shirt. That vendor must have thought that Allah blessed him with a deranged American tourist. As reason and arithmetic returned, I rushed off into the night, not wasting a moment to look over my shoulder.
Tuesday, January 21, 2020
We started the day at Amber Fort Jaipur, sitting in a commanding position above the city. Building was commenced by a Mughal (Muslim) emperor in 1592. The fort was also a palace for the emperor, containing some opulent touches, including the Diwan-e-Khas (Hall of Mirrors). Its walls are covered in intricate mirror work, using glass imported from Belgium, allowing candlelight to brightly illuminate the room at night. The fort gets a perfect score on the foot scale, shoes and socks kept on without any covering.
Note that many tourists climb the hill to the fort on elephants, 1,000 INR for two people. Our tour company kept us on foot or in a Jeep, because of the cruelty often demonstrated to the elephants.
We visited Jantar Mantar Jaipur, the last of the five astronomical observation sites built by Maharaja Jai Singh II in 1734. We visited the first in New Delhi last week, but today we had the benefit of a local guide to explain more or less clearly what we were seeing. Feet covered and dry -- highest marks.
Our feet continued to enjoy the day with a visit to the City Palace, established in 1727 also by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II, when he moved his court to Jaipur from Amber. Not only does the City Palace have some beautiful architecture, courtyards and gardens, it contains a collection of royal costumes and superb textiles and the Armoury, "which has one of the best collections of weapons in the country."
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
Up bright and too early, we caught a plane to Varanasi for two days on the Ganges. We flew SpicyJet, whose motto offers dubious reassurance: "Red. Hot. Spicy." Fortunately, the flight was anything but.
Varanasi, the holiest city in India, has a population of about 3.5 million, the same as Jaipur, but crowded into a much smaller area. While not as single purpose as the Taj Mahal is to Agra, Varanasi's focus is the Ganges, the most sacred river to the Hindus. According to Wikipedia, "nothing is more stirring for a Hindu than a dip in the actual river, which is thought to remit sins." Hindus are directed to bathe in the Ganges at least once in a lifetime to ensure ascent to heaven rather than endure reincarnation as Mitch McConnell.
Almost all Hindus and Buddhists are cremated at death and the holiness of Varanasi and the Ganges result in hundreds of cremations a day here, the pyres going day and night. For those Hindus who die too far away, ashes from their cremation are sent to Varanasi to be thrown into the Ganges. Late in the afternoon, we walked by one cremation site on the shores of the Ganges while two pyres were burning. Then, we boarded a boat to go by the major site, where I counted at least a dozen pyres burning. For more information on this fascinating subject, see https://
Our boat continued on along the shore line to the site of the nightly fire Puja, "a ceremonial dedication to the River Ganges, Sun, Lord Shiva, Fire and the whole universe, . . . performed by the local young brahmin priests. Lots of incense smoke, loud clanging bells and chanting all add to the tone of an enchanting, time honoured tradition." Hundreds of people, maybe a thousand, stood on the shore watching, while dozens of crowded boats faced them on the water. The Puja and the cremations are unrelated. By the way, I did not find the ceremony enchanting. I couldn't help but think that if, instead of holding it daily even in monsoon season, it was reduced to an annual celebration, a large chunk of resources could be be made available to address some of the oppressive social and economic conditions confronting Indian society.
The highlight of the trip for me, however, came just before our visit to the Ganges and it might indicate that I am not entirely an unsentimental scold. On an alley, with a cow standing placidly next to a small flock of goats, was the home/studio of Deobrat Mishra, a sitar virtuoso. http://
He explained his instrument, his music and his career. Then accompanied by his nephew on the tabla (a pair of Indian drums considered as one), he played ragas for 20 wonderful minutes. Every moment of the time spent with him was magical.
Thursday, January 23, 2020
I traded the boat ride to see dawn breaking over the Ganges for more time in bed, a shave, a soothing shower and an hour in the hotel's business center tapping out these thoughts.
Mid-morning we took a bus ride to Sarnath, the site of Buddha's first preaching/teaching, where the Mulagandhakuti Vihara Buddhist Temple was built in 1931, remarkably simple considering what it commemorates. It contains only a more-or-less life sized statue of Buddha, painted gold, and a casket which allegedly holds some of his ashes. Shoes must be removed before entering.
Friday, January 24, 2020
We pack up and leave for home today, so this is the occasion for some impressions and observations.
A little prestidigitation may be a fine after dinner amusement, but India seems to be gripped by illusions. Horoscopes govern spousal matches and wedding dates. (70%+ of marriages are still arranged.) SpiceJet's in-flight magazine had gaudy full pages ads for Sandhiya Mehhta "Ace Numerologist" and Rajat Nayar "World Famous Bollywood Astrologer."
The web page of astrologer Sachin Shastri promises: "Let it be any problem of life related to Late Marriage, Love Affairs, Career, Business, Health, Study, Foreign Trip, etc. I provide the transparent and effective advice to overcome or handle difficult situations in life by using my horoscope analysing skills and experience." I know that this sounds like the flyers found on New York subways, but "the horoscopes market in India alone is $10 billion, with about 2 million astrologers practising astrology." https://
In 2011, the Bombay High Court ruled that astrology is not merely a harmless diversion, but instead a science. The case was brought under India's Drugs and Magical Remedies (Objectionable Advertisements) Act, which prohibits false advertising. The court held that astrology is "a time-tested science more than 4,000 years old."
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Completely contrary to my rejection of Indian mysticism is my acceptance of Indian food, which began well before this trip. Much of what we were served was familiar. Road Scholar, the tour company, made sure to keep us healthy throughout the trip; we were never left to forage for our own meals. We ate mostly in the high-grade hotels where we stayed, buffet lunches and dinners with a wide variety of food, including non-Indian choices. When we we went to restaurants, we were served set meals, vegetarians and carnivores separated only by one or two small items on a plate. While these meals were generally unexceptional, the joints were not for tourists only. Numerous prosperous locals were usually in attendance as well, possibly eating more challenging food.
In addition to the à la carte dinner at the Suryaa New Delhi early last week, one restaurant stood out, however. Shree Shivay Restaurant, Central Jail Road, Opposite Central Jail (sic), Varanasi, offers unlimited vegetarian thali, a selection of various dishes served on a platter, a cross between a Japanese bento box and an Indonesian rijtaffel. We had a very enjoyable lunch there just yesterday. The dozen or so things that were served, chickpeas, paneer (Indian cheese), lentils, potatoes, rice pudding, pumpkin, poori, naan, cucumber, coconut were quite good on the whole, even if vegetarian. On the other hand, no one seemed to get to the bottom of their glass of salted lassi.
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Speaking of vegetarians, I learned that India has its own version of Glatt Kosher, a higher designation of purity insisted upon by more Orthodox Jews. "Pure Vegetarian" (seen on some signs as Pure Veg) extends vegetarianism to exclude onions and garlic, items that might provoke aggressiveness, or so it is thought. It is not veganism, however. While nearly 40% of Indians are thought to be vegetarians of one form or another, very few are vegans.
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Over the decades, certain Westerners have sought out India for enlightenment, a place to meditate and lose one's self. I find that impossible to reconcile with the omnipresent noise, schmutz and press of people that I experienced. Of course, my observations are based on 10 days in Northern India, Northerners and Southerners alike insist that they differ significantly in organization, traffic, cleanliness, food and politics. Maybe.
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Our flight from Varanasi to New Delhi arrived at 5:50 P.M. Friday local time. Then, probably as a punishment for having had a good time, we had to wait 7 hours to board Air India flight 101 to JFK. It actually lifted off at 2:42 A.M. Saturday (today) and landed in New York 14 hours and 26 minutes later, 5:08 A.M. local time, which allows me to get this out more or less like any average weekend. The only difference is that I will not operate any heavy machinery for the next 72 hours.
