Saturday, August 19 Wandering Haryana, Nilokheri, Indian Hospitality

I woke up early and packed my bags for nowhere in particular. I took the Metro to Kashmere Gate and there I walked in the sweltering heat to the Interstate Bus Terminal. I got on a bus that was starting up, which turned out to be going north to Haryana via the Golden Quadrilateral (Highway 1), a very well-paved direct road from the southernmost tip of the subcontinent to Srinagar in Kashmir. On the way, a lawyer (but they call themselves ‘advocates’) started talking to me. He told me a lot about India and Haryana. The language is Hindi and Haryanwi. It’s a very rural area, but since Punjab and Haryana (split in 1966) are the Breadbasket of India, it’s a wealthy area too, seen as so many Punjabis are living and working abroad. Everyone in Haryana is farmers, including Rajiv’s family, who are Brahmins. He offered to show me around, but then got off the bus before doing so. So I got off the bus after the small town of Karnal. I ended up walking a little ways through a small but rich town, with nice homes, power lines, dirt roads, and lots of rice paddies. It was 1:30, and no one was outside except for a few men riding their bicycles. Maybe because they’re normal, and decide to stay out of the beating 105-degree sun. I took some photos of the small quiet town and rice paddies. There is no civilization here, so I resigned myself to dying of thirst. So I left, and crossed the highway and marched through a small rural town, the women washing clothes and playing with their kids in the shade. They all stopped talking and started staring when the stranger passed. A man was tending his herd of water buffalo (the only work to be done on a farm in August), herding them into the dirty brown stream, where a group of teenage boys were also playing. They saw me and screamed and laughed, running over to greet me. To get to them, I had to cross a stream, which they thought was hilarious because I got my whole leg covered in mud. They assumed I was lost and when I told them I wasn’t looking for anything, they assumed I came here to picnic. The boys beckoned all their friends and family, and made me sit in a chair in the middle of the path. They all circled around, stunned and confused to see a white tourist in their humble, boring village. I felt like a British explorer from the 1600’s. Speaking only Hindi, it was difficult to communicate with them. Every time I spoke or they introduced someone to me, they broke out in laughter, while I sat there and nervously smiled. They offered me food and water, which I accepted. One of the boys took me to his house. There was a fenced yard with dirt floor, and an outdoor bed to lie on during the hot days, lemon and guava trees, a submersible well pump, and a shelter for four huge black water buffalo. They had a large family, as I was introduced to his father, while the girls giggled from inside the house. They were rich Haryana farmers, and had servants. I was so thirsty that I drank tea with them. After that, I was taken by the boy on his motorcycle to a field in the nearest town, Nilokheri. Surprisingly, I was not mugged. Instead, he brought me to his friend Shashi Chaudri, who spoke English. We talked for a good hour or so. He’s overseeing a big project at the field to build a nicer cricket field. He’s paying 100 Rs per day to laborers who would only earn 20 in Bihar. He invited me to his house, and we went by bike there. He also offered to show me around and to stay at his house for the night. This is a typical example of Indian hospitality, where a complete stranger is taken in and given food and shelter, and treated like a god. I love this aspect of India, which does not exist at all in the United States. Shashi asked me “Why do you trust me, because there are a lot of bad people who could take advantage of you”. He was right, and I don’t know why I am so trusting, but this is the best way to see India; make friends and they are usually glad to show you their country. Plus, in India, the culture of hospitality makes it possible. And I was sure not to bring anything of value, so if someone was to rob me, oh well. Shashi has a bull mastiff, a huge awesome dog. He has a car and nice motorcycle, and a nice large modern house. He rents out the bottom half, and lives with his mom and sisters. His father is dead, so he is left with responsibility, and also the inheritance. Shashi is of Brahmin caste and a jajman (landlord) jati, and has over 25 rice fields that he rents out. He studies at Chandigarh, and loves India too much to want to move to the United States. Why would you leave living like a king and having all your friends in India? I agree. He brought me to his Sikh friend’s house. There are many Sikhs in Haryana because it used to be part of Punjab, and after partition, Pakistani Punjabis moved to neighboring Haryana. There was a good view of the rice fields, accentuated by power lines, paved roads, a rail line, concrete buildings, and haystacks filled with bovine feed. Some Haryana farmers live in a Joint-Family Household, meaning the entire extended family lives in one huge house. Kind of like the clean, dry, veg, moral, hormonally-balanced, rural Indian version of a fraternity. Then I went with Shashi on the highway by motorcycle to an upscale shopping center. Along the Golden Quadrilateral, there are a lot of these brand-new bourgeois rest stations. We ate Tikka Aloo burgers at the AC McDonalds (which had a drive-thru for foot traffic only). After McDonalds we drove to the sports complex, where people were playing cricket, boxing (Indians love watching American wrestling, Titanic, and Brad Pitt movies for some reason), playing soccer, and running. We waited for men’s swim time, after the ladies’. There was an extremely unappealing advertisement for the pool, which had women fully-dressed in saris covering their faces and entire bodies, while men were dripping wet in tighty-whiteys and Speedos. That would suck all the fun out of lifeguarding (but the fact that you sit in a chair and get paid over $10 an hour makes up for it). I told them I was a lifeguard in California, and the only way I could explain what I meant was…unfortunately…relating myself to David Hasselhoff in Baywatch. Because I didn’t bring a swimsuit, I was forced wear a neon green used Speedo, taken from a box of spares. Even though they said I looked Indian (maybe I did but my white legs(usually covered but not today) probably gave it away), a bunch of rich Brahmin college-age guys came up to me in the pool and wanted to meet me, all wanting my phone number, email, and address. Shashi said the water was chlorinated. However, I didn’t smell chloride, and there was a big metal pipe pumping water into the pool from who-knows-where. I jumped off the diving board, made of wood and not bolted down (so someone had to stand on the other end to counterbalance). I did some laps, before realizing it was futile because 1) I was so out of shape, and 2) people don’t use lanes in India. After an hour of swimming, we left and rode back to Nilokheri. When riding on his motorcycle, we drove 100 km per hour, so I was terrified. I had to wear sunglasses so dust wouldn’t get in my eyes. He kept talking to me, but I couldn’t hear a word, so the only phrase I used the entire trip was, “Oh, yeah”. For better balance, he wanted me to put my hands on his thighs, which was awkward. He took me to his friend’s house, and we chatted with his parents in their living room, just hanging out, not doing anything substantial. The town is so small that everyone knows everyone else, so while driving from one place to another, we stopped every time we saw other people. I was introduced to about fifteen of his friends. All of them were our age, students, rich, Brahmins or Punjabis, and male. They all asked the same questions, so I had to repeat the same information fifteen times. I asked what they did on a normal basis. They said they like taking it easy and just relaxing, something Indians enjoy, but which I don’t like doing too much of. They said they like going on the computer, watching TV, and going to college. There aren’t many clubs or parties to attend, and many are pure-veg, so they cannot drink. Sounds like American college students…the kind who go to Harvard or Whitman. We finally got back to Shashi’s house after the small-talk that would never end. His mom had cooked us a delicious feast, which included a potato/pea/cauliflower curry, buttered roti, wheat pudding, and dhee curd that made an amazing contrast to relieve the palate of the spicy masala. When we ran out of food, he yelled at his mom in the other room to bring more. It was straight out of Wedding Crashers. “Maa, roti”, “Maa, sabzi”, “Maa, dhee”. She was really nice, and loved feeding us. I ate a lot, and was cautious, but he wanted me to eat as much as I wanted to. He even bought my water and paid for my McDonalds, because I am his guest. I feel awkward when people do that; I’d rather pay myself. Shashi, his mother, and I all shared a bed that night. I got bit by mosquitoes because Americans have more sugar in their diet, which attracts mosquitoes, that don’t ever bother Indians.